The adrenaline was fading, replaced by the biting cold of the Whispering Mountains.
Primrose was on her knees in the snow, frantically checking Caspian for broken bones. The King was conscious, but he looked terrible. The black veins on his neck were throbbing, and his usually pristine coat was torn and stained with black ichor.
"I am fine," Caspian wheezed, trying to push himself up and failing. "Just... a minor magical backfire. Nothing a King cannot handle."
"You almost exploded," Primrose scolded, her voice shaking as she wiped soot from his cheek with her sleeve. "Stop being regal and let me help you."
She wrapped her arm around his waist, hoisting him up. He leaned heavily against her, his head resting on her shoulder.
Around them, the Four Warlords were regrouping.
Lord Rurik was wiping monster slime off his knuckles with a handful of snow.
Duke Lucien was inspecting his fingernails, looking bored.
Archduke Cassian was tapping the side of his monocle, analyzing data.
