Chapter 15
Eventually, Damian turned his back–though clearly, he was still brooding,
But Deborah suddenly realized something surprising: for someone with such a ruthless reputation, the cold and unfeeling Damian wasn’t completely devoid of humanity.
He even picked up her scattered clothes from the floor and silently placed them back on the bed for her.
Afterward, he sat off to the side, glancing at the wound on his leg with a trace of helplessness.
+15
With Thomas temporarily sent away and no way to summon the imperial physician without arousing suspicion, all he could do was sit there and watch the blood continue to seep from the gash.
Deborah finally managed to dress herself. When she turned around, she saw Damian tearing a strip of cloth to crudely bandage his leg.
She immediately panicked. “Your Highness, wait! There are still shards of vase in the wound–you have to remove them first!”
She climbed down from the bed unsteadily, legs still weak, and staggered toward a nearby chest–one the maids had prepared for her earlier. Inside was her medical pouch.
ཡཎ་ཕོ་དེ
Seeing her return with the kit, Damian raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you know medicine?”
Deborah shot him á glance. “We’ve barely spent time together. How much could you possibly know about me?”
He looked at her, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. After a long pause, he said quietly, “And how much do you want me to know?”
She didn’t answer.
‘Hopefully nothing at all, she thought. “The less he knew, the better. With any luck, they’d never have to interact again!’
She opened the kit. Inside, alongside silver needles, were a few small, unusual tools–razor–sharp blades, tweezers, tiny scissors–all finely crafted and elegant.
Damian frowned. “You plan to defend yourself with those?”
Kneeling beside his leg, Deborah opened her supply box and began cleaning the wound. “They’re not for killing. They’re for saving lives.”
He didn’t reply, only watched her hands–slender, precise, and surprisingly deft.
With patient care, she extracted each shard embedded in his flesh, using those delicate tools with practiced ease.
Her eyes kept drifting to his face. A sheen of sweat clung to his brow, but he didn’t even flinch.
“Doesn’t it… hurt?” she asked hesitantly.
“You think I’d cry out in front of you like some simpering girl?” he scoffed.
“But… it really doesn’t hurt?” His silence was unnerving. She almost felt like she was treating a corpse.
That strange, hollow ache stirred in her chest again.
“Your Highness…”
“It hurts like hell. Now hurry up already!” he snapped irritably.
The
Deborah breathed a quiet sigh of relief. There it was–that grumpy, short–tempered attitude she was all too familiar with.
She quickened her movements, and by the time the night was nearly over, she had properly dressed and bandaged his wound.
Using the table for support, she finally stood. Her limbs were still shaky and unsteady.
She walked slowly back to the chest and began putting her tools away. But as she turned around, she froze–Damian had stood up and was now walking straight toward her.
Panic surged. Instinctively, she stepped back–only to bump into the long bench behind her. Her leg struck the edge hard, and she lost her balance, collapsing awkwardly onto the seat with a soft thud.
She tried to scramble upright, but Damian was already standing in front of her, leaning down, completely blocking her path.
1/2
614
“Your Highness, I’m Simon’s wife!” she said, voice shaking. “If you disrespect me again, he’ll hate
you
for it!”
Just the memory of their earlier entanglement–the kisses, the almost irreversible moment–made her want to cry. She couldn’t let anything else happen tonight. She had to stop it.
But Damian simply stared down at her, expression unreadable. Then, after a long silence, he let out a quiet laugh.
“You really think you can tell the difference between me and Simon?” he murmured, lips curved into something dangerously close to a smirk. “Are you sure you know who was with you in that bridal chamber?”
2/2
