ITMFYWCLBU 21

“How much time has passed…?”

“I’m back.”

At Alexis’s voice from the adjoining room, Clarisse jerked her head up.

Most of the cleanup was finished, but they would inspect the room again once morning light came, just in case—and since the carpet needed to be replaced, Mathilda would have to stay in Gracian’s room for the time being.

Clarisse and Bruyette had been told they could return to their rooms. But Clarisse had been too worried about Alexis to leave, and had asked to wait a little longer in Mathilda’s room.

Alexis had returned safely—relief flooded her, and she rose from the sofa to go back to her room.

Then Gracian’s startled voice struck her ears.

“You’re injured!”

“What?!”

Clarisse practically sprang into the air and, forgetting everything else, bolted out into the corridor.

“Lord Alexis!”

She found Alexis and Gracian speaking in the hallway and rushed toward them. Alexis noticed her and widened his eyes.

“Clarisse? What are you doing—”

“Clarisse helped tidy Mathilda’s room,” Gracian explained in her place. “After that, you didn’t come back, so she was worried and stayed to wait.”

Clarisse couldn’t bring herself to care about explanations.

Alexis had a handkerchief pressed to his arm—and the cloth was stained red.

Seeing Clarisse go pale, Alexis smiled as if to reassure her.

“Ah, this? The knife the culprit threw just grazed me. It’s not a big wound. I’m fine.”

“Whether you think it’s fine or not, you’re going to have it looked at,” Gracian snapped. “Now—what about the intruder who broke into Mathilda’s room?”

“I’m sorry. We lost them. They must know the area—after chasing for a while, I turned a corner and they vanished.”

“I see…” Gracian’s expression tightened. “No, don’t dwell on it. It was night—visibility was poor. For now, we’ll increase security around Mathilda’s quarters.”

“Around yours as well,” Alexis added.

“…Yes. That too.”

Gracian rested a hand at his chin, then shook his head. “We’ll think about it tomorrow.”

“Mathilda will sleep in my room tonight,” he continued. “You—go to the physician. Clarisse, sorry, but go with him. If I tell him to go alone, he may decide it’s too much trouble.”

“Understood.”

Clarisse clasped her hands at her chest and nodded solemnly. Alexis’s brows drew together in a troubled curve.

“Your Highness… Clarisse might be frightened by the blood—”

“If I send her back to her room now, she’ll only worry more,” Gracian said flatly. “It’s Clarisse. She’ll stay awake until morning. If you don’t want your fiancée to be sleep-deprived, go with her.”

“…All right.”

Alexis gave a helpless shrug, took a step as if to leave with Clarisse—and then turned back, as if remembering something.

“Your Highness—about the knife that was thrown at me. I’ve had it collected. After wiping off the blood, I’ll have it delivered so you can examine it. Though… it looked like something common. It may not be much of a clue.”

“Yes, yes, understood. Now go.” Gracian waved him off as if shooing away a stray dog. “And after your treatment, you can rest until morning. I’ve assigned someone else to my guard.”

“Please be careful,” Alexis said.

“I will.”

“Lord Alexis… shall we go?”

After bowing to Gracian, Clarisse gently touched Alexis’s uninjured arm.

With the commotion, the physician should already be awake.

When they reached the infirmary on the first floor, a bespectacled doctor in his forties was waiting—perhaps because Gracian had sent word. Clarisse didn’t recognize him, but there were around ten royal physicians at the castle, and she’d heard three new ones had joined recently. He might be one of them.

“The chief physician is with Princess Wiejeny, so I’ll examine you,” the doctor said.

Perhaps surprised that Clarisse had accompanied Alexis, he blinked in mild astonishment—then his eyes softened behind his glasses.

“Has something happened to Princess Wiejeny?”

The chief physician was a man Clarisse knew well—a stern-looking doctor in his sixties, a veteran who had served the royal family since his twenties and accompanied them to the summer villa every year.

While inspecting Alexis’s arm, the doctor shook his head.

“No. The disturbance woke her, and she said she couldn’t sleep from anxiety—she requested a sedative. The chief physician went to her room. His Majesty, Her Majesty, and the Second Consort were awake as well, so after seeing to the princess, he plans to check on them before returning.”

“I see…”

Clarisse nodded, though she found herself thinking that Wiejeny didn’t seem the type to be so delicate as to be rattled by a commotion.

The doctor leaned closer to the wound.

“It’s not deep, but it’s a good cut. Shall we stitch it?”

“What—?!” Clarisse nearly gasped aloud.

Alexis had said it wasn’t serious, but if stitching was required…

When Clarisse looked properly, the gash was indeed sizeable. Her face crumpled as if she might cry. Alexis’s expression sharpened, like he might click his tongue.

“No, it’s not a big injury—”

“It’s big enough,” the doctor said firmly.

Alexis let out a long breath.

“…My fiancée will worry.”

“Then let’s treat it properly,” the doctor replied without hesitation. “If you develop tetanus, it won’t be a laughing matter. I’ll disinfect it first. It will sting, but bear with me.”

And just like that, the decision was made.

Alexis glanced at Clarisse, concern in his eyes.

“It won’t be pleasant to watch. Clarisse, you should return to your room—”

“No. I’m staying.”

If it needed stitches, all the more reason. Clarisse couldn’t bring herself to leave.

She sat close to him and clutched the hem of his shirt, as if anchoring herself. She was afraid—of the injury, of the needle and thread—but she couldn’t go back to her room.

“Then close your eyes while they stitch it,” Alexis murmured. “You look like you’ll faint before I do.”

He covered her eyes with his uninjured hand. Perhaps because he’d been pressing the handkerchief to his wound, his skin carried the faint scent of blood—only deepening Clarisse’s unease.

(This wasn’t supposed to happen…)

In her memories, there had never been an incident where an intruder entered Mathilda’s room and Alexis was hurt.

(Something really is changing, little by little.)

Was it because Clarisse had returned to the past? Or because she had acted differently from the life she once lived—because she tried to break off her engagement?

(If I hadn’t done anything unnecessary… maybe Alexis wouldn’t have been hurt.)

If Clarisse had lived exactly as she had before, the same future would have arrived.

(This time it’s just a wound… but what if, next time, something happens to Alexis…?)

Clarisse didn’t want to be hurt. She didn’t want to be betrayed.

But more than that—she didn’t want danger to come near Alexis.

If her actions caused him harm—if anything happened to him—she might not be able to go on living.

“It’s all right, Clarisse.”

Alexis’s voice was gentle, meant to soothe her, but Clarisse couldn’t feel soothed at all.

Being betrayed was something she could survive by leaving.

But losing him—

“Lie down on that bed. I’ll stitch it. We’ll use anesthesia,” the doctor said.

Anesthesia was a newer technique, and Clarisse had heard there were several types.

“Depending on how well it takes, you may feel some pain. Endure it.”

Alexis lay down, and Clarisse moved to the other side so she wouldn’t get in the doctor’s way, sitting by Alexis’s pillow.

Just as the doctor began preparing the anesthesia, the door clacked open and the chief physician strode in.

“Ah, I’m exhausted. Making such a fuss because she was scared— …Huh? What’s this?”

He had sharp eyes and a rough mouth, this chief physician. He cursed often—but his hands were skilled, and beneath the gruffness, he could be unexpectedly kind.

He stared at Alexis on the bed, then at Clarisse seated by his head, eyes widening.

“Doctor, it seems he was injured—”

“Hah? Let me see.” The chief physician leaned in. “That’s a nasty slice. What, you’re stitching it?”

“Yes, that was my plan—”

“Then I’ll do it. What anesthesia are you using?”

“Um, I was just preparing—”

The younger doctor looked flustered and, oddly, tried to hide the bottles behind his back.

Clarisse frowned—until the chief physician’s expression turned thunderous.

“You idiot! What are you doing using something that strong for a cut like this? And if you combine that with that, you’ll get side effects! Trying to make him dependent, you moron?!”

The roar made the room vibrate.

But what truly terrified Clarisse wasn’t the volume—it was what he’d said.

(W-wait… was that doctor really about to use something dangerous?!)

She’d felt reassured by his calm demeanor. The thought that he might have used an inappropriate anesthetic on Alexis made her blood run cold.

In front of Clarisse’s whitening face, the chief physician snatched the bottles from the younger man.

“That’s it—I’ll do everything. You stand there and watch! Idiot! Honestly—!”

Cursing all the while, he prepared the anesthesia with efficient, practiced hands.

“Miss, turn your face away. If you’re worried, just hold his hand. Watching isn’t going to make you feel any better.”

Then he pressed a cloth soaked in medicine over Alexis’s mouth.

“Breathe in slowly.”

Following the instruction, Alexis inhaled—and his expression gradually went unfocused.

The chief physician prodded Alexis’s arm with the tip of a needle, checking his response, then nodded with satisfaction.

After disinfecting the wound again, he began stitching with swift precision.

When the suturing was done, the chief physician said that once Alexis woke, someone should call for him—and he and the others moved into the adjoining room.

Clarisse stared at Alexis as he slept and let her thoughts drift.

The bandaged arm looked painfully severe. The chief physician had said it would hurt for a while once the anesthesia wore off, and that he’d prescribe pain medicine.

Perhaps because the anesthesia was still strong, Alexis’s sleeping face was peaceful.

Clarisse reached out and gently brushed his bangs aside.

They’d said he might run a fever from the wound, but at the moment he didn’t look feverish.

Alexis had always been healthy. Even in the future she remembered, he rarely fell ill.

And perhaps because of that, seeing him like this—injured, treated, asleep—made Clarisse’s worry swell into something frighteningly irrational, as though he might never wake.

(…I’m so selfish.)

She’d wanted to leave Alexis because she didn’t want to be betrayed.

But the moment she imagined losing him, she couldn’t bear to let him go.

It was almost laughably simple, even to herself—and yet perhaps that was the answer.

Clarisse hated the thought of being killed—of dying.

But more than that, she hated the thought of losing Alexis.

If she changed the future and it led to Alexis dying… she would never, ever be able to forgive herself.

(Even if I end up dying in the same way… I want to stay with him until then.)

Even if she was betrayed again. Even if she was hurt again. It didn’t matter anymore.

Clarisse leaned forward slowly and pressed a kiss to Alexis’s forehead.

(I love you…)

Even if she was betrayed, even if that betrayal led to her death—this feeling would not disappear.

So… it was fine.

Even if the same future awaited, as long as she could spend what time remained at his side—then that would be enough.