A period of silence had lapsed between Faye and Sterling. She was feeling vulnerable, having nothing but a blanket to conceal her unclothed body.
"I would like some clothing," she muttered, breaking the stillness.
Sure, I'll give Mielle a call, and she can assist you with getting dressed.
"No—wait, I can do it myself." She said.
The Duke frowned at his wife and retorted, "Nonsense, you are too beat up. Let the maid help. That is her job."
Sterling was about to get up from the bed when Faye's hand shot out and grabbed his arm to prevent him from calling the servant. Her breath hitched as a sharp hiss escaped her lips, her face contorting in pain. She forgot about the burn on her hand.
"AAAAAHHH! HSSS!!!"
She quickly released her hold on the Duke's sleeve, wincing at the sensation of her burnt skin rubbing against the fabric of his tunic. She cradled her hand to her chest, it throbbed with a searing burn.
