"Would you turn around for a moment?"
Over Tristan's broad shoulders, wrapped in his hunting attire, something shimmered each time he breathed.
Narrowing my eyes, I tried to focus on it, and…
I jolted up from the bed in shock.
"Your Highness! Your shoulder, it's bleeding, isn't it?"
The shimmering under the light of the lantern was indeed blood, slowly soaking through his clothes.
What on earth did he do to come back like this?
I was about to examine the wound, but just as I sprang out of bed, Tristan reached out and pushed my forehead back, forcing me to lie down.
Argh!
"Y-Your Highness!"
"You're acting quite out of character today. If you wish, I can remind you several times what proper patient behavior looks like."
"You're a patient too!"
"I'm a patient who knows how to take care of himself. Just as I've mastered swordsmanship, I pride myself on being well-versed in first aid as well. Unless, of course, you're proficient in medicine?"
"…No, I'm not."
I mean, I'd learned how to calm kids and put on band-aids back when I was filling in at the children's library, but that was the extent of it.
Right. There's nothing I can do. Calm down.
He's an adult. If he's injured, he can wash up and apply medicine himself…
"I'm going to do something unseemly for a lady to see, so go back to sleep."
"What?"
"I did warn you."
Tristan tossed off his shirt.
Though he stood several meters away, the sight of his pale, sculpted back—shadowed and highlighted by the firelight—filled my vision completely.
'He really is an adult…'
…No, that's not the point!
"Your Highness…?"
"What."
"What happened to your shoulder?"
It wasn't his muscular back that caught my attention.
There were unmistakable bite marks on his shoulder, the source of the bleeding.
Tristan opened the drawer in the infirmary and replied nonchalantly.
"I got bitten."
"By what?"
"I was participating in the hunting competition. It must've been the prey."
"Don't lie. Those don't look like carnivore teeth marks, and the location is too high for a herbivore to reach."
"I never said it was an animal. I said it was prey."
"Ha…"
What kind of situation leads to being bitten by a person?
I wanted to press further, but I hesitated.
Could I meddle in the prince's affairs? And more than that, his mischievous tone left me at a loss for words.
"Now you know how I felt when you told me, 'It's just a scratch', don't you?"
"…It really was just a scratch."
"And I was really bitten by my prey."
I had no retort.
As I fell silent, Tristan soaked some gauze in clean water and began wiping his wound.
As the dried blood and dirt peeled away, the injury became clearer. Just looking at it made me flinch in sympathy. Still, I couldn't take my eyes off it.
When he finished cleaning the wound, he opened a bottle of medicine.
But accurately applying it to the bite mark on his shoulder proved challenging. His hand missed the target a few times, smearing ointment in the wrong places.
Unable to watch any longer, I sprang up and approached him.
"Give me the medicine. I'll apply it for you."
"I can do it myself. Don't waste your time staring at something so unpleasant—just rest."
"It's not unpleasant. This wound is also part of my fiancé, isn't it?"
"…"
Tristan fell silent.
Did I overdo it?
But the only alternative I could think of was, "You're wasting ointment because you keep missing the wound, and it's frustrating me!"
Surely, a sincere answer was better than a combative one.
After washing my hands, I took the ointment and spatula from him.
The blunt tooth marks had already bruised purple, while the deeper punctures from the canines and incisors still bled slightly.
They really bit down hard.
"I'll take it slow. Let me know if it hurts…"
"It won't—"
The moment I gently placed my hand on his shoulder to steady it, he flinched.
I hadn't even touched the wound yet.
"Does it hurt?"
"Not at all. …Continue."
Using my left hand to hold his shoulder steady, I carefully spread the ointment over the wound with the spatula in my right hand.
Even as blood seeped out intermittently, Tristan didn't tremble.
Did it truly not hurt?
Then why did he flinch earlier…
Ah.
'It must've been my hand.'
My freshly washed hands must've felt cold against his skin.
Just as his back now felt warm to me, my touch probably startled him.
I rubbed my hands together to warm them and resumed applying the ointment. This time, he didn't flinch. His back remained just as warm as before.
"Your Highness, let me know if you feel feverish, okay?"
"For the last time, I'm fine."
There's a saying that men's last words are always, ''I'm fine, I won't die.''
Of course, I couldn't voice that out loud—it might count as insulting royalty.
"The ointment's all applied."
"Understood."
"Now for the ban…"
Wait. Do they even have band-aids in this era?
While I was busy wasting time thinking about modern supplies, Tristan grabbed a bandage. With skilled hands, he began wrapping his shoulder.
I was a little taken aback by how deftly he handled it.
"Your Highness, are you used to this kind of thing?"
"I told you I've learned enough first aid."
"Learning and actually doing are different, though. It feels like you've had plenty of practice treating yourself…"
For some reason, he hesitated before answering.
"It was back when I was learning swordsmanship. I got hurt a lot. You might think it sounds a bit foolish—"
"Foolish? Quite the opposite! It's normal to get hurt while learning how to fight. If you don't, it either means you were slacking off, or your opponent was going easy on you and pretending to lose."
"…."
"I'm just impressed by how seriously you must have taken your training, Your Highness."
I had always thought Tristan only learned swordsmanship for appearances.
After all, in the latter part of the novel, he gets beaten by the second male lead.
Not knowing his future, Tristan looked a little flustered by my reaction. Then, with a slightly embarrassed tilt of his head, he continued.
"I was serious about it for a while. Growing up, I was constantly told about how both of my older brothers won their first tournaments as soon as they participated. I wanted to be like them."
"…."
"But by the time I was old enough to participate—at twenty—I learned the truth. Their victories were orchestrated to glorify the royal family, and such honors wouldn't be granted to the youngest."
It was like how a company CEO might give their children starter projects to build a track record before handing over subsidiaries.
It worked for the first and second siblings, but there was no glory left for the third.
"When I said, 'I don't need fraud, I'll participate with my own skill,' my mother strongly opposed it. She said it would look bad if I were the only one of us to lose and told me not to enter."
"Oh…"
"After that, I decided just to learn how to defend myself. It wasn't as if I'd ever have to fight. The dangerous lands of the Blue Atrium would be handed to the Northern Duke, after all."
Finishing the knot on his bandage, he smiled, but it was a self-deprecating one.
Tristan. You've always smiled so confidently, even smugly, often mocking others.
A self-deprecating smile doesn't suit you at all!
"…I think you'd do well."
"Hm?"
"You wouldn't suddenly lose all the skills you built up by twenty. And you've read all the reports about monsters coming up from Frosthill, haven't you?"
"Just for fun."
"Finding that interesting is a talent in itself. Even if you'd gone to the Blue Atrium knowing nothing, I think you would've handled the monsters and managed the land just fine."
The self-deprecating smile disappeared from Tristan's face.
What replaced it wasn't a stern expression but something else—unguarded, pure, as if he'd been unexpectedly pulled out from behind a wall.
What am I even looking at? This expression doesn't suit you either!
As I panicked internally, Tristan quickly turned his head away and, in his usual curt tone, said, "You should save empty praise. Words have value, and if you issue compliments carelessly, they can come back as a debt of distrust."
"Empty praise? I'm being sincere. Your abilities are far more—"
"Enough."
"Huh? Wait, why are you—"
Without warning, Tristan picked me up in his arms.
"Now, back to your bed."
"I can walk! Put me down! I'm fine!"
I tried to resist, but when my struggles caused me to end up pressed against his chest, I grew embarrassed and gave up.
'I'm just a package. He's the delivery guy.'
He gently placed me on the bed and even tucked me in, saying, "Stop arguing and rest."
"I've rested enough."
As I spoke, I threw off the blanket, but Tristan immediately pulled it back up.
"If you asked the doctor, they'd probably tell you to rest more. Just wait until I'm back."
"You're supposed to be treating critical patients!"
"Which is why, as someone experienced in emergency medicine, I'll make the call here."
"Well, I'm the expert on my own body. And you're a patient too!"
The blanket went back and forth at least ten times as we argued.
I just want to eat dinner!
As I debated whether to kick the blanket off entirely, Tristan secured it with finality, pressing down on the edges with both hands.
"Stay."
"Eek!"
I felt like a fish trapped in a fish-shaped waffle mold!
I squirmed, but there was no escape.
Tristan sighed deeply as he looked down at me.
"Only then can I rest easy, too."
Since when did my comfort determine your peace of mind?
But there was no beating his stubbornness.
Fine. I'll pretend to comply and get up later.
Closing my eyes, I heard Tristan wait for a moment before standing up.
However, his footsteps didn't move far—they stopped at the head of the bed.