~Chapter 35~
Yvonne, the physician, came to see Petunia just before noon.
He had meant to come earlier, but he got delayed brewing herbs, making potions, and preparing extra medicine—today was sparring day for the trainee knights, which always meant more injuries than usual. After giving instructions to the other doctors, he finally left the infirmary with his supplies.
Bounding up the stairs on his long, spindly legs, he was greeted by Rene, who looked relieved to see him. As soon as she announced the physician had arrived, the tightly shut bedroom door opened.
The moment Yvonne stepped inside, he froze.
The room reeked of alcohol. The closer he got to the bed, the stronger the stench. On top of that, there was also the sharp sour smell that only came after someone had already thrown up.
Petunia, with Selena’s help, slowly sat up from the bed when she sensed company.
“Greetings, Your Grace the Grand Duchess.”
“Welcome…” she croaked.
Her voice was so weak she sounded half-dead. Clearly, she had drunk far, far too much.
“You don’t need to get up,” Yvonne said.
“No, I can’t just lie down when someone’s come to see me—ugh.”
She winced and held her head.
“It won’t affect my examination if you lie down, so please, stay in bed.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Selena added softly. “Your complexion is far too pale.”
With no choice, Petunia lay back down.
Yvonne sat beside her, checking carefully. Fortunately, she seemed only mildly dehydrated, no other serious issues.
“You didn’t vomit bile, did you?”
“…Bile?”
Petunia blinked at him.
“That very bitter, green liquid—the stuff from your gallbladder,” he explained.
“Oh…”
Her eyes went wide. Back in her university days, when she and her friends had drunk until they dropped, she had seen that green vomit before. She had thought it was just another weird human trick—never realizing it was actually dangerous.
“She didn’t vomit bile,” Selena answered for her, gently massaging Petunia’s hand. The maid’s apron was a mess, showing how much she had struggled to care for her mistress.
“…How much did you drink?” Yvonne asked.
“I… don’t really know,” Petunia mumbled.
He sighed quietly. Rumors had already spread through the mansion: the Grand Duchess had outdrunk even the most notorious retainers. She was the first person to ever defeat Viscount Idnaers, the strongest drinker of them all.
The staff were both impressed and horrified—because on the way back to her room, Petunia had stumbled and fallen again and again, loudly insisting she wasn’t drunk while refusing help.
If Apollyon hadn’t given her his back to carry her, she probably would’ve slept in the front hall.
But the bigger issue was Apollyon himself—he’d been just as drunk, nearly tumbling down the stairs with her on his back. It had been a miracle both of them made it upstairs alive.
Of course, her body was now covered in bruises.
Suppressing his urge to scold, Yvonne silently opened his medicine box and handed her a potion.
“This will ease your hangover. Drink it with water, then rest.”
“Thank you.”
Petunia eyed the yellow-green liquid with suspicion. Potions in games had always looked magical and pretty. This one looked like it had been scooped out of a swamp.
“It’s made only from the finest medicinal herbs,” Yvonne said dryly.
“…Sorry,” she muttered, embarrassed, before swallowing it in one go.
The taste was worse than ten packets of bitter herbal medicine concentrated into one. Her tongue went numb. She nearly cursed out loud, grabbing the water Selena quickly handed her and gulping it down.
While she flailed at the taste, Yvonne prepared disinfectant, ointment, and clean linen.
“Let’s check your injuries. Please roll up your sleeve.”
Petunia froze with a candy in her mouth, then awkwardly pushed up her sleeve. Her elbow was a deep, ugly purple. Yvonne carefully spread ointment, then wrapped it in linen. The cool sting quickly eased the pain.
“Any scrapes or bleeding?”
“Yes.”
With Selena’s help, Petunia lifted her skirt a little. Scabs and raw scrapes lined her legs. Yvonne frowned deeply.
“Good heavens.”
Petunia tensed. That tone always meant a lecture was coming.
“No matter how much you enjoy drinking, you cannot drink until you can’t control your body!”
He scowled and poured disinfectant straight onto her wounds. It fizzed and bubbled.
“Arghhh!” Petunia screamed, thrashing her legs.
“Don’t move. I need to treat it.”
She froze immediately, hands folded primly on her knees like a scolded child.
Yvonne wiped her legs clean; the towel came away stained red with diluted blood.
“In fifty years of life, I’ve never seen a noblewoman drink herself into this state.”
The comment stung. In this world, noble ladies were supposed to be proper and restrained.
But Petunia came from modern times. She hated being judged for double standards.
“So what, is there a law that says noblewomen can’t get drunk?” she shot back.
Yvonne glanced at her, then returned to his work.
“No one, man or woman, should drink until they lose control. I’ve seen squires break ribs falling down stairs, even fools jumping into the midnight sea.”
Petunia’s mouth fell open. Jumping into the sea at night was practically suicide.
“Moderate drinking can lift the mood. But excess destroys both body and mind.”
“….”
“My words weren’t about noble decorum,” Yvonne added. “I treat mostly men. You are the first noblewoman I’ve ever seen this badly injured from drinking. Forgive me if I offended you.”
His tone was so sincere that Petunia felt oddly embarrassed instead of angry. She quickly rearranged her face into something neutral.
“…Fine—ack!”
She tried to sound dignified but shrieked when the cold linen touched her skin. Yvonne secured the bandages tightly and handed Selena a small pile of compress pads.
“Cold compress until the day after tomorrow. Then switch to warm compresses.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Clean the wounds daily, reapply ointment.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Selena bowed low, accepting the supplies.
Petunia, still sulking, glanced sideways at Yvonne.
“…How did you even know to come? I never called for a doctor.”
She looked at Selena, but the maid shook her head too.
“The Duke asked me to come,” Yvonne replied.
“…What?”
“This morning, he came to the infirmary himself. Said you didn’t look well and asked me to visit.”
“Apollyon… asked you? Himself?”
“Yes. He was very concerned.”
Yvonne remembered how awkwardly earnest Apollyon had been. For that quiet, withdrawn man to initiate such a request, he must have been genuinely worried.
Of course—seeing her body so bruised, any husband would be.
Yvonne gathered his things with his usual indifferent expression, not noticing how Petunia’s entire face lit up.
In her ears, only one phrase echoed: “He was very concerned.”
That shy, cautious man had worried about her—enough to ask the doctor himself.
Petunia’s lips curved into a bright, radiant smile. They say no tree can resist if you keep chopping away—guess it’s true.
Beaming, she cheerfully saw Yvonne out. He blinked in surprise at her sudden sweetness but didn’t comment.
To him, it looked like flowers were blooming all around her.
