When he finally woke up, the very first thing Rowan mumbled, barely louder than a whisper was a request for water. His voice was raspy, strained, as if every word scraped against his throat.
"…Water… please…"
Zalyric, who had been sitting rigidly beside the bed for hours, immediately leaned forward and relief flashed across his face so quickly that Rowan almost didn't catch it. Then, Zalyric reached for the cup on the bedside table and placed it gently into Rowan's shaky hands but Rowan's fingers trembled too much. The moment he lifted the cup, it slipped from his grasp and hit the blankets with a soft thud, water soaking into the sheets.
"Oh…" Rowan muttered, dazed, blinking slowly as if his mind hadn't caught up with what happened. His eyes were unfocused, his body was weak, and for a moment he looked so small—so unlike his usual stubborn self that it made Zalyric's chest tighten.
