Macmillan was determined to be as difficult as he could, wasn’t he? Valerian rolled his eyes at the mimicking and managed to push down the urge to smile, either because he’d won the argument or because... something else entirely. He walked back towards the bed and placed the small vial on the bedside table, leaving it propped up against the decorative candleholder.

“You’re lucky you’re dealing with me here and not at the hospital. You’d have far less choices,” he pointed out, sitting on the edge of the bed near Macmillan’s knees. None of the way he’d tended to Macmillan was influenced by their duel, semi-mutual hatred, or Macmillan’s pursuit of Tatiana; he’d treated him with the same care that he’d treated his younger brother a week prior. He ought to be grateful—it would have been less comfortable in a hospital bed.

“I visited your brother after his duel,” he explained, not really sure why he was explaining it but - well, it had been a long evening and he was too tired to resist. He doubted Elmer would shut his mouth if asked, so better to relay the details himself. “He’d been hit by a dozen magical arrows. At least he had the sense to stay in bed all day.” It was amusing to think that Elmer was more sensible than this Macmillan—but in a way, he was. Sort of.

“If you agree to follow my medical advice, he won’t hear a word of it,” he offered, a single brow raised in challenge. “But if you don’t...”

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