Her hands clasped tightly over her mouth, eyes wide, staring at the harsh, jagged injury etched across his back. His head was turned slightly to the side, revealing a faint grimace, and her body grew cold at the sight. "W-what happened to you?" she stammered, her voice trembling like a leaf caught in the wind. Every instinct in her screamed at the severity of the wound, the deep crimson cutting across pale skin, raw and unforgiving.
He ignored her question, walking steadily toward the lake. His steps were calm, deliberate, as though the pain didn't exist, as though the injury was nothing more than an inconvenience. He sat on the smooth stones at the lake's edge, letting his legs dip into the clear, glimmering water, creating small ripples that reflected the moonlight in fractured silver.
"What?" he asked suddenly, sensing her hesitation behind him. His voice was calm yet detached, revealing nothing of the depth of what lay beneath the surface.
"I… isn't it hurting?" she asked, her voice light, laced with genuine concern. Her eyes were fixed on the wound, tracing the curves and lines, trying to understand how someone could bear such injury and remain so composed.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile broke across his face. "It is," he said softly. He seemed to linger on her reaction, almost curious to see what she would do next.
"Master Dorian, you need to apply some ointment on it… to ease the pain," she said, stepping slightly closer despite herself. Her concern was genuine, her tone carrying a softness that made him pause. He didn't know why, but he found himself appreciating the way she worried for him, admiring the care and tenderness she offered so freely.
"I don't think it's needed," he said, wanting to hear her argue, wanting to see the stubborn insistence in her eyes.
"No, Master Dorian," she replied, moving closer, her soft skirts brushing over the stones as she approached. "It's needed. If you don't treat it, it won't heal properly and it could leave ugly scars on you." She pressed the point further, her eyes locking with his, determined yet anxious.
"Fine," he said, finally turning to face her. "I'll treat it," he added, almost reluctantly, which made a light smile spread across her face.
"Do you want to help?" he asked, making her freeze in place. Silence settled between them like a tangible presence. He watched her intently, his eyes dark, sharp, unwavering, waiting for her response.
"Master, I… I believe that is the work of a physician, not a maid," she said, bowing her head slightly, trying to assert reason over the fluttering nerves in her chest.
"But you said I should treat it," he countered, his voice low and calm, "if it's not done, it won't heal properly, and it will leave ugly marks." His gaze was steady, compelling, leaving her little room for argument.
She hesitated. "I did say that, Master Dorian…" she murmured, unsure how her words could withstand the weight of his insistence.
"It's late. Very late," he continued, "we shouldn't wait till dawn. The wound could get infected."
The logic struck her immediately; she nodded, understanding. "I… I—"
"Get a first aid box," he interrupted, decisively. "I'll be here waiting."
She stared at him for a long, quiet moment, before bowing deeply and hurrying back to the mansion. Her steps echoed lightly on the stone floor as she raced to retrieve the first aid supplies. Dorian watched the water ripple around his legs, playing with it absentmindedly, a faint, almost foreign smile ghosting over his face. There was something almost mischievous in the way he lingered, waiting for her return.
When she finally arrived, he noticed immediately sweat clung to her temples, strands of her hair sticking together, evidence of her hurried journey. She had changed her clothes, an action he noted with both gratitude and an unspoken, complicated amusement.
"Why are you sweating?" he asked calmly.
"Nothing, Master Dorian. I… I just had to hurry so as not to keep you waiting," she replied, breathless, her chest heaving as she tried to regain composure.
He said nothing, just studied her, his gaze lingering in her dark, expressive eyes before speaking again. "Come," he said simply.
She looked at him, slightly confused, until he added, "The ointment won't apply itself."
Her heart thumped in her chest like a drum, and her hands trembled uncontrollably. She lowered herself to sit beside him, folding her legs delicately as she opened the box of supplies. Silence surrounded them, punctuated only by the faint lap of water against the rocks and her rapid heartbeat.
She dipped the cotton wool into the antiseptic, her movements careful, slow. "It will hurt," she murmured, barely audible. He said nothing, remaining still, letting her continue. She gently cleaned the dried blood from his back, each touch light and hesitant, yet deliberate.
He liked the sensation, though he didn't understand why. When she blew softly across the wound to ease the sting, his body stiffened slightly not in discomfort, but in an unfamiliar awareness. Despite himself, he didn't hate it.
When she finished cleaning, she picked up the bandage. Her hands froze, realizing she would have to wrap it around him, which meant moving in closer. Dorian noticed immediately.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Um… nothing," she replied quickly, her face flushing red.
Her hands trembled as she began wrapping the bandage across his back, slowly making her way around to the front. She paused, realizing she'd have to stand in front of him, but the lake prevented her from doing so without soaking herself again.
"Master Dorian," she whispered.
He hummed in response.
"Please… turn around," she said, tense.
He wasted no time. Sliding his legs from the water, he turned to face her. Their eyes met, and her breath caught. The closeness of his body, the contours of his chest, the sculpted lines, it was all impossibly distracting.
"Continue," he said, his voice low, unwavering, eyes locked on hers.
"O-okay," she stammered, hands shaking as she carefully wrapped the bandage around his torso. After many clumsy attempts, she needed to pin it at the back. The words failed her; instead, she leaned in slightly, bridging the gap between them just enough to finish.
She retreated swiftly, sitting back on her heels. "It's done," she said, lips slightly parted, the words hanging between them in the cool night air.
He placed his hands on the bandage, fingers brushing lightly. "You really deserve a tip for work well done," he said, his voice bringing her back to the present.
She quickly stood, giving a deep bow. "Master Dorian, may I take my leave now?" she asked politely.
He stared, contemplating, his expression seeming to want to keep her there, then he nodded. "Sure." He turned back to the lake, leaving her to retreat to the mansion, heart racing, cheeks flushed, and thoughts scattered. She knew sleep would not come easily tonight.
---
Dorian, strode from the mansion, the sun high in the sky. It was a new day.
"Where are you going?" Nathaniel asked, arriving late, his brow furrowed with curiosity.
"Late Duke William's residence," Dorian replied smoothly.
"Why?" Nathaniel asked, though politics and dukes were not his usual concern.
"To show that I am a good person… and share fake sympathies," Dorian said, his tone teasing, almost unreadable.
"I guess I'll see you later," Nathaniel said, about to leave but Dorian stopped him.
"Have you checked the local market near the ruined town?" he asked.
"Yes," Nathaniel replied, voice dropping. "It was a mess… blood, limbs, dead bodies scattered across toppled shops. A nightmare."
Dorian hummed in acknowledgement, turning to leave.
"You were there, weren't you?" Nathaniel asked, his words sounding like more of a statement than a question.
A wicked smile stretched across Dorian's face, a confirmation, without a word.
Nathaniel sighed. He was part of the High Council tasked with investigating such scenes, and now he would need to protect Dorian's name though he knew it would be difficult with any locals as witnesses.
---
The carriage pulled up to the mansion. As Dorian stepped out, late as always. His movements were slow, deliberate, savoring the architecture of the mansion, the hallway had small chandeliers lit, casting a golden hue on the walls. He took in every possible detail of the mansion Each door opened for him in silent deference, and as he approached the gathering, where he had been hearing distant chatters, the room fell still. All eyes turned to him but only one truly captured his attention, Duke Evernight.