Don’t Tame It [Novel]

2.

Diego looked around with relaxed eyes. Each of his steps produced the rhythmic thud of leather boots against marble.

His dark military uniform, stark and austere, seemed out of place in these halls, granting him an exceptionally sharp presence. Or rather, come to think of it, it was less about the uniform and more about the overwhelming, suffocating pressure he naturally exuded.

Moving through the medical college hallway, he looked like a wolf unleashed into a chicken coop. His languid, slow gait was tempered by martial discipline; his indolent gaze was sharpened by a predatory keenness.

The reason these conflicting descriptors did not feel awkward was simply because he was Diego Cassis. A man who was too sharp for a noble, and too weary for a soldier.

Diego wore a leisurely smile as he praised the dean walking by his side.

“The reputation of this being the oldest medical college on the continent is no lie. One can feel a dignified, weighty scholarly atmosphere in every corner.”

Stated delicately, that was what he meant; stated directly, it meant the place was old and dingy.

The dean, scurrying to keep up, failed to catch the barb and beamed with pride. Javier, Diego’s retainer following a step behind, merely raised an eyebrow before letting it fall back into place.

“All of this is thanks to the support of His Majesty and the royal family. May there be eternal glory to the Kingdom of Divoa.”

The dean added the compliment by rote, then continued, fawning.

“The Royal College of Divoa is in the capital, but only the medical college is located here in Therapia. This is the very birthplace of Garcia Etura, the father of medicine. As you know, our college is the cradle of continental medicine, a hall of wisdom where talented individuals from every nation wait in line to enter, not to mention…”

Diego listened with one ear and let the words drift out the other, his eyes wandering toward the students peeking at him. He curled his lips into a faint smile.

Those who caught his gaze bowed politely, even without knowing who he was. Seeing the dean fussing over him was sign enough of his high status.

Furthermore, Diego possessed an appearance that commanded acknowledgment from men and women alike. To exaggerate slightly, it felt as though light pooled only on the path he walked, casting the dim hallway into relief.

In a royal family dominated by blonde hair and blue eyes, Diego was the outlier, having inherited ash-colored hair and black eyes from his mother, who hailed from the Musco Peninsula.

Despite the lack of the “royal” coloring, he possessed a flamboyant aura. His ash-colored hair—a shade often called mouse-gray—was as profound as the sky just before a snowfall, and his black eyes, cold at a glance, shone brilliantly beneath his slender smile.

Diego passed a group of students. One of them widened his eyes.

“Oh…”

“What’s wrong?” his colleague asked, puzzled.

The student couldn’t tear his eyes away from Diego’s shoulder, his lips parting.

“The stars on the epaulets…”

“Stars?”

The colleague followed his gaze and opened his mouth, too. Four stars, embroidered in gold thread.

“Four stars? Isn’t that the Commander-in-Chief? Why is he here…”

The students, having belatedly realized his identity, followed Diego’s retreating back with wide eyes. Meanwhile, Diego’s languid voice drifted toward the dean.

“Perhaps because this is a medical college, there is a faint scent of blood in the air. As you know, it is a scent I am very accustomed to.”

The dean looked around, bewildered.

“That can’t be… I certainly instructed the students to do a deep clean yesterday…”

“Or perhaps it is the scent of the blood and sweat they shed to become physicians.”

“…Hahaha. I suppose that must be it. Speaking of our students…”

The dean, unsure if the remark was a joke or a critique, let out an awkward laugh and prepared to launch into another speech. Fortunately, they arrived at the faculty office, sparing Diego from going numb.

“Here we are.”

The dean opened the door with a series of bows. One professor and three students, who had been sitting with tense expressions, stood up immediately.

The dean wiped his brow with a handkerchief and introduced them.

“This is Professor Figueras, acknowledged as the most excellent of our professors. His name has appeared in academic journals several times. Beside him are the prospective graduates who passed this year’s Royal Medical Examination with outstanding scores.”

The dean took a breath.

“And as you all know, this is His Excellency, Grand Duke Cassis.”

The titles—3rd Prince, high noble, Commander-in-Chief—were omitted, but Diego didn’t mind. He removed his gloves and extended a hand with a smile.

“Nice to meet you.”

The attendees, initially embarrassed by his unconventional offer of a handshake to mere students, bowed deeply.

Rumors regarding Diego flickered to mind: his character was as gentle as spring, his understanding as vast as the sea. He was a noble who stood above everyone, yet no one had ever seen him angry.

There was a story in the papers that when a maid broke his private teacup, he hadn’t raised his voice, but instead asked if she were hurt. Unlike other nobles, he valued talent over pedigree, and his entourage was filled with commoners.

“It is an honor to meet you, Your Excellency.”

“Please, sit.”

Diego walked to the head of the table, feigning ignorance of the curious gazes pinned upon him.

*Wondering why the prodigal son of the royal family is here, are you?*

He knew the rumors that followed him better than anyone. Because he remained unmarried despite his age, some suspected he favored men—a claim silenced by the endless scandals involving beautiful women that graced the yellow press each year.

Every beautiful woman, from countesses to opera singers, had at one time or another been linked to him. Even if he merely smiled at a lady in a banquet hall, a new rumor would bloom the next day.

The rumor that he “does not block women who come, and does not hold onto women who go” had settled into a foregone conclusion.

Diego neither affirmed nor denied them. It was more profitable to let people guess. He didn’t have to make excuses for why his marriage was being delayed—even if the reason was far from pleasant.

Unlike the playboy rumors, he didn’t particularly care for women. The mere thought of marrying and having a child made him nauseous.

*Pass this cursed blood on to my own child? Not a chance.*

Diego buried his twisted thoughts beneath a flamboyant smile and scanned the faces of Figueras and the students.

Receiving a signal, Figueras pointed to them one by one.

“This is Maxy Rosano, second son of the Count Rosano family. An exemplary student. Beside him is David Morena, third son of the Viscount Morena family. And this is Jose. Though not of noble birth, he placed fourth in the examination.”

Each student bowed. The 3rd Prince—could there be a stronger lifeline? Diego was an express train to the top of the power ladder.

The dean, wringing his handkerchief, cautiously raised the question he had been holding back.

“Er, Your Excellency. May I ask what brings you here…?”

Diego leaned back against the sofa. With that small motion, the air around him shifted into a relaxed demeanor. He knew exactly what to do to get what he wanted. Javier called him inscrutable; Diego simply called himself shrewd.

“I am looking for a new personal physician.”

The eyes of the three students flashed with greed and ambition. Diego noted it instantly, though his expression remained perfectly neutral.

The dean blinked, clearly surprised. Diego was the 3rd in line to the throne and a Grand Duke with his own territory. He was the pinnacle of power. His physician was always one of the most prominent doctors in the kingdom; the best would line up outside his door at a single word.

Yet he had come here for these greenhorns?

Diego, guessing the dean’s confusion, smiled until his eyes narrowed into threads.

“Of course, my current personal physician is doing his job very well.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

This time, Figueras answered, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. Diego lifted his gaze.

Figueras stiffened, his expression tightening. “I studied under the same teacher as Miguel Flich.”

“I see.”

Diego nodded nonchalantly. Figueras frowned, recalling Miguel, his former rival. When Miguel was selected as the royal physician, Figueras had insulted him as a “pig blinded by money,” believing a true scholar should be immune to greed. Yet, ironically, Figueras had eventually sought the same position and now stood before him.

Diego tapped the armrest with a finger, speaking slowly.

“In my territory, local warfare is constant. The King of the Alvar Kingdom is, to put it mildly, insane.”

The room went still. The Divoa Kingdom was a land blessed with nature, mountains, and sea. The Alvar Kingdom, a land abandoned by God, coveted it with a feral intensity.

The only reason Divoa remained peaceful was Diego. His army repelled the Alvar soldiers time and again.

“But my personal physician prays for soldiers with severed legs and torn bellies. A prayer for eternal rest, that is.”

*Pfft.*

A faint laugh leaked through Diego’s teeth. Before anyone could process the mockery, he added a final remark.

“You should have seen the expressions of my soldiers back then.”