She grabbed his hand and placed it on her own thigh. He felt the warmth, and the delicate shape of her upper leg over the skirt of her dress. It made him forget the wound, up until she pulled. Pain shot through his leg as she carefully pulled at the piece of wood. He dared not cringe. She was far too beautiful a woman for him to make such an ugly face. He wanted her to know he was strong, so he simply stared at her, deeply.<br/><br/>His body, however, told a story his face didn't. It tensed with such great strength, and only after a minute of maneuvering the arrow, did he realize he was squeezing her thigh with white knuckles. He tried his best to not cause her any discomfort, but couldn't remove his hand from the death grip. After it was all over, peeling his hand from her leg and breathing heavily, his heart finally came to a rest.<br/><br/>Before attaching the bandage, he grabbed his sword, heated it in the fire, and placed it onto the wound. He gritted his teeth as it seared the skin, cleaned the wound, and cauterized it. She placed the cloth over it.<br/><br/>He didn't like being ordered around by the Queen, for some reason. He felt a need to challenge her rule. "I believe I should be the one to keep watch. I'm not in a position to get sleep, with the pain of my leg, and you need your strength."