"You finished your dinner," Augustus commented in the candle lit room where Cook, an older gentleman whose face was largely obscured by a gray-blue beard, was squinting over the lord captain's bandaged chest. Rusella hovered nearby, like a bat hiding in a corner.
"I've consumed things even pigs would scorn, princeling," Claude murmured. But his voice lacked its usual cavalier nature as concern tugged his mouth downward.
"When did the injuries occur?" Cook asks, his fingers prodding around Wolfgang's clammy neck.
All eyes flicker to the man lying in the bed. "Perhaps 2 weeks ago. I'm not sure."
Rusella shook her head, indicating that it had been longer than what Wolfgang had said.
"Have you been losing a sense of time?" Cook continues.
"Hmmm," the lord captain confirmed with a hum, his eyes flickering shut.
