Jerrick paused, his gaze soft but steady as he knelt beside her. "Don't worry about them. Fighting is in their blood. They've trained for this their whole lives. Besides," he added with a playful grin, "I have more important things to tend to right now."
The tenderness in his voice nearly brought tears to her eyes. She had forgotten what it was like to be cared for, to be loved so deeply. He had always been like this—a warrior on the battlefield, but a gentle giant with her. She felt a surge of warmth in her chest, a reminder of how much she had missed him.
Standing up, Jessamyn began to peel off her clothes, but the fabric clung to her, stiff and sticky from the sweat and filth. Jerrick, noticing her struggle, moved to help. His fingers worked the clasps and ties with surprising delicacy for a man who had just wielded a sword with such deadly precision.
As her layers fell away, revealing her pale, battered skin, Jerrick's eyes darkened with worry.
