"She's fine."
"She's UNCONSCIOUS, Maddox."
"Peacefully. There's a spectrum."
He moved past her into the guest chambers, Guinevere limp in his arms, her wet hair leaving a trail of water across the stone like a slug made of silk.
He crossed to the bed and laid her on the bare mattress. The bedding was on the floor in a damning pile that told a very detailed story about round one four hours ago.
Neither the old Luminari healer nor Aldric commented on the lack of bedding. The absence of comment was louder than any comment would have been.
Without saying a word, Blair marched to the trunk, pulled out fur-lined slippers, and knelt to put them on Guinevere.
She caught Maddox watching.
"She hates cold floors," she said flatly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Unlike you, I pay attention to things that aren't my own reflection."
