Clint pushed himself up from the duke's lap, The duke's hand shot out and caught his wrist.
Clint's glare burned down at him. For a moment, neither spoke.
Then, slowly, the duke loosened his grip and let go. "...Rest," the duke said quietly, his eyes never leaving Clint. "You're still injured. If you keep walking around, the scent will keep leaking out so just Lie down. Stay here Otherwise, you'll only draw more danger to yourself."
Clint's jaw clenched. His pride screamed at him to leave, but the duke's words carried a weight he couldn't ignore.
"Tch." Clint turned his head away, muttering under his breath. "Annoying bastard."
He laid down on the bed, feeling the fatigue crash over him like a heavy tide. His eyes shut almost instantly, sleep pulling him under.
Outside, the flap of the tent closed. The Duke's expression hardened camp, he unsheathed his sword, the faint gleam of dawn tracing along the steel's edge.
