Gilles, the quiet one. His eyes flickered up to meet J with nothing short of unabashed admiration before looking away again, focused on her shoulder rather than her eyes. The cuts bled, and the one on his cheek had split to the bone. "Why don't you go to get that cleaned?" The girl brushed her fingers across his shoulder and Gilles held his breath. "Whatever you wish," he murmured, "la pucelle."