So how exactly was I going to kiss him? Not to mention, this would be our first real kiss together—a significant milestone. The task seemed nearly impossible, fraught with nervousness and anticipation. I had been completely lost in my racing thoughts and found myself staring at him intensely for quite a while, unable to look away. He also kept glancing at me periodically—and under my intense, unwavering gaze, his cheeks gradually turned red, flushing with color.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" he finally managed to ask, his voice slightly uncertain.
"Are you in a lot of pain right now?" I asked him directly, though my eyes betrayed my true thoughts as they traveled deliberately from his lips up to meet his eyes.
"Not much, honestly," he answered, trying to sound casual. "I've been in much worse pain before during campaigns. This wound is nothing by comparison—"
"So I guess you don't want me to kiss it better then," I stated, my voice dripping with obvious flirtation and suggestion.
At those words, his eyes widened dramatically in surprise and hope.
"Actually, I guess it does hurt considerably more than I initially thought," he said quickly, changing his tune entirely. "Ah. It really hurts quite badly." He let out an exaggerated winced expression that would have been comical if it weren't so endearing.
"If you say so," I replied, slowly rising from my seated position. I took deliberate, measured steps toward him, drawing out the anticipation. He visibly gulped, swallowing hard—anticipation clear and bright in his expressive eyes.
He adjusted himself to sit upright on the edge of the bed, his posture straight and tense. He was visibly trembling with nervous energy. I approached him slowly, deliberately, and when I finally stood between his parted legs—mere inches separating us—his breath audibly hitched in his throat.
"Hold onto me by putting your arms around my waist," I instructed him softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
He hesitated for just a moment but then slowly complied with my request. His strong arms wrapped carefully around me, his entire embrace enclosing me and pulling me closer to him until our bodies nearly touched.
I slowly reached up and held his face gently, tilting it upward toward me. Then I started tracing the outline of his handsome face delicately with my fingertips—along his jaw, across his cheekbones, over his brow. He shuddered noticeably under my touch, his eyes closing as he let the sensation wash over him completely.
"Rhia—" he breathed my name like a prayer. I could see in his eyes that he was desperately holding onto one thin thread of rationality, fighting his desire.
I traced his lips with my fingertips, feeling their softness.
"Can I kiss you here?" I asked him, looking directly into his eyes and seeking permission.
"Yes, please," he said, his voice dropping noticeably deeper, his breathing becoming ragged with want.
So that's exactly what I did without hesitation. I slowly pressed my lips against his, leaving a soft, chaste kiss. Then I repeated that action a few times, each kiss lasting slightly longer. Before finally, deliberately biting his lower lip gently. He let out a soft gasp of surprise and pleasure, and his lips parted invitingly.
I let my tongue slide inside his mouth, exploring him much more deeply. At that precise moment, he closed his eyes completely, and I could practically hear his fragile self-control finally snap like a breaking rope.
He pulled me more firmly into him, granting me even more access—our tongues danced together in harmony, neither of us getting nearly enough of each other. He trembled continuously beneath me, his whole body practically vibrating with sensation.
It was absolutely electric, intensely sensual, consuming.
Then it started—I felt the distinct sensation of magic actively leaving my body and flowing purposefully toward his injury, guided by Aiona.
I slowly pushed him down onto the bed, following him down, and positioned myself on top of him, straddling his hips while never once breaking our kiss. Then I finally broke the kiss briefly, only to immediately start kissing him on his exposed neck instead. I left wet, deliberate kisses all over his throat and collarbone, occasionally sucking and gently biting. He shuddered repeatedly under me, his body responding viscerally to each touch.
I broke away from kissing him finally and took a moment to get a good look at my handiwork. He was flushed red from his face down to his chest—and his eyes had watered slightly. Red marks covered his neck and collarbone where I'd been. Oh, how I absolutely loved this sight. I had made him look like that.
Then it happened unexpectedly. Blood began dripping from my nose onto his bare chest, leaving small flower-like patterns. He noticed immediately and sat up quickly, concerned.
"You're having a nosebleed!" he said, genuinely alarmed by my condition. Then he carefully lifted me up, set me gently on the bed, and went searching urgently to find a clean cloth. After some frantic searching through drawers, he found a white handkerchief and handed it to me solicitously. I took it silently and started wiping away the blood from my nose and upper lip.
He sat down next to me, still worried.
"Are you still in pain now?" I asked him, redirecting attention.
At that question, he experimentally lifted his injured arm. His eyes widened.
"Strange, I don't feel any pain at all anymore," he said with surprise. Then, driven by curiosity, he carefully started to loosen the bound linen wrapped around his arm. It came off after a few persistent tries, the fabric falling away.
Under the medicinal herbal pulp, there was no longer any trace of a deep sword cut—there wasn't even a faint scar remaining. The injury had simply vanished completely as if it had never existed.
"When you said you would kiss it better, you were completely serious," he stated with wide, amazed eyes.
---
After that profound moment, we were abruptly informed by a breathless servant that the assassins' bodies had been transported from the forest battlefield to the main courtyard for identification. The imperial soldiers had been sent to thoroughly check the surrounding area for more assassins of the same sort. And they had indeed found someone—a woman. And shockingly, it was Yasmine, the cheerful maid we'd befriended. She was now bound with rope and forced to kneel on the cold ground, right next to the assassins' corpses. There were thirteen bodies total. All of them were confirmed dead. Yasmine had been discovered next to the bodies, desperately trying to retrieve something from one assassin's clothes. When she was caught in the act, she had attacked the soldiers viciously with poisoned darts hidden on her person. But she had eventually been subdued and captured.
The three soldiers who had been struck by her poisoned darts were quickly sent to the infirmary for urgent treatment.
This revelation wasn't what anyone had been expecting. The entire Duke's family stood in the courtyard, staring at the horror displayed before them in complete shock. They looked at Yasmine with utter disbelief etched on their faces. Who would have possibly thought? The perpetually cheerful girl who'd served them had harbored such a dark, murderous secret.
Even Katherine and I were stunned into silence. It had been only a few days ago that Yasmine had talked so warmly with us, and we had genuinely liked her, enjoyed her company. Why would she do this?
That burning question found its way out of Arvid's mouth.
"Why did you do this?" he asked her directly. His voice was cold, devoid of the warmth I knew. I expected Yasmine to burst into tears, begging pathetically for mercy and forgiveness. But that's not what happened at all.
Instead, she just laughed out loud—a creepy, unhinged laughter that mocked everyone assembled around her. It was completely unapologetic and genuinely evil in its tone.
Then she spat contemptuously onto the ground at his feet, openly condemning the man standing before her.
"You, you mixed-blooded monster, killed Prince Siyam—our savior and our protector!" she screamed with raw hatred. "Because of you and your ambition, we were slaughtered wholesale, thrown violently out of the only lands we ever knew—driven away like animals! Because of you, our entire lives were ruined! Do you honestly think we will ever forgive you?" Her anger glistened dangerously in her eyes like flames.
"So you are from the Dergu tribe then?" Arvid questioned calmly, not paying any attention to the insults being hurled at him.
"Then I assume all of the assassins that are now lying dead were also Dergu?" he asked, gesturing to the bodies.
She didn't answer his question, instead launching into cursing him with increasingly creative profanity.
"They are all Dergu tribesmen, Your Majesty," General Rohan answered when she wouldn't, stepping forward.
"I see," Arvid said simply, his piercing gaze falling back onto Yasmine.
"Are your parents Dergu as well?" he asked.
"They are not!" she yelled. "They just adopted me out of pity when I was orphaned—my real parents all died while fighting bravely against your imperial army years ago—these men slaughtered them in cold blood!" She was practically screaming now.
"One day we will succeed in our mission," she vowed venomously. "We will avenge Prince Siyam's unjust death by killing you and throwing your body to wild dogs to eat!"
The venom in her words was palpable.
Arvid just laughed at her threats—actually laughed.
"Let's see then. I'll be waiting eagerly for such a day," was all he replied, completely dismissive.