Chapter 21
Rough breathing was, if only for a moment, gathered back into Clyde’s throat.
It was painfully obvious how fiercely he was grinding his teeth and enduring his instincts.
The low, rumbling growl that escaped the Alpha beast was savage to the core. It was almost surprising that the sound still carried human language.
“Edith. When were you diagnosed as a Beta?”
It was an abrupt question.
As Clyde lifted his head slightly, his eyebrows rose sharply. She couldn’t understand why he was asking something like this, but, overwhelmed by the atmosphere, she answered honestly.
“I was diagnosed around the age when most people’s traits are decided.”
“I experienced my first Alpha rut at ten. What about you, Edith? Exactly when was it?”
She searched through the memories of the original Edith. Up until the age of sixteen—when she had possessed this body—Edith’s trait had never manifested.
Those destined to become Alphas or Omegas usually experienced their first heat in their early teens, which determined their trait. Clyde’s manifestation had been quite early, but even late bloomers never passed their twenties without it.
Those who never experienced a heat would be examined by a doctor around their coming-of-age ceremony. Unless something unusual was found, they were concluded to be Betas.
Clyde stared at her unblinkingly, waiting for her lips to part. The pressure was unbearable.
Her reply came out hesitant and subdued.
“Probably… when I was twenty?”
“What kind of vague answer is that? When did the doctor make the diagnosis?”
Her eyes darted around in panic. It felt like she’d been caught off guard.
Sensing her hesitation, Clyde pressed her again without giving her even a second to breathe.
“You’re twenty right now. Tell me the exact date the doctor diagnosed you. No—tell me which clinic it was.”
The air rapidly cooled. He no longer felt like a beast about to pounce, but rather a judge interrogating a criminal.
Was this really something worth being grilled over? The question irritated her, and at the same time made her uncomfortable. It wasn’t something she needed to hide, but the way he kept prying stirred up resistance.
“Why do you keep interrogating me? This is my personal matter. Whether I’m a Beta or not has nothing to do with my work as a servant.”
“Does it really have nothing to do with it?”
At his quiet counterquestion, the reality of the situation suddenly hit her. Edith lost her words and bit her lip.
The heavy hand resting against her back burned like that of a fever patient. If she were an Omega, she could help ease his rut—of course her trait mattered.
There was no helping it. She had no choice but to tell the truth.
“I haven’t seen a doctor at all this year. I wasn’t sick or anything. As for my trait… it’s obvious, isn’t it? If you don’t have pheromones, you’re a Beta.”
There was no need to think twice.
In the original story, Edith was a Beta—and she still was now. That was why she’d written “Beta” without hesitation on her application to the Imperial Administration.
In this world, Betas weren’t looked down upon. The three traits were simply different, not ranked. Betas, in particular, were valued as versatile types with strong potential for growth through effort.
To be honest, Edith rather liked being a Beta. Betas were the most common everywhere, which made it easy to blend in.
Having Clyde suddenly pry into an identity she’d always taken for granted left a sour taste. Four years in this world was long enough to develop a sense of attachment.
But Clyde’s expression changed dramatically. His eyes flew open so wide that the bloodshot whites were fully exposed, his shock unmistakable.
“So… you’re saying it hasn’t been decided?”
She left out the part about how, even though the fee was small, she didn’t want to waste money with her tight finances.
“No. I’m saying there’s no need to see a doctor in the first place.”
Edith gently loosened the arm around her waist and quickly stepped back. This wasn’t the time to argue.
His unnaturally high temperature and reddened eyes had been bothering her for a while now. Rather than pointless trait talk, she felt she should at least put a cold towel on his forehead.
“Your Highness, you should rest now. You really don’t look well.”
Perhaps her firm tone worked—he clenched his empty hand into a fist and silently stayed by the bed.
On a console in the corner of the bedroom sat a large bowl of water, meant for washing hands or wiping one’s face. Edith soaked the towel beside it.
Just as she finished rinsing it and was about to wring it out, he rushed over.
“What are you doing?”
“I need a cold towel.”
“To use it where?”
Did that really need to be said? Obviously, on your forehead.
“Your Highness, your fever seems quite high—”
Clyde’s distinctive hawk-like brows shot upward.
He snatched the towel from her hand and snarled fiercely.
“Don’t do things like this.”
He was clearly angry. In all the days she’d spent with Clyde, this was the first time he’d spoken to her so sharply.
The towel she’d been about to wring out was flung back into the bowl, floating limply on the water’s surface. It had been poorly wrung anyway, but seeing it drift there felt strangely desolate.
“What do you mean, ‘things like this’? You have a fever right now.”
When Edith stepped back toward the console, he blocked her with his body.
“Whether my brain melts or not, you’re not here to run petty errands for me.”
“But—”
She was the Crown Prince’s personal attendant. Not even letting her handle a towel felt absurd.
She appreciated the thought behind not wanting to order her around, but his overheated body—no doubt worsened by rut—was still worrying. When she looked at him anxiously, he let out a short sigh.
Clyde wrung the towel out himself and folded it neatly into a square.
“This is fine, right?”
He took Edith’s hands and wiped them clean with the towel. He wrapped her still-damp hands in the cloth and gently rubbed the front and back.
The towel meant for Clyde ended up being used to dry Edith’s hands instead.
“Edith. While I’m at it, let me make this clear. In this palace, don’t hold anything in your hands except paper and a pen.”
Wasn’t that a bit extreme? Edith was clearly the Crown Prince’s closest aide—and his personal attendant.
There might be times when they were alone again. Would it really make sense for Clyde to handle every small task himself then?
“But there are times when it’s necessary. Like just now.”
“Never. I won’t allow it.”
He splashed cold water on his face, then wiped himself dry with the same towel he’d used on her hands—despite a dry towel being right there.
After cooling himself down, he unbuttoned his shirt even further. His chest was fully exposed through the opening down to his sternum, but she had to pretend not to see it. She couldn’t even bring herself to tell him to dress properly.
Once the atmosphere settled, Clyde’s condition noticeably improved. His rut was still dangerous, but his mental clarity had returned to normal.
After drinking a glass of cold lemonade together, there was nothing left for Edith to do.
“Then… may I excuse myself?”
The crooked smile tugging at his lips told her he was completely fine now.
“Where do you think you’re going? Isn’t this your office?”
“What?”
“It’s still work hours.”
Clyde tilted his head toward the adjoining room.
After all this chaos, he wanted her to work? That rotten personality of his really never changed.
“No, but in this situation, reviewing documents is a bit—”
“Do you think I called you here to make cold towels? Or to pour lemonade? We’ve got days’ worth of backlog to get through.”
Wow. A real viper. A demon. Satan himself.
Sure, Clyde had prepared the lemonade—but still, this was too much. Making her do overdue paperwork right next to the bedroom of an Alpha deep in his rut cycle?
“Your Highness, you should really be resting—”
Clyde twirled a finger lazily, pointing toward the desk.
“Or is it you who wants to rest, Edith?”
Pale-faced, she had no choice but to step into the partitioned office.
Sitting miserably in front of towering policy reports and massive stacks of tax proposals, Edith began flipping through documents she hadn’t opened in days.
Leaving no room to slack off, Clyde ordered her to review several bound files just like before—and added that she wouldn’t be going home until they were done.
Am I not going home again?
Where am I supposed to sleep tonight?
Her eyes traced the tiny print on the documents, but her mind drifted to Clyde’s soft bed.
Her head throbbed, heat creeping up into her cheeks. Memories of sharing a bed before crossed with the hardships yet to come.
Sleeping side by side. With an Alpha in the middle of his rut cycle.
From beyond the doorless partition, Clyde—still flushed with heat—kept his eyes on her the entire time.
* * *
Chapter 3. A Supporting Male Lead Exactly to My Taste
Only after experiencing it firsthand did Edith truly realize how devastating the Crown Prince’s rut cycle was for his attendant.
Until Clyde returned to normal condition, Edith was effectively confined to the bedroom.
During the rut period, she was a personal attendant in the truest sense—tasked with staying by the Crown Prince’s side twenty-four hours a day.
She focused on organizing reports as usual, but the mere fact that Clyde wasn’t suffering alone moved his physician to no end.
However, beyond eating and resting well, she had to remain mentally tense at all times.
She couldn’t even stretch her legs and relax under his relentless attention. She was always within Clyde’s field of vision, her every movement scrutinized.
He was like a predator debating whether to swallow a twitching prey. Instinctively, she felt she must not get close. Shivering with tension, Edith barely endured his rut cycle.
By the time she finally returned home, she was limp as an earthworm.
People said she looked better, but in reality, it was the opposite. Polished on the outside, she felt so wrecked inside she wondered if she’d crossed into another world altogether.
Fortunately, she’d managed to delay becoming a live-in palace attendant by using household duties as an excuse. If she ended up living in the Crown Prince’s palace full-time, Clyde’s pressure would probably reduce her to skin and bones before long.
There was one upside to surviving the ordeal: she received a generous vacation in exchange for working through the rut.
Edith slept deeply—without dreams—in her shabby but comfortable home.
The next day, she spent her time doing absolutely nothing on the mansion’s terrace. She genuinely wanted to do nothing. In the ever-busy Crown Prince’s palace, leisure was a privilege reserved for those at the top.
She ignored the dusty table, wiped just one chair, and sat down. Stretching lazily, even the understaffed state of the house stopped bothering her.
While she was dozing off, something appeared to interrupt her rest. A servant approached, holding a gold-rimmed envelope on a tray.
“What’s this?”
