Blaming himself

Arlo looked downcast. A sigh escaped his lips, carrying with it a world of sorrow. "Amelia," he said, staring into my eyes. "I understand what you are trying to tell me. But at what cost?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.

His eyes moved down and fell on my injured leg and bandaged arm, and he sighed deeply, "Every time I look at you, I feel like my heart is breaking into several million pieces. I can't help but feel responsible for everything." 

"Then stop looking at me," I replied, playfully hoping to lift his spirits. 

He gave me a blank look. "How can you be so cheerful after everything that happened?" 

I shrugged, not giving him an answer. 

"While you were unconscious, the royal physician came and examined you," he informed, his voice heavy with concern. "Your leg is severely injured, and you will be unable to move for several days. Your back and arms bear numerous marks, and your face is swollen, along with a minor head injury."