38

The sun made love with Encara’s face, giving him a bright rude awakening. He shot up groaning, clutching his head. It throbbed and had a dying thirst.

He panned around the room, wincing before a jug of water was thrust into his face. Encara greedily drank the water, his skin rejuvenating. He stopped and frowned, before looking around at the room askance.

He wasn’t inside his room, and he wasn’t on his bed. Who had given him the water? Encara panned up to see Gwyneth beside him.

“Where am I?” he asked, noticing the draft on his naked body. “And why am I-“

“Soel and Miranda’s orders.” She said glaring towards the closed door.

Gwyneth wore her silk night gown, and slumped onto her bed, grabbing an apple. Bruises and welts covered her body, where the armour had saved her.

“Let me heal-ah!”

Gwyneth cut him off, by pegging the apple against his head.

“You’re under orders to rest. That means no healing, cursing, warping, or opening any of the gates.” She snapped.

Encara rubbed the flecks of
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