Aurein's POV
"You may both rest for the night, Aurein and General Voltaire. Your training will surely begin early tomorrow, will it not?" my father, the king, asked.
"It will, Your Majesty," General Voltaire said.
"If there is nothing else you wish to discuss, I shall head to my chambers," I said.
I had already turned around when my father called me again.
"Wait, Aurein."
"Yes, Father?"
I looked back. His brows were furrowed, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and suspicion.
"I simply happened to notice... you are not wearing your formal garments. Instead, you're dressed in General Voltaire's attire?"
My eyes widened. I glanced sharply at the general.
He looked back at me, expression unreadable—waiting for me to answer. I discreetly raised my right eyebrow and glared at him, silently screaming, "You already lied earlier—why not feed him with more lies!"
"Aurein? What is the meaning of this? Why are you dressed like that?" my father asked again.
"Well, because... um... I left my clothes by the stream," I said, forcing my voice steady. "I took them off earlier while practicing sword movements. Yes! It was too constricting and I didn't want it to tear."
"You could have simply walked back here shirtless. You are a man, after all—there is nothing improper about it. We are men, we should flaunt our masculinity. Why must you wear his garments and hide your body?" my father asked.
"Oh spirits... how do I escape this?" I whispered inwardly as I swallowed hard.
"General Voltaire," my father continued, "did Aurein ask you for your clothing?"
"No, Your Majesty. I offered it willingly and dressed the prince myself," General Voltaire answered.
My father blinked in confusion. "What do you mean, General Voltaire? Why would you offer and dress him in your attire like he is a maiden that needs his body to be protected?"
"Because the prince might have been... coveted on the way back to the palace, Your Majesty."
"Coveted?" my father repeated, baffled. "Why would anyone covet my son? By men?"
I shot the general a side-eye so sharp it could slice steel. I did not appreciate the direction of his explanation.
"It is more likely he would be coveted by women, Your Majesty," General Voltaire said. "The prince possesses a physique quite unlike other young men. His skin is as white and flawless as porcelain, his body delicate and untainted. Such qualities could easily allure passing maidens. If women were to covet him, chaos could erupt on the path to the palace due to the prince's exceptional appearance."
I tipped my head back in disbelief, resisting the urge to groan.
Of all the explanations he could have given... he chose the most embarrassing one.
"Ah, women," my father said with a relieved nod. "I thought it was men who would covet him. It seems I misunderstood."
"And why would you think that, my king?" my mother, Queen Crysta, asked. "Our son is a man. You know that desire between men is forbidden—and punishable—within this kingdom."
"I know that," my father said. "I was merely being cautious. I simply do not want anyone to believe that men are vying for our prince's affection. People might start treating him like a princess and think he is weak."
My eyes drifted toward General Voltaire, who had his head slightly bowed—shoulders stiff, lips pressed tight.
He was holding in laughter.
He's calling me a princess in his mind. I know it. I KNOW IT.
"This conversation has gone on long enough. You may both rest now," my father said.
"As you command, Your Majesty." General Voltaire said in farewell. My parents then left the hall.
I waited for the general to walk away as well... but he remained standing right in front of me.
"So? Why are you still here? Why haven't you left?" I asked.
"Perhaps you are forgetting, my prince," he said. "I am your appointed guardian starting tonight. Wherever you are, I must be near."
"What?! Wait—even when I sleep?" I asked, horrified.
"I'm simply following the king's orders," he said.
"My chamber is the only place where I can be free—alone! I do not want anyone entering while I'm resting!" I said, my voice rising.
"I never said I would rest inside your chamber, Prince Aurein," he said calmly. "I will remain outside to guard you."
"Good! Because I don't want you watching me even in my sleep!" I snapped.
"Why? Is that what you think I'll be doing?" he asked as he stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Does the princess wish for me to watch over her by her bedside as she sleeps?"
My eyes widened in outrage. I shoved him hard.
"Stay away from me!" I said, exasperated. Then I strode off toward my room as fast as I could, desperate to escape this infuriating man who had been teasing me relentlessly all evening.
When I reached my chambers, I stopped in front of the towering mirror, staring at my reflection.
I was still wrapped in his tunic.
General Voltaire's clothing draped over my body like some unwanted shield—protecting me, enveloping me in his warmth even though he was nowhere near. The thought alone made my chest tighten in ways I refused to understand.
I brushed my fingers over the fabric, feeling its weight.
Then reality struck me.
What in the world am I doing?!
I stripped it off and threw it onto the floor, then began stomping on it.
Unfortunately, one step landed squarely on the wounded part of my foot.
"OW! Damn it!"
I switched to my other foot and continued stomping.
"There! That's what you deserve! You're insufferable, General Voltaire!" I said as I pressed my heel down as if the cloth were personally responsible for my misery.
Finally, I exhaled in frustration.
"Why did he even have to see me? Why was he patrolling there of all places? He could've gone literally anywhere else! Now look at me—stuck in this humiliating situation!" I said, running both hands through my hair in irritation.
I picked up his clothing again and held it up in front of me.
"One day, I'll get back at you. Just wait. You won't be able to look down on me ever again," I warned the inanimate fabric before placing it on a large chair.
Then I walked toward my bed and sat down heavily, letting out a breath as the weight of the night finally settled on my shoulders.
"What excuse could I possibly use to avoid training tomorrow?" I muttered to myself as I glanced at my wounded foot. "Ah—yes! This will be my reason. I'll just say my wound still hurts," I said with sudden confidence.
But a moment later, doubt crashed in.
"No... General Voltaire will definitely accuse me of making excuses. He'll say I'm not acting like a real man. He'll call me a princess again, just because I can't handle a little pain and because 'men must be brave and endure anything.'" I grumbled.
I fell back onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling with a long, defeated exhale.
"What am I supposed to do to escape this situation?" I said in frustration.
(Knock. Knock.)
I shot upright. My heart sank as I walked to the door and swung it open.
"What," I snapped—then instantly regretted it the moment I saw him.
General Voltaire stood there, stone-faced, carrying a small basin of water.
"We must clean your wound before you sleep, Prince Aurein," he said, his voice maddeningly calm.
"Why you? Why not the female servants?" I asked.
"They are already resting," he said.
"Then let them clean it tomorrow instead!"
"If we don't tend to it, it may become infected."
"Then let it get infected! I don't care!"
"You won't be able to dance if something happens to your foot," he said.
I groaned loudly and rolled my head back in frustration. "You really know how to use my weaknesses against me."
"Didn't you promise to dance for me in exchange for my silence?" he said.
"Shh! Someone might hear you!" I hissed, grabbing his arm and yanking him inside. "Just get in already!"
He stepped in, and I slammed the door shut.
I glared at him with narrowed eyes as I walked back to my bed and sat down with exaggerated irritation.
"That is not how men behave," he said with a teasing tilt of his lips. "Men—especially princes—do not roll their eyes like maidens."
"Oh, for heaven's sake! Are you cleaning my wound or did you come here just to torment me?" I said, exasperated.
He only chuckled before kneeling in front of me. He set the basin down, along with a cloth and medicinal herbs.
"Place your foot on my leg, my princess," he said.
"General Voltaire!" I barked.
He only grinned wider and shook his head.
"Can you just shut up and clean my wound?" I ordered.
He finally began unwrapping the cloth he had wrapped around my injury earlier.
"Ack—!" I gasped when a sharp sting shot through me, as if the fabric had peeled skin along with it.
"This is barely a scratch, Prince Aurein," he said. "What will you do in a real battle? If a twig so much as grazes you, will you cry on the spot?"
"Are you planning to insult me all night?" I said through clenched teeth.
He chuckled as he continued.
Once the cloth came off, he held my foot gently—but firmly. His thumb brushed across my toes, tracing them with maddening leisure.
"Even your foot resembles that of a beautiful maiden," he said. "No calluses... spotless... soft."
My brows knitted together into a murderous glare.
I chose not to respond anymore.
I needed to conserve my energy—because if I replied, I might actually strangle him.
He reached for the cloth, dipped it into the bowl of water, and wrung it out with slow, deliberate movements. When he pressed it against my wound—lightly at first, then firmer to lift away the dried blood—I hissed in pain.
"G-gentle! It hurts!" I said, and without thinking, my hand flew to his head, fingers curling into his hair as I tilted my face upward with a sharp breath.
He didn't react—not even a flinch. But when I glanced down again, he was already staring up at me, that infuriatingly smug smile tugging at one corner of his lips as if he had been waiting for me to notice.
Mortified, I yanked my hand away from him.
He only shook his head, grinning to himself before continuing to clean the wound.
"I forgot... your body isn't used to injuries," he said in a flat, matter-of-fact tone—though the glint in his eyes said otherwise. "Perhaps I was pressing a little too hard."
This time, he slowed down, fingers gentler, almost careful—as though my skin might shatter if handled wrong.
I watched him while he worked, the way his brows drew together in focus, the way his rough warrior's hands moved with surprising precision over my injured foot.
Then he took the herbal plant, crushed it between his fingers, and gathered the thick liquid that seeped out. Without hesitation, he pressed the cool extract directly onto my wound.
"Aaack—!" I gasped, clutching his head once more.
"Endure it, Prince Aurein," he said, voice deepening. "I have to press harder. The liquid needs to go inside your body."
My breath caught.
"Mffff!" I bit down on my lip, covering my mouth with the back of my hand as the sting shot through me.
He let out a soft snort. "You moaned like a woman," he said.
"C-can you—just hurry up?!" I snapped, heat rising to my cheeks.
"As you command, my princess," he said.
"Stop calling me that! I am not amused!"
"Ahh... then perhaps you prefer something else," he said, the curve of his mouth darkening into a wicked grin. "As you wish, my queen Aurein."
"General Voltaire, for the love of—!"
He chuckled under his breath as he wrapped the bandage around my foot, tying it firmly but gently.
"If not for me, your father would have punished you the moment he learned you were practicing being a moon dancer instead of swordplay."
My heart thudded once—loud and heavy.
He was right.
"And because of you, you only made everything worse! Now I'm stuck with you every day, every night... where am I supposed to find time for myself?" I said, exasperated.
"There. I'm done," he said. "Your wound is clean now. By tomorrow, I'm certain it will have healed."
I let out a long sigh and couldn't bring myself to look at him.
"...Thank you," I muttered quietly.
"Think nothing of it, my beloved queen—"
"General Voltaire!"
He only smirked at me before rising to his feet.
His gaze drifted toward the chair where the clothes he had draped on me earlier still lay.
I followed his eyes, and when he turned back to me with a smirk, I immediately looked away, pretending I hadn't noticed.
"I will step outside to keep watch," he said. "If you need anything, simply come to me."
"I don't need you. Just go already!" I said, irritated.
He bowed once—formally, respectfully—and left my chamber.
Silence settled the moment the door closed.
My eyes drifted down to my foot, now clean, wrapped neatly in fresh bandages.
I swallowed hard and glanced at the chair again where his clothes still rested.
"Why didn't he take them?" I whispered to myself.
I sighed. "Never mind. I should sleep. At least I'll finally get a moment of peace—no General Voltaire to bother me."
For a breath, the room fell completely still.
My heartbeat slowly eased... until—I remembered it.
The way he had said it earlier.
"My beloved queen Aurein..."
I froze.
Why...why did my heart suddenly skip—and start beating faster?
End of Chapter 3