Chapter 15
Right. We’re not at the point where we can share such topics. Of course it would feel awkward.
Instead of pressing further, Dalia quietly prepared to clean Khalid’s wounds.
Whether it’s his body or mine… better not to get curious.
The moment she reached for a towel without hesitation, Khalid caught her hand to stop her.
“Give it here. I can do this myself.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying, it’s just—”
Dalia pressed lightly with her fingertip against his leg—the very spot she had cut yesterday.
“Urk.”
“See? That was a lie. Now, give me your arm first.”
Taking on the brisk air of a physician, Dalia lifted his arm and rolled up his sleeve.
Khalid let her guide him, raising his arm obediently so she wouldn’t strain herself. Yet, his dazed expression betrayed how unsettled he was.
“Lean this way as well. Quickly.”
“No… no, really, I’m fine.”
Ignoring his flustered resistance, Dalia wiped along his skin with the damp towel, muttering inwardly in exasperation.
Honestly, this man is royalty, living in such a grand house with more wealth than he could ever need… so why is he pitifully lying here all alone? Was he cast out for some peculiar quirk?
“And where’s your butler, Aron? What’s he doing?”
“He’ll be back soon. I sent him to investigate the man who attacked me yesterday.”
“Of course. Knowing who’s behind it is the only way to stay cautious.”
Dalia nodded and kept her hands steadily at work. Now that she was sure he harbored no improper intentions toward her, she could treat him far more easily.
But for Khalid, the situation was unbearably awkward. Her touch tickled in a way that made his body twitch.
“Dalia. Really, you don’t need to—”
“Stop squirming. Hold still. Once you’re healed, I won’t fuss anymore.”
“Hah…”
“These need to be washed properly, or they’ll fester. I should clean your back as well.”
As she lathered soap against his skin, she noticed how smooth and flawless it was—marred only by the brand of Tempus and yesterday’s injuries. A pang of guilt pricked her. After all, one of those wounds was hers.
She carefully wiped down his arm until it was spotless. Then, while absorbed in the task, her gaze lifted, and she found Khalid watching her. She froze for a moment.
“Why are you looking at me like that? What’s going through your head?”
“…That I shouldn’t pretend to be sick anymore.”
His uninjured hand came up to cover his face as he sighed. Beneath it, the nape of his neck flushed bright red.
“You’re not pretending. I saw the wounds myself. Once we wash them clean and reapply the medicine, you’ll heal quickly.”
Though… one of those wounds is my fault.
It was partly from guilt that she busied herself so earnestly.
“Turn around now. If I’m to apply ointment, your back needs to be clean. Otherwise it’ll itch unbearably.”
“…”
At last, Khalid yielded to her persistence and turned his back.
The robe slipped from his shoulders, revealing his bare torso.
That’s… a lot of ground to cover.
Resigning herself, she brought the sponge to his lower back. But just as it touched his skin, Khalid suddenly caught her wrist.
“Please. Don’t… stir things up.”
“…You know I didn’t mean it that way.”
“I know. Still…”
His voice trailed off. The breadth of his back, taut with lean muscles, seemed all the more striking in that moment.
What would it feel like to drape a gown over a body like this…?
The stray thought embarrassed her. And when she glanced at his flushed nape, she blurted out almost without thinking:
“You said you don’t like women, didn’t you?”
“…I never said that.”
“Isn’t that the same thing? Anyway—let go of my hand!”
She smacked at his hand until he released her.
Strange… the wounds look far better today. Did they really heal this much overnight? Were they this shallow to begin with?
His skin looked almost renewed, smooth and firm where muscles carved clean lines across his back.
Her gaze drifted upward until it met the sight of his reddened nape. She realized her hand had gone still.
The sight of his face and neck flushed to the tips made her think, unexpectedly, that he looked… rather endearing.
“…What is it?”
Feeling her hand remain motionless for too long, Khalid half-turned to glance at her.
“N-no, nothing. Face forward again. You’re distracting me.”
If he looks me in the eyes now, I’ll lose my composure.
Chastising herself, she resumed with mechanical precision. But this time her movements were stiff, clumsy.
Was I moving my arm like this before? Was my breathing this shallow?
She had to be careful not to make it seem as though she were caressing him. That would be entirely the wrong impression.
Just act casual.
She repeated the mantra silently as she scrubbed his back with deliberate brusqueness.
Unnoticed by her, Khalid’s hand moved and gently took the towel from hers.
“I’ll do the rest. My hands aren’t completely useless.”
“No, it’s fine! …Ah, I must have rubbed too hard.”
Only now did Dalia realize she’d been far too rough. The places she had scrubbed were reddened in sharp contrast against his otherwise flawless back.
Flustered, she tugged at the other end of the towel he had taken.
“I won’t do it again, I promise. Your skin’s so smooth that I got carried away.”
“…Don’t talk as though you’re appraising me.”
Khalid dropped his head low as he muttered.
Dalia was about to apologize when a sharp, icy voice cut through the air.
“And who exactly do you think you are, to appraise my master?”
It was the butler, Aron.
Dressed in indigo today, he stood at the doorway, regarding them with clear disapproval.
“Ah—it’s not what it looks like.”
Startled, Dalia quickly released the towel and stood up.
“I was just helping to wash him—”
“You were washing my master’s body?”
His voice was flat, cold, as if reciting an accusation. He didn’t bother to hide his hostility toward her.
“Why would you do such a thing? Master, hand that over at once. Allow me.”
He strode forward and tried to seize the towel from Khalid, who frowned and pushed him away.
“Aron, stop. Don’t start this as well.”
“Like this, then?”
Dalia had half a mind to scold the butler for his insolence, but when she saw the oddly familiar ease between master and servant as they bickered, she held her tongue.
“…I see. You two seem very close. In that case, I’ll go prepare some food.”
“Dalia—”
Ignoring Khalid’s call, she shut the door behind her and exhaled in relief.
Maybe the reason they live in hiding without attendants isn’t because it’s so dangerous, after all.
With that thought, she felt a little freer from her own fear of men. She could even understand why Khalid chose to live in this vast estate with only Aron for company.
“…But what do you even feed a patient?”
A proper lady was meant to understand cuisine and direct cooks, not cook herself. Dalia, raised as a noble’s daughter, had almost never made food with her own hands.
Of course, she could simply ask Aron, but that would mean going back into the room—and then he would insist on helping her, or worse, instructing her himself.
No, better to handle this alone. He won’t manage a formal dinner anyway. Something light and easy to digest—one or two dishes will do. I can manage that much.
Resolving herself, she headed toward the kitchen and cellar.
The comfortable clothing she wore allowed her to descend the stairs easily. A little loose, yes, but it didn’t cling or trip her the way a dress would.
Maybe I should keep dressing like this.
In her southern homeland, the idea of a noblewoman in trousers was unthinkable. But she remembered, before her regression, that in the capital and larger cities it had already begun to trend.
Speaking of clothes…
From her past life’s memories, she recalled that soon a nameless tailor from Ahmad, Mielle, would catch the crown prince’s eye during his vacation, and through his favor rise to prominence—an unprecedented success in a world where ateliers usually passed their fame only to apprentices.
Dalia was hurrying down the steps, eager to put distance between herself and the two men upstairs, when her hem caught beneath her foot. She stumbled.
…I really do need to shorten these. Perhaps I should pay Mielle a visit while I’m at it.
She steadied herself with effort, calming her racing heart.
Bottles flew. The last remaining mirror shattered with a crash.
“What are the search parties doing! How can they fail to catch a single girl?”
“The forest is thick, my lord… it takes time. Still, she has never gone far beyond the estate. They’ll find her soon—”
“You dare call that an excuse!”
Viscount Borbon hurled a wine glass at the knight kneeling before him.
“Shimos! Didn’t I order you to watch her carefully?”
The blow split his forehead, blood trickling down, yet Shimos only bowed lower among the wreckage of bottles.
“…My apologies.”
The viscount’s pacing grew more fevered.
“She could already be far away. I should have noticed the moment she grew insolent and shameless—plotting behind my back like that…!”
His mutter rose into a snarl as his gaze swept the gathered retainers like a blade.
To secure the money promised by Shiray, he had no choice but to capture Dalia—and sell her off.
