Chapter 32. Low Fever
Ninia was dragged along by her wrist in his grip. Staring at Tarahan’s back, she thought it all felt unreal—even the reason she had ended up here in the first place.
Since she had left Tarahan’s bedchamber, he had paid her no attention. Even when their eyes happened to meet, it was the same: a cold and meaningless gaze.
Perhaps his indifference was punishment. With feverish eyes, Ninia glanced at the clock. Midnight was not far away—just as Mierne had told her.
“Come to His Grace’s chamber at midnight, and I’ll show you something worth seeing, Lady Ninia.”
That’s what Mierne had whispered to her only hours earlier.
Smiling with the face of a temptress who had swallowed both snake and apple, Mierne had left her there frozen in place until the swish of her dress finally disappeared from sight.
Was she promising to show me the night she shares with Tarahan?
Ninia had a vague idea of what Mierne meant. Sharp claws seemed to scrape the thin inner walls of her body.
A strange and unfamiliar pain consumed her. Ninia, who had always lived with restrained emotions, now felt this new feeling, born from another woman’s scars, spreading through her like poison.
Ten minutes before midnight, Ninia found herself rising from bed and leaving her room.
The corridor was lined with sparse lanterns that barely lit her way. The thick darkness felt like a mirror of her inner turmoil.
I don’t have to go.
She tried to reason with herself. Nothing good would come of it. She might end up witnessing the most painful sight of her life. Yet her steps would not stop.
Eventually, she reached the hallway leading to the Grand Duke’s chambers. Just as she was about to round the corner, a sharp female scream split the silence.
Servants rushed out, and Ninia quickly hid behind a wall. A loud thud followed, something hitting the wall and crashing to the floor. It was Mierne.
What happened?
Ninia clapped a hand over her mouth as she saw Tarahan himself toss Mierne aside. Even then she quieted her breathing, terrified of being discovered. Soon, by his command, the marquis came striding down the hall.
From beginning to end, Ninia witnessed it all.
I should go back.
She knew instinctively these were things she wasn’t meant to see. When the marquis and Mierne disappeared, the corridor was left empty but for her.
She thought she could simply slip away. But then came the sound of approaching boots.
At first, she thought he was just returning to his chamber. But the steps didn’t bother to hide themselves, and they carried him straight toward her.
I’ll fall—
Caught by the wrist, Ninia stumbled as Tarahan dragged her along. One stride of his equaled three or four of hers. At the door of his chamber, he suddenly stopped. Ninia bumped her forehead into his back.
“…”
He turned his head to look down at her. Afraid of seeing reproach in his eyes, Ninia didn’t dare meet his gaze.
He let out what sounded like a sigh, then pulled her into the chamber. Dazed, Ninia found herself seated on the edge of the bed, blinking at the stark room.
Thinking of Mierne being in this place moments ago felt strange. Stranger still was the fact that she herself had ended up here again.
“Give me your hand.”
After leaving her alone briefly, Tarahan returned to the bed with a wooden box.
Startled by the command, still dazed, Ninia offered both her hands.
One of them was still bleeding. Tarahan seized that hand and pressed a clean cloth firmly against the wound.
“Ugh…”
“Bear it.”
He responded curtly to her small groan. Only then, feeling the pressure, did Ninia realize she was hurt at all.
When the bleeding was staunched, he began wrapping her hand in bandages. His movements, circling the cloth between thumb and finger, were practiced.
“…You’re skilled.”
The words slipped out before she caught herself, sounding almost dazedly honest. Too late, she realized this was not the sort of thing one should say in such a relationship.
But contrary to her expectation, he didn’t rebuke her. He said nothing. Ninia fell silent too. The heat radiating from his grip on her wrist was vivid, and the pain in her palm had already eased.
“Leaving without permission, returning as you please… Even a beast wouldn’t be so stupidly careless. Are you beneath that?”
She blinked slowly, taking a moment to absorb his words. Odd. He spoke as harshly as always, but tonight the sharpness in his tone didn’t cut as deep.
Never before had anyone treated her wounds. With a body that healed easily, no one worried if she got hurt. Here, she had seen doctors for the first time and taken medicine. But Tarahan’s care felt entirely different.
“Thank you.”
Instead of replying to his insult, Ninia expressed gratitude. She curled her bandaged hand experimentally—it didn’t hurt. Whoever had dressed it clearly knew what they were doing.
Tarahan stared at her strangely, having been thanked after scolding her. She was a woman with a knack for making people uncomfortable—and somehow, that drew him in. Ninia, oblivious to his thoughts, asked quietly:
“Will the guests be leaving the castle now?”
“They will.”
His voice was flat. Running away in disgrace would even serve the marquis better. If the man tried to endure out of pride, Tarahan intended to give him a new experience.
“Why? Regret you can’t go with them?”
Even after finishing, he was still gripping her wrist. His hold seemed to tighten. Ninia shook her head slowly. Unlike her earlier frightened expression, she now answered with unexpected calm.
“No. I think it’s fortunate.”
Her face was open, pure, without guile. Tarahan knew she had refused the earl earlier. He also knew she had never shown desperation to escape this place. Yet the anger in him was unbearable.
A woman who seduced with intent was one thing—but Ninia, too harmless and ignorant, was far worse.
“I’ll stay here. If that’s what you want.”
Yes. That was the problem: eyes like that, speaking such words so easily. His gaze burned over her, torn between innate violence and the simpler urge to torment her.
Her cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes a little hazy. His brow furrowed. Instead of pushing her down, he pressed a hand to her forehead.
“You have a fever.”
“…Yes. Probably.”
She admitted it softly. She had been weak even at dinner earlier. Clearly she was still unwell.
He pushed her shoulder. With a small gasp, she toppled back onto the bed, looking up at him in confusion.
“Lie down.”
“…Here?”
Her eyes flicked about nervously. His brows drew down, his expression harsh again.
“Shut your mouth and close your eyes.”
His patience was fraying. Sensing it, she obediently shut her eyes. But perhaps not trusting her, he added:
“If you sneak out again, you won’t be walking afterward.”
The menace in his voice made her nod with eyes shut and lips sealed.
Is she clever or foolish?
He told her to be quiet and close her eyes, and she answered in her own way—creatively, infuriatingly. Tarahan was still staring down at her when her long lashes fluttered faintly. She peeked up at him.
“Good night.”
With that, she closed her eyes again. Soon, the soft rhythm of her breathing filled the room. Fever tugged her swiftly into sleep.
It was a night shrouded in pale mist. Tarahan lingered there, staring at the sleeping woman’s face for a long time.
