The worries of an almost King

Artie watched as he wiped the blood away, showing off the wound in its proper form. She was glad that it was a clean cut. But it did look deep. She needed to get a better grasp of her own anger. 

Sir Mordred tsked, a sound she did not expect to come out of his mouth, before he began to press the herbs he had chewed up into her wound. 

"I am sure you are aware that my Mother wanted me to be the one to inherit the holy sword after my uncle passed." He began, and Artie nodded. She felt tension fill her body, and she wasn't sure how she should react. 

She had never expected to have this conversation with Sir Mordred. Well, not this soon. She felt like she hadn't earned it yet. 

"I mean, it's kind of the obvious next answer." Artie said, and Sir Mordred's expression twisted. He looked…like he was in pain, but laughing at the same time.