A Furry Problem

Franziska had fretted over Byron, tending to the bite wound with more care than one might expect from her. At first, she'd argued the dog should be sentenced to death. But he'd refused, and she'd eventually let the matter go. Fran truly despised mabaris, and had banished his companion out of the room the second he'd arrived home injured. Only the best physician would see to him, with the glaring eyes of an angry wife over their shoulder. Fran was no healer, but she wasn't an idiot. The wound was jagged, and inflamed, he already had an infection brewing.

You are an idiot! What kind of king goes around petting random rabies-infected mutts?! She scowled, squeezing her fingers around his wrist tightly for a moment. You don't know where that dog has been! Nor what it's had! Where will the kingdom be if you fall to an infection that could have been avoided? He scratched at the bandage and she snapped at him, Stop scratching. She scolded him, swatting his chest. You'll get an infection.