Ryan pulled out the plush armchair in his chambers, exhaustion pulling at his limbs. The doctor had just finished examining his arm, pronouncing it a simple flesh wound that would heal in time. A dull ache throbbed in his shoulder, a constant reminder of the attack.
With a sigh of relief, Ryan settled back against the plush cushions of his armchair, his face etched with fatigue. The events of the past few days – the attack, the journey back, and the frantic activity upon their arrival – had taken their toll.
A sharp knock on the door startled him from his reverie. "Come in," he called out, his voice raspy.
The door creaked open, and Thorne, his brow furrowed with concern, strode into the room. "Your Grace," he greeted, his voice laced with relief. "Thank the heavens you're back."
Ryan managed a weak smile. "Good to see you too, Thorne."
