CHAPTER 20: CHAPTER 20: HER MEDICINE.

Atlas stayed in the mansion’s medic wing. The air smelled faintly of dried herbs and boiled linen, but beneath it was the metallic tang of his own blood. His face and eyes were wrapped in tight bandages, vision muted into a blur of white and shadow. His left shoulder—where Gail’s sword had bitten deep—was stitched, the skin puckered and hot.

It hurt. Oh, God, it hurt.

Not the sharp clean kind of pain, but the gnawing, deep ache that made his breath hitch. And yet, it hadn’t hurt in that moment—back then, in the rush, all he’d seen was Gail. Gail’s face twisted in that maddening, look, satiating Aiden’s self-satisfied grin.

Maybe he’d had a death wish. Maybe some part of him had been begging for this. Every word he’d thrown at Gail had been like pouring oil over a flame. Belouding, mocking—each insult a brick in a bridge he knew would collapse under him. But he didn’t regret it. Not one word. In hindsight, it had been liberating, intoxicating even.

’Even Conish called me crazy... haha,’ he thought, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth beneath the bandages.

A warm hand pressed to his temple. "Ouu!!... slowly, Akidna," he groaned.

"Don’t move," she said softly, voice low like a lullaby that hid steel. She patted a small glass jar. "I quickly took out my own special elixir... just for you."

He tensed as she leaned closer, the faint scent of rose oil brushing against his senses.

"Oouuu!" he hissed, muscles jolting when the cold, viscous liquid met his swollen cheek.

"Aaaa!!... why does your elixir burn more than others?" he barked in pained disbelief.

"Because it works better. Just... be... still, it’s your own fault for approaching something you can never get...." she said, pressing a bit harder on his swelling eye.

With a hint of jealousy, her fingers, small but sure, pinned his jaw gently in place.

"OOUUUU!!!" He bolted, jerking his body in reflex. The movement knocked the jar in her hands, sending the shimmering elixir spilling forward.

It poured all over her chest—down the slope of her dress—soaking the fabric until it clung damp and translucent.

"Oh... you wasted it all," she murmured, her voice not quite disappointment and not quite reproach.

The cold dampness pressed her clothes to her skin, outlining every curve. Aiden’s gaze, even through the haze of pain, fixed on her. His breath caught.

’...she’s not wearing any inner wear?’

"Aiden... you messed my dress up," she said as she rose, the wet fabric pulling away slightly and then clinging again.

His pants tightened, heat creeping under the thin medic sheets covering him. But she didn’t notice—yet.

"Wait..." he called.

She paused, turning as if about to leave. "Huh... I will come back—"

And then her gaze fell. Slowly. The sheet over his lap was rising. Just a little. Her eyes followed the movement, widening faintly before narrowing with a faint, unspoken acknowledgment.

"...Wait. No need to waste the medicine," Aiden said, his voice dipping lower, smoother. "...your garment... it’s already soaked with it. Just take it off and use it..."

The suggestion lingered between them, heavy with implication.

A flicker passed through her eyes—a tinge of something, part curiosity, part desire. His voice had that same pull again, that deep, inexplicable gravity that gnawed quietly at her resolve.

"...Okay," she said. No protest. No hesitation.

Her fingers moved slowly to the buttons at her collar. She didn’t check the door, didn’t shift her shoulders in modesty. Her hands trembled just enough to betray the swirl of thoughts in her mind. Each pop of a button felt like the tick of a clock in an empty hall.

The wet fabric pulled open in increments, revealing damp, glistening skin beneath. Her chest rose and fell—slightly faster than before.

When she reached the last button, the valley of her breasts came into full view. The soaked material clung so tightly that her nipples—already hardened from the cool touch of the elixir—pressed visibly against the shirt.

Aiden’s lips parted.

Her glasses were fogged, framing eyes that darted briefly to his face before returning to her own hands. She pushed the shirt fully open, breath catching as if anticipating... something.

"Ahem."

The voice cut through the air like a blade.

They both froze.

Standing in the doorway—chin high, eyes sharp—was.

Lady Flora. The eye of akidna’s slight jealousy.

Akidna’s hands flew to her chest, clutching the wet fabric together. "Lady Flora!? It’s... it’s—"

"Quite the recovery technique, Akidna," Flora said, stepping forward, her gaze cool but tinged with something unreadable. "And you..." She let her eyes trail to Aiden, her lips curling ever so slightly.

The silence hung, thick as smoke, before the moment fractured.

"Lady Flora!?" Akidna’s voice cracked like brittle glass as she stumbled back, both hands flying to her chest. The wet fabric clung to her like a second skin, every curve and rise of her body outlined beneath the soaked material. Her fingers trembled, but not enough to hide the faint, betraying peaks beneath.

"...it’s... it’s..."

The words died on her tongue.

Flora’s golden eyes were already on her—steady, unblinking, sharpened to a blade’s edge. They didn’t just look. They consumed. That gaze pinned Akidna in place, like a hawk fastening its talons into a rabbit that had made the mistake of running too slow.

Of course Flora knew. She didn’t need explanations, didn’t need an apology. The air between them told her everything. The scent of Akidna’s damp clothes, the pink flush on her cheeks, the way her glasses fogged ever so slightly—signs only a woman with teeth behind her smile would read without mercy.

What would the old Flora have done? The one before Aiden’s arrival, before the slow venom of his presence began to coil around the mansion’s halls?

She might have lashed out openly, humiliated Akidna where she stood. Ripped the truth into the open until it bled. But no. Not now.

No—she knew better. She was nobility. Rage was a weapon that, once unsheathed in public, was as dangerous to its wielder as to its target. A single slip, a single word, and the rumors would run rabid through every corridor and banquet hall in the kingdom. If she so much as claimed him as hers, she would be feeding the fire with her own reputation.

So she smothered it. Not gone—never gone—but pressed down, coiled tight like a viper hiding in the grass, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Her lips curved, but the smile was carved in ice.

"Akidna... thank you for your service." Each syllable fell slow, deliberate, as though her tongue weighed every word like a coin on a merchant’s scale. "Please, it’s late. You can go rest now."

Cold. Polished. The voice of a noblewoman who could take everything from you with a single nod.

Akidna’s gaze flickered once more toward Aiden, as if her will had no say in the matter. That look—Gods, it lingered too long. It wasn’t just want; it was the raw ache of someone caught between fear and craving.

"GO." Flora’s voice cracked the air like a whip. The walls seemed to drink the sound, leaving the room momentarily hollow.

Akidna flinched hard, her spine straightening in a jolt. She nodded so quickly it almost looked like a bow. Her hands remained clenched over her chest, knuckles pale, the fabric darkened by both water and shame. She turned sharply, pacing toward the exit door with hurried, uneven steps.

Her heels struck the wooden floor in quick, sharp beats.

Thud. Thud. Thud—

Then one final, harder step.

Thud!

The sound echoed, unnaturally loud in the stillness she left behind, like a closing gavel.

"....and you..." she voiced, looking at Aiden.