Don’t Tame It [Novel]

41.

Irene fled to a secluded spot, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. She leaned forward, doubling over in a dry retch, but no nausea came.

What had that been? That sudden, violent roiling in her gut, the sensation of her throat churning. It was as if the sky had collapsed and the earth had surged upward to meet it.

Irene frowned instinctively.

“What was that?”

Just as she muttered the words to herself:

“Physician Rios!”

A familiar voice called out from behind. As she turned her head, Mia came running toward her, breathless. She held her arms in an awkward position, clutching her chest.

“Why are you here? Did you get lost again?”

Only then did Irene straighten her back and scan her surroundings. Soldiers carrying heavy pots moved in a flurry of activity.

Even so, they cast curious glances toward Irene. Mia stepped up close, and Irene tensed involuntarily. As Mia’s body heat drew near, the image of Diego flashed into her mind—the embers that had yet to fade, threatening to reignite at the slightest breeze.

He had been hotter than anyone. Or perhaps… was he cold?

She didn’t know. There hadn’t been room to feel anything. A thousand sensations had poured down like a storm, and Irene had been struggling just to maintain her reason amidst the chaos.

“Physician Rios.”

Mia, lowering her voice meaningfully, didn’t notice Irene’s internal turmoil as she stepped an inch closer.

Irene gripped her skirt with both hands, holding her ground. She didn’t want to make a scene. If she kept holding on, wouldn’t there come a day when she neared the nature of an ordinary person? She couldn’t become completely normal, but perhaps she could learn to play the part.

Mia stopped a pace away and smiled brightly.

“…….”

Mia pulled back her collar to reveal her chest. Irene, who had been frowning in confusion, widened her eyes.

“!”

Mia grinned with a look of triumph, as if she had expected this reaction.

“I was rummaging through the kitchen barracks, and wouldn’t you know, there were two sweet potatoes just rolling around? I brought them secretly for you, Physician Rios. I thought you seemed to like them. Shall I bake them for you?”

“Yes!”

Irene nodded vigorously. The nausea from moments ago had subsided, replaced by a stomach that growled repeatedly, as if pleading for the food.

“Let’s go quickly.”

Mia led the way with her awkward gait, and Irene followed. For a split second, Diego’s face flashed into her mind, appearing strangely like a sweet potato, but Irene shook her head to dispel the useless thought.

* * *

Irene was certain Diego was idle. By the time he appeared at her barracks to suggest a walk, it was the fourth time she had come to that conclusion.

The world was not as fair as she had once thought; she had learned that at the Royal Medical College. Once the professors gave instructions, it was always the students’ share to run around and do the labor.

To live comfortably, one needed power. But that wasn’t something Irene particularly craved, as she didn’t mind the hustle.

The time she had spent in the narrow attic of the Rios estate had been long. She hadn’t hated it, but in reaction, she had come to enjoy the freedom of movement.

Seeing her scurry about, her peers had whispered that she looked like a maid. But what of it? She had heard far worse. At least a maid was considered a human being.

Moreover, no matter how clumsy she was with social graces, she understood the relationship between employer and employee—a dynamic just as one-sided as that of a professor and a student.

An employee could not carelessly defy an employer’s wishes.

“I don’t think this is a good place for a walk.”

Irene, walking between the barracks, spoke with sincere concern.

The soldiers, emboldened by yesterday’s victory, could have slacked off, but they were working with renewed vigor—likely a hard-learned lesson from the Alvar soldiers who had let their guard down.

Diego, looking around with listless eyes, answered nonchalantly.

“They are already preparing for the next war. That is the calling of soldiers stationed at the border.”

Irene nodded, scanning the area, when she paused in confusion. Soldiers were busy hauling carts of dirt to a specific spot.

A low, artificial hill had formed that hadn’t been there yesterday. Diego noticed her gaze and explained in a calm tone.

“The Alvar soldiers will return soon. If they had been the type to give up this easily, this war would have ended long ago. We are preparing for their return. It is easier to monitor the surroundings from a height. One shouldn’t be caught by the same trick twice, should they?”

Irene’s eyes lit up with realization. They were building an observation tower to prevent sneak attacks. As she turned her head, a sharp, jarring sound caught her attention—a noise that would have been ignored by anyone else, yet for her, it stood out against the ambient backdrop.

“?”

She snapped her head around. A cart was rolling down the slope at high speed. The person who should have been guiding it was nowhere to be seen.

The ownerless cart hurtled directly toward her.

“!”

A danger alarm blared in Irene’s head. The cart gathered speed, the distance closing in the blink of an eye. She heard a shout of “Hey!” in the distance, but it was already too late.

Irene, who had been about to hide behind Diego, hesitated. His illness flickered into her mind—the fact that even a minor wound could be fatal for him.

The thoughts collided and coalesced into a single conclusion. Irene grabbed Diego’s clothes, then shoved him aside and hid behind Sir Miguel Flich instead.

At the same time—

“…….”

CRASH!

The cart slammed into the barracks with a deafening thud. Sir Miguel Flich stared blankly at the cart, which had come to a halt inches from his nose.

“Are you all right, Grand Duke!”

A soldier ran over, his face pale as a sheet.

“I am sorry, Grand Duke!”

Diego, however, kept his gaze locked on Irene. She had already let go of his clothes and was calmly brushing dust from her gloves.

Diego’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t know why, but she still feared death; she did her best to survive. What had changed, however, was that she had used Sir Miguel Flich as a shield instead of him.

A chuckle burst from his lips.

“Hahaha.”

The laughter swelled, spreading outward. The soldier, who had been bowing so low his head nearly touched the ground, glanced up in terror.

Irene opened her mouth, her expression entirely serious.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

She didn’t bother to clarify “in the head.” Diego slowly shook his head.

“I didn’t get hurt at all. Thanks to Physician Rios.”

Irene nodded as if she had expected nothing less and resumed walking. Diego hurried to follow.

“What about me…….”

The soldier, trying to gauge the mood, looked to Sir Miguel Flich for a lifeline. Sir Miguel Flich, still watching Diego’s back, muttered in a low voice.

“Leave.”

He didn’t particularly like Irene, but this time, he owed her one. He took a step toward the pair.

“Yes? Yes! Thank you!”

The soldier scrambled away, looking like a man returned from the dead.

Diego walked in step with Irene, watching his own shadow stretch out before him.

“Perhaps life might be fun.”

“…….”

Irene shook her head inwardly. That was the way of these people in power.

Life was an intense, precarious struggle for her, yet Diego dared to call it fun. She thought of the professors at the Royal Medical College—those in power who sipped tea elegantly while the students ran themselves ragged.

However, she possessed enough social grace not to voice that thought. It was one of the greatest achievements she had reaped from the college: distinguishing what to say from what to keep to herself.

……Of course, she wasn’t perfect yet.

Irene headed for the barracks, trampling her own shadow. Thanks to Diego’s presence, she hadn’t gotten lost this time.

* * *

Irene realized she had returned to the castle while eating Aunt Juana’s sweet potato muffins. The moment she chewed on the sweet, savory treat, the office turned into heaven.

“It’s good that I came to Norte.”

She cleansed her palate with black tea and reached for another muffin. The scent of butter and roasted potato wiped away the lingering smell of blood from the past few days.

“Is it good?”

A sharp, sarcastic voice cut through the room. She turned to see the bulky mass of Sir Miguel Flich entering. His rhythmic, swaying gait reminded her of a penguin.

“It must be good.”

Sir Miguel Flich sat on the sofa without invitation, resting his arms on his thick belly. Irene wondered if he was gaining weight just to have a place to rest his arms. As for her, she would have preferred an armrest.

Well, everyone’s tastes were different.

“I heard that His Highness defended you in front of the soldiers. That he ordered them to treat you as an equal?”

Irene didn’t know who had told him, but Sir Miguel Flich was behind the times regarding a matter that felt like a lifetime ago. Ah, come to think of it, his belly also looked like a round drum. He truly was a man of many talents.

“I don’t recall him saying that. He only said that I was an attending physician brought in with great difficulty.”

“That’s the same thing. So, is it good?”

Sir Miguel Flich repeated his question, his expression dissatisfied. Irene stared at him blankly before opening her mouth with total indifference.

“Should I be happy about that?”