Atticus paused a moment before accepting Anel’s offer to sit, settling himself on the swing, one hand on his sword’s pommel to keep it from banging the seat. He watched the youth, his fair skin telling the tale of his morning with Lord Aldrich. He remembered the tantrum the boy had thrown inside the House and something gnawed at him, an unease that was nothing to do with what had happened to himself.<br/><br/>Now, at least, Anel had calmed down. Whatever Zara and Master Ryan had said to him had returned him from the drunken hysteria.<br/><br/>Anel’s robe slipped and bared damaged flesh. Deeper than his anxiety, a dark pulse urged him to touch the marks, press his mouth to them, bite and make the young man whimper. He swallowed and looked away. Anel begged off his claim of a moment before and Atticus smiled a little. “It’s all right, I’ll just imagine you were scandalously lewd and be deeply tempted to take you up on it.”<br/><br/>His blue eye moved back to Anel, offering a teasing smile before letting it fade. “Do you use any unguents on your abrasions? I have several brands that I’ve found work wonders. One with bear grease and arnica should help your bruises fade more swiftly...”<br/>