Chapter – 15
“What exactly is the medicine I was given, Your Grace?”
Rona felt flustered. She had assumed that Ireon must have records of the medicine she had taken and thought she could ask the butler about it. If he hadn’t taken it before, she could offer it to him to try. But seeing the faint light emanating from the flower fade and wither, she had panicked and brewed the medicine immediately. In her rush, she hadn’t thought to ask Bernard about it. Anyway, she was certain this flower was the very thing that, in the original story, restored Ireon’s eyesight, so she had let her guard down. Still, standing before Bernard with Ireon in such agony made speaking up almost impossible.
“I… I don’t really know,” she said.
“You don’t know?”
Bernard’s gaze sharpened, as if her words were irresponsibly careless.
“How could you give something you don’t even know to His Grace?”
Rona felt even smaller under the intensity of his raised voice. Her words sounded like excuses, pitiful and weak.
“I’m certain he hasn’t taken it before. I remember the name of the medicine, but I’ve forgotten it. I’ve tried to recall it, but nothing comes to mind…”
“You gave him that?”
“Sniff.”
Rona didn’t know what to do. Tears kept welling up. Even so, Bernard’s reaction remained stern.
“How did you obtain it? Where did the information come from? I’ll have to verify it myself.”
He changed his tone to cold authority.
“I—I can’t reveal that.”
She couldn’t exactly say this was a world inside a book, that she knew because she had read The Blind Beast’s Flower.
“There was… something like a prophecy,” she added.
“What does that mean? Rona, you said you lost your memory, that you can’t recall your past. Are you trying to infiltrate us to harm His Grace…?”
“No! Absolutely not! Even if I told you, you wouldn’t understand.”
Bernard’s expression hardened.
“When His Grace regains consciousness, we’ll discuss how to deal with you.”
Rona merely nodded. From the butler’s point of view, his anger was understandable. She had given the duke something with an unverified origin. Ever since the battlefield, there had been far too many attempts to poison Ireon. Even vegetables and meat were carefully selected from farms he owned, delivered by servants who worked under him.
“I’m prepared,” she said softly.
“Until then, serve His Grace diligently.”
“Yes.”
When Rona left Bernard’s room, she let out a long sigh.
“I thought it was my fault for making the medicine wrong…”
But it wasn’t. She realized that this was how much pain Ireon had endured during treatment. Thinking that it wasn’t her fault should have been a relief, but she couldn’t even say “thankfully.” She now understood where the despair came from—choosing to remain a beast instead of retaining his humanity. Rona was an outsider. Fewer than ten servants remained in the mansion, all comrades who had survived the invisible front lines with him. Their bond was forged in the depths of despair Ireon had endured.
Quietly, Rona entered Ireon’s bedroom. It seemed as if his earlier seizure had never happened; he was lying there, breathing shallowly. His shirt, torn from the struggle, revealed his bare chest. Dried blood clung to his hands, and sweat and blood smeared his face and body.
‘Ireon.’
She wanted to do anything for him. She soaked a towel in lukewarm water and gently wiped his face and forehead, intending to clean him and maybe apply some medicine.
“Uh… ugh?”
A sound came from his mouth, still muffled by the towel.
“Uuuh?”
It almost sounded like he was calling her name, “Rona,” in his usual way.
“Your Grace,” she whispered.
When she called, Ireon nodded slightly. Tears threatened to spill as she forced her voice down, her throat stinging.
“Are you uncomfortable? Shall I remove the towel?”
He nodded emphatically. Having seen Bernard restrain him earlier, Rona was scared, but she removed the towel from his mouth.
Haah.
Ireon drew a shaky breath. Rona froze, unsure what to say. Having learned that he had endured this kind of pain regularly, the thought of easing his suffering made her anxious.
“Did I scare you?” he asked.
“I thought you might run away,” he added.
“Why would you think that?”
“Not many people remain in the mansion. I didn’t think men could endure this. If you were to run too, I’d be disappointed.”
Rona realized that among the female staff, only the gardener and the cook remained, both far from direct service to Ireon.
“Rona.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t run away.”
“I’m not the type to run away, Your Grace.”
He gave a faint, dry smile.
“I want to believe that. That at least one maid didn’t leave after seeing this. But if you run too, I’d be disappointed.”
“I won’t run,” she promised.
“I mean it. I haven’t tried every treatment, so this pain is familiar. It’s been a long time,” Ireon muttered calmly, his expression sadder for its serenity.
“You’ll get better,” Rona said firmly.
“You drank the medicine I made. If your eyes heal, I’ll make you an official member of the duke’s household.”
Rona jumped in shock.
“Don’t say that! Serving you is only natural. I never wished to become an official servant!”
“Who said I’d make you a servant? I… cough.”
His perfect lips were cracked and dry.
“My… throat… cough.”
“Stop talking. I’ll bring you some water.”
She hurried to get a water bottle.
“But… how do I give it to you?”
Ireon’s arms and legs were tied to the bed.
“Shall I untie you?”
“No. Don’t,” he shook his head.
“In case it happens again at dawn.”
If he was tied, it was considered a safe, calm state. If she untied him and he hurt himself, the entire household would have to respond.
“How do I give you water then?”
“Feed me by mouth.”
Rona’s eyes widened as if her throat had stretched.
“Feed you… by mouth? What do you mean…?”
He looked at her as if bewildered by her thoughts.
“What are you thinking? I’m a patient.”
His eyebrows furrowed slightly over eyes smeared with dried blood.
“The butler used to do it before,” he added.
“Oh…”
Rona looked at the water bottle in her hand. If Bernard could do it, she could do it too.
“If it’s too much, wake the butler…”
She placed her hand gently on his cheek. Ireon flinched slightly. As she brought the water to his lips, softly brushing them, he opened his mouth.
At first, it was awkward, but by the second and third time, it became easier.
‘I am like a mother bird,’ she thought.
A hungry baby bird had opened its mouth in the nest. Or perhaps she focused on the sensation of his lips, or the faint smell of sandalwood that tickled her nose when they touched. Regardless, Ireon drank the water calmly. After a few more sips, he exhaled a long, relieved breath.
“Phew…”
Rona wiped his face again with lukewarm water. She wanted to clean him and change his shirt, but with his arms tied, she couldn’t. She applied ointment to the scratches on his forehead and around his eyes. Ireon winced at the sting.
“Try to sleep now,” she said.
Rona tidied the scattered items and stood up.
“I can’t sleep,” he whispered.
It was understandable. Falling asleep might be frightening—uncertain pain could provoke anxiety.
“Read to me,” he requested.
“Shall I? What book would you like?”
Palegara’s War Chronicles.
Rona frowned.
“Not this one? Wouldn’t you like another book?”
He had fallen asleep the last time she read part of it.
“I like this one,” he said.
Rona sighed and retrieved the thick, leather-bound tome with elegant gold embossing. It was so solid it could serve as a weapon.
‘I just hope he doesn’t fall asleep while I read.’
Exhausted as she was, seeing him suffer so much made her want to do anything he asked.
‘I’ll read clearly and steadily.’
If she read with effort, he wouldn’t fall asleep. She focused.
“The Trofalgar were a people who did not know warfare. They did not covet others’ possessions, and their martial arts were close to self-discipline. Trofalgar’s defiance of Paleromo was unprecedented in history.”
Rona’s voice grew fainter as she continued.
“Paleromo underestimated Trofalgar’s forces. That was a grave mistake. In the second campaign, Trofalgar had about 20,000 infantry, 8,000 cavalry. They had 500 cannons in the front line, with 1,200 artillerymen ready to fire in rotation.”
“Then came the shield-bearing assault force of 6,500… and following them, 3,000 archers. But Trofalgar planned a pincer movement. A reserve of 2,500 cavalry in the rear… would break Paleromo’s line… from the side…”
Thud.
Rona’s head dropped onto Ireon’s bed.
“He’s asleep,” she realized.
Ireon chuckled. He resolved to provide generous support to the author of Palegara’s War Chronicles someday. Rona’s hair brushed against his arms, tickling slightly, but he didn’t mind. He turned his head toward her. Beyond the darkness of pain, Rona’s faint scent reached him. Even in the blind darkness, listening to her breathing, he found some small comfort.
He had endured this agony every time he treated his eyes. It was so unbearable that he sometimes wished he could remain blind just to end the pain. Yet now, in the midst of this suffering, he found himself smiling. Not exactly hope, but a feeling close to it. Her presence was inexplicably empowering.
“I rely on you, Rona. I will never let you go, not in my lifetime.”
