Constans let Bethen bully him into a seat with a relieved smirk. He grimaced as she pulled apart the gash in the fabric of his robe, and beneath that a layer of impromptu bandages, no more than a strip of bedsheet wound several times around his chest and now completely sodden. The wound Bethen found once she pushed all of this aside was nearly half and inch deep and slashed almost all the way from one side of his body to the other, slicing horizontally across his ribcage at the base of his pectorals. It was no wonder why he held his arm across his body at such a strange angle as he walked, having needed to keep pressure on the whole wound at once. Constans' chest, hand and inside of his arm were all coated in his own blood, but despite how bad the wound looked as it was, he was only lucky that whatever did this didn't hit him a few inches lower. If it had he'd have been desperately holding in an internal organ or two instead of just blood.
"Nothing unusual, just my morning Ogre-fight," Constans joked, giving Bethen a cocksure look he didn't entirely feel up to. He knew it wasn't as though he was going to get out of this now without giving Bethen some explanation, but he hated to have to do it. Let her interrogate him on her own terms, then. As her healing magic began to do its work he groaned, slumping down further in his chair. "You're a saint, Bethen."