Elian managed to extract himself from the octopus-like grip of the feverish Prince without waking him, mostly by replacing his own body with a rolled-up fur rug.
Cassian snuggled the rug, murmuring, "Rowena... so soft."
Elian stood by the bed, hands on his hips, glaring. "That is a dead bear, Your Highness. But sure. She has the personality of one, so the comparison tracks."
He turned to the room. It was a disaster zone. Muddy boot prints, scattered clothes, ash from the fireplace, and the general debris of two men living in a single room for three days without maid service.
[Quest: The Domestic God][Progress: 0%]
"Right," Elian rolled up his sleeves. "Time to grind."
He didn't have cleaning supplies. He had snow, a bucket, and a torn piece of his own ruined shirt.
He started with the floor. He scrubbed the stone until his knuckles turned white. The System gamified it, placing little dirt-mounds with HP bars over the stains.
Scrub. Scrub. Critical Hit!
