~CHAPTER 91~
The next morning.
Vincent adjusted his clothes with the help of his attendant, Clark.
Clark looked at Vincent’s reflection in the mirror and said,
“Your Highness, you look splendid as always.”
At his flattering remark, Vincent replied curtly,
“Has the Lady awakened?”
“Ah, I’ll check right away.”
Clark quickly stepped out of the room.
Moments later, he returned.
“There’s no one outside, so I’m not sure. I think Vivian was on duty this morning, but I’m not sure if she went inside or to the laundry…”
Listening quietly, Vincent began walking himself.
From his room to Amelia’s room was barely ten steps away.
The corridor was empty, just as Clark had said.
Vincent waited a moment at the door.
Then, catching a faint sound from inside, he carefully knocked.
*Knock, knock—*
“Amelia.”
He heard another sound.
It was faint enough that only his ears could catch it—Amelia’s cough.
Vincent knocked again, a bit harder than before.
*Knock, knock, knock.*
“Amelia, are you awake?”
This time, there was no response.
Sensing something wrong, Vincent didn’t hesitate to open the door.
“Amelia.”
The air inside was cool.
Amelia was still lying on the bed.
Vincent carefully approached her bedside.
…Something’s off.
Her face was flushed, sweat beading on her forehead as she breathed heavily.
Vincent placed his hand on her forehead and cheek.
“…Damn.”
As expected, she was burning up.
What had Vivian been doing to let Amelia get like this?
Normally, Vivian, Amelia’s personal maid, should have been the first to notice and take care of her.
“Clark.”
The attendant, loitering near the door, hurried over and bowed.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Fetch the palace physician. And find out where Vivian is.”
Clark quickly scanned the situation and nodded.
“Yes, understood.”
Glancing at Vincent, who was looking down at Amelia with concern, Clark left the room.
Vincent rose, closed the open window, then sat again by her side.
He pulled the thick blanket down slightly, thinking it might be making her fever worse.
Then he saw her neck and collarbone glistening with sweat.
It wasn’t even an indecent sight, yet—
Feeling like he was doing something wrong, Vincent forced his eyes back to her face.
Her lips, parted slightly with each shallow breath, were red and soft-looking.
Her peach-tinted cheeks were both pitiful and strangely alluring.
Vincent abruptly stood and began pacing the room, muttering under his breath.
“I’ve lost my mind.”
She’s sick, for God’s sake. What am I thinking.
Even so, he stopped and looked at her again from a distance.
She was ill not long ago at House Royce… Was she always this fragile?
As he thought that, he glanced around the room.
Now that I think of it, this is the first time I’ve properly been inside her room.
He had once ordered her chambers to be decorated according to her taste.
The bright, ornate interior was far from his own preference.
Yet seeing Amelia there, he thought it suited her perfectly.
When she becomes Crown Princess, I’ll have to open the adjoining room to make her a reception area. She’ll need her own study, too.
Realizing what he had just thought, Vincent froze and covered his face with his palm.
“Ha…”
He let out a sigh, frustrated at himself for so naturally imagining Amelia as his Crown Princess.
Slowly, he looked at the bed again.
Her chest rose and fell with each uneven breath, her white neck and delicate features framed by soft hair.
His gaze kept returning to her lips.
The room was too quiet.
He could hear his own heartbeat, growing faster.
It was unmistakably his own heart pounding.
A bitter laugh escaped him.
Me? In love with this woman?
He refused to admit it.
Then, Amelia stirred slightly and moved her lips.
“Wa…ter…”
Startled, Vincent froze and stared at her.
She furrowed her brows, murmuring for water.
On the bedside table was a crystal decanter and a cup.
Vincent poured water, sat beside her, and tried to lift her up.
“Amelia.”
Whether it was fever or drowsiness, her body sagged limply into his arms.
He gently laid her back down and stared at her for a moment.
Then he took a sip of water himself.
As he leaned closer, their faces drew near—lips almost touching—when Vincent froze.
What… am I doing?
Realizing it, he swallowed the water down instead.
Just then, Amelia’s eyelids fluttered open, revealing her vivid red eyes.
Their eyes met at a dangerously close distance.
Vincent couldn’t move, stunned.
How was he supposed to explain this?
Amelia blinked slowly.
“Don’t… kill me…”
Her voice was faint, barely audible, but clear to his ears.
After whispering that puzzling line, she closed her eyes again.
Vincent shot up immediately.
He paced near the window, unable to approach or leave.
He couldn’t bear to look at her.
What did she mean?
Don’t kill me?
Had he ever once shown murderous intent toward her?
No… had I ever truly wanted to kill her?
At the beginning of his regression, yes.
He had sworn to destroy her—to make her die in despair—for poisoning him.
But when he actually faced her, that burning hatred began to fade.
Ever since, he had forced himself to remember his vow and suppress every feeling.
So now… do I still want her dead?
He couldn’t answer.
Could I even kill her with my own hands?
He could still see those soft, trembling lips in his mind.
He had barely stopped himself from kissing her, but he knew—it wasn’t just desire.
Vincent slowly turned toward Amelia again.
He wanted her to recover soon.
That was concern.
No one worries for the person they plan to kill.
Vincent sighed deeply, covering his face.
He felt torn between wanting to leave and wanting to stay.
Then, thankfully—or perhaps not—Clark returned.
“Your Highness.”
Behind him stood the palace physician and another maid, not Vivian.
Clark looked uneasy.
“See to her.”
Vincent instructed the physician to examine Amelia.
The unfamiliar maid tended nervously at the bedside.
Vincent spoke to Clark.
“Come with me.”
He led Clark into the corridor.
“Where is Vivian?”
“She… wasn’t in a state to come, Your Highness.”
“Why? Is she sick like the Lady?”
“She’s… yes, sick, but…”
Clark trailed off suspiciously.
Vincent’s voice hardened.
“Clark, speak clearly.”
