The ‘I’m fine’ that left Iris’s lips was an obvious lie to Caspian, but he took it to mean that she didn’t want to talk to him about whatever was on her mind. That was an answer in itself, so he didn’t push her to say anything more. He’d done his part by opening the door, so now it was up to her to decide if she was going to step through and take him up on his offer. Truthfully, he couldn’t tell if she would or not. The odds felt pretty evenly split. They had grown close once before, so he’d proven to her that he could be good company if she decided she wanted to open up to him again. But on the other hand, the rift between them now was a massive threshold to cross. He wouldn’t blame her if she decided to leave it untouched.

When Maisie returned and handed him fresh clothes and a towel, he nodded appreciatively. [color=#b97703]“I’m just grateful you’re giving me anything at all,”[/color] he said honestly. [color=#b97703]“Thank you. This is very generous.”[/color] Taking the neatly stacked fabric from her hands, he felt a little guilty that he didn’t have any way of paying her back. However, he supposed he could think of something to do later on once he was safely inside the walls of the capital. He was Aspiria’s crown prince, so he had more than enough resources to come up with an appropriate way to pay her back for everything she was doing for him and Iris. He would just have to make sure he didn’t forget her name, so he could make sure he thanked the right person.

As Maisie and Iris began talking amongst themselves, Cas headed to the bathroom to shower, eager to wash off the combination of blood, sweat and dirt that had been accumulating on his body for days. Closing the door behind him, he slipped off the hoodie he’d borrowed from Iris, grimacing as he saw the bloodstains on the inside of the clothing. Until now, he’d known that the jacket had been soiled, but he hadn’t had adequate lighting to really take it in. Now that he did, he hoped she’d been sincere when she’d said she didn’t expect him to give in back in good condition. And the rest of his clothes weren’t any better off either.

Glancing into the mirror, he could see that the entire left side of his t-shirt was streaked with red-black marks, and even the waistband of his jeans was stained. He doubted any of it was salvageable, even if they had access to the best stain remover in the country. Carefully, he took his shirt by the hem and pulled it over his head, struggling slightly as the discolored part of the fabric clung to his skin. The motion made his injured arm ache, but he managed to remove the top without needing any help, and he followed suit by dropping his trousers.

For a moment, he hesitated, almost afraid to look at his reflection, but he worked up the nerve and turned toward the mirror one more time. [color=#b97703]“Holy shit,”[/color] he muttered, staring incredulously at the collection of bruises that decorated his legs and torso. Between being jostled by his kidnappers, laying on the hard surfaces in his cell, and taking Regis’s beatings, he looked like he’d just gotten out of a cage fight. By far, the worst of the contusions were the marks on his stomach. He lifted a hand to touch them and bit his lip at how tender his muscles were. It was probably going to be a long time before they disappeared.

In addition to the dark patches that painted him from head to foot, his left side and arm were also coated in dried blood from his stab wound. He’d gotten so used to the feeling of being filthy that he hadn’t realized just how much of the congealed liquid was still stuck to his upper body. The disturbing sight prompted him to climb into the shower quickly, so he could scrub it all off as fast as possible. Impatient to be clean again, he turned on the water and set to work.