Chapter 18
Yes, that was the normal reaction. A response of pity and concern for someone as noble as Divoa, wondering how he could have fallen victim to such a terrible illness. And, beyond that, fear of losing him to this cursed disease.
Especially his parents and siblings. They were heartbroken over their beloved youngest son’s fate. The queen blamed herself, and the king tried to deny the harsh reality. His siblings pitied Divoa while secretly feeling relieved it wasn’t their burden to bear.
From the start, the king and queen opposed Divoa going to the territory. Norte was a land of frequent skirmishes. Managing it through a representative would have sufficed.
But Divoa insisted on going, stubbornly. He was suffocating under their overprotectiveness, as though he were a precious jewel kept locked away.
In the end, the king couldn’t sway Divoa and sent Javier, a trusted knight, as his escort. And Divoa survived. For now, at least.
“What could they possibly do by coming here?”
Divoa’s voice carried a bitter tone. His self-deprecating remark left Javier at a loss for words.
Divoa was right. Even if the headmaster or Professor Figueras came, it wouldn’t change the situation. It was an incurable disease.
“It seems the bleeding has stopped,” Divoa said indifferently, as though it had nothing to do with him. His calm gaze rested on his hand, more specifically, on Irene’s hand, which was pressing firmly against his wound.
She was applying so much pressure that her palm, visible through the blood-soaked cloth, had turned white.
A faint laugh escaped Divoa’s lips.
Irene’s eyes finally shifted downward. As he had said, the bleeding had slowed. Only after completely soaking the white cloth in crimson.
Once Irene was sure the bleeding had stopped, she finally removed her hand. As she did, a sharp tingling sensation swept over Divoa’s hand.
Divoa flexed his hand, opening and closing it. The bleeding had stopped, and his movement felt normal.
Holding the red-stained cloth, Irene spoke in an even tone.
“Fortunately, the wound is small enough to stop the bleeding. If it had been any larger, I couldn’t guarantee the same outcome. As you already know, Your Highness, you must be cautious not to get injured.”
Javier, who had been glaring at Irene, couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Be careful not to get injured? Do you realize who caused this in the first place? Look at the result of Miss Rios’s carelessness!”
Divoa raised a hand to calm him. Javier clenched his jaw but fell silent.
“It’s fine. It was my carelessness,” Divoa said firmly.
“But Your Highness—”
“Enough.”
Javier’s displeasure was evident, but Divoa’s decision was unyielding.
Irene now understood Javier’s overreaction. Even a small wound couldn’t be taken lightly. No one could predict which injury would be Divoa’s undoing.
Then suddenly:
“Shh.”
Divoa raised a finger to his lips and winked playfully, flashing a charming smile.
“My illness is a secret,” he said.
“Yes,” Irene replied blankly, nodding.
Javier’s menacing voice followed.
“Only a handful of people know this. If, by any chance, Miss Rios speaks of it carelessly, she shouldn’t expect to wake up tomorrow morning.”
“Javier, mind your manners with a lady,” Divoa reprimanded. But Javier didn’t take his eyes off Irene, waiting for her to promise.
Divoa sighed lightly and smiled kindly.
“I hope you’ll forgive my knight’s excessive worry, Miss Irene.”
Irene didn’t look frightened or intimidated. She wasn’t fazed at all. Her usual calm voice slipped through her lips.
“You don’t have to worry. I don’t have anyone to tell. As you know, no one likes talking to me. I even go to the restroom alone.”
“…”
An awkward silence hung in the air. Javier frowned, and Divoa raised an eyebrow.
Thinking her explanation wasn’t enough, Irene added,
“I read in a book that women usually share secrets in restrooms. Was that wrong? Was it supposed to be a lounge instead?”
“Pfft.”
Divoa covered his face with his hand, shoulders shaking as he chuckled. Javier’s frown deepened.
Seeing their reactions, Irene stopped talking, realizing she’d made another mistake. Though she wasn’t sure what it was.
But then—
“Hahaha!”
Unable to hold back, Divoa burst into laughter. Irene had no idea what was so funny.
Divoa’s laughter rippled through the air, almost tangible as it brushed past her. Irene stood still, as if caught in a downpour, soaked in his laughter.
She finally asked, “Why do you fight on the front lines, Your Highness?”
The question was unexpected, or perhaps it was just too dull. Divoa’s laughter disappeared without a trace.
“Hmm,” Divoa mused, lazily meeting her gaze. “Maybe because I’m bored?”
“…”
Irene didn’t respond, unsure how his answer related to her question.
But Divoa elaborated,
“My physician, Miguel Plithido, doesn’t know about my condition. I fight on the front lines not just to defend the kingdom but to inspire the soldiers. A commander’s presence in battle boosts morale. How could I expect men to risk their lives if I hid in the rear, shouting orders?”
“…”
“If the people of Alvar learned about my illness, what do you think would happen?”
Irene stayed silent, but they both knew the answer: chaos.
“So now that you know, I’d prefer if you became my physician,” Divoa murmured, almost to himself, studying her reaction.
“What do you think?”
Divoa’s words were skillful, steering the conversation to his advantage. And he didn’t hesitate to use his weaknesses to achieve his goals.
“Having you by my side would put me at ease. Then I wouldn’t have to tell anyone else my secret. Secrets are strongest when few people know them.”
And Divoa subtly played on Irene’s guilt. After all, it was her mistake that led to her discovering his secret.
Irene understood his reasoning. If things had gone poorly, she could have been punished severely, perhaps even executed.
But Divoa hadn’t done that.
Why?
Why did he keep showing her kindness?
“Well, Miss Irene, will you become my physician?”
