Ronan winced as his sister dabbed antiseptic on his split lip.
"Hold still, you big baby," Regina scolded, though her eyes betrayed her concern. "This is the worst he's beaten you yet."
Ronan tried to shrug but regretted it immediately as pain shot through his bruised ribs. "It wasn't that bad. He could have killed me if he'd wanted to."
"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" Regina's voice cracked. "Look at your face! Three broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder—"
"Which you popped back in with your usual gentle touch," he attempted to joke.
She wasn't amused. "This isn't funny, Ro. He's the King. If he decides to end you next time instead of just warning you..."
The unfinished thought hung in the air between them.
"I know." Ronan sighed, wincing as she pressed a cold compress to his swollen eye. "But I can't help it."
Regina paused, studying his battered face. "It's her, isn't it? The maid. The one they call Scarface."
Ronan's good eye hardened. "Don't call her that."
