Chapter 59
Only the moonlight lit the room, soft and pale, as Riena quietly gazed at the sleeping Grand Duke of Venachert.
Disheveled, undone, completely out of sorts. That was how he looked at first glance… yet in truth, his appearance was not so different from when she had once seen him in the garden.
Yes—aside from a few undone buttons, sleeves rolled loosely up his forearms.
Is it hot?
The air in the room was stuffy, all the windows and doors shut tight. Even she could feel the heaviness of it. Riena thought for a moment about getting up to open a window, but then let the thought go.
If she moved now, he would surely wake. And for just a little longer, she wanted to watch him sleep.
Her gaze drifted upward.
His hair, left untended for once, fell quietly over his forehead. The lashes of his closed eyes veiled the golden irises that always gleamed so sharply in her memory.
Lowering her eyes again, Riena fixed them on his lips—lips that had so often cut her with cruel words, and yet, lately… had bent, little by little, toward her.
…Ha. I was terrified of him, right up until I collapsed—and here I am, like this. I must truly be hopeless.
A dry laugh rose in her throat, but she swallowed it back.
Instead, she furrowed her brows slightly, realizing her cheeks were burning. She hadn’t looked in a mirror, but she could feel the heat rising there.
She thought to fan herself with her hand, but she stopped.
She didn’t want to wake him.
Though it must have been only a light sleep, his face looked more worn than her own—more haggard than the one who had been ill. That made her heart ache a little.
A sigh slipped from her lips. Could it be… he’s been the one watching over me this whole time?
Her heart began to pound louder. Not from sickness this time, but from something far too familiar.
The man who claimed to despise her, who had spoken harshly time and again… had stayed by her side through the night.
Strange.
Even before, he had contradicted himself in the same way. Did he truly hate her so much? Or was this, too, just another way to torment her, as he had once said?
A faint, uneasy ripple stirred inside her. As if she had touched something forbidden, something she shouldn’t have uncovered.
That was how thoughts worked, after all. Once you began to doubt, it wasn’t long before you convinced yourself that doubt was the truth.
Her lips parted as if to speak, then closed again. Finally, she shifted her body slightly—just a little closer to him on the bed.
Slowly, Riena reached out and touched his arm. She watched his face, but he didn’t stir. So she gave his arm the lightest shake.
A faint groan left Dante’s lips as his lashes fluttered. His golden eyes, hazy at first, opened slowly.
“Your Grace.”
Her gentle voice brushed against him.
Riena’s gaze lingered on those eyes as they sharpened, clearing from sleep.
…So that’s what he looks like the moment he wakes.
Just as the thought passed through her, his focus landed on her. She met his golden stare and asked softly, almost innocently:
“Are you awake?”
For an instant, Dante’s expression tightened—but then, his features eased. A breath of laughter escaped him, dry and faint.
“That’s supposed to be my question, Riena.”
“I was the one who woke you, Your Grace.”
“…How’s your body?”
Riena blinked. Perhaps because his voice was still husky from sleep, it trembled just enough to sound uncertain.
“I’m fine.”
“…Good.”
The short exchange ended, leaving silence to swell between them. Realizing she was in his bedroom, Riena felt a flicker of awkwardness and broke the quiet first.
“Where… is this?”
“The resort’s main suite.”
“…Is it a good room?”
She didn’t know what “suite” meant, so she asked with innocent curiosity. Dante’s lips curved faintly.
“The best.”
“…I see.” She nodded, then pressed on with another question.
“After I fainted, you brought me here, didn’t you? How long has it been since then—?”
“Riena.”
His brow twitched. His expression darkened.
“Not hours. Two full days.”
“…What? Two days?”
Her eyes widened.
“Yes.”
The single word dropped as he stretched his hand toward her. Reflexively, Riena flinched back.
The memory of what had happened before she collapsed—sharp and overwhelming—still lingered, no matter how much she tried to stay calm.
His hand stilled midair. Dante hesitated, uncharacteristically, before speaking evenly:
“…I just want to check if you still have a fever.”
It wasn’t exactly a question, but he was clearly seeking her permission.
She glanced between his hand, hovering, and his gaze fixed intently on her. Slowly, she nodded.
Only then did Dante reach forward and place his palm gently across her forehead. His hand was warm, steady.
“It’s gone.”
He withdrew, murmuring his confirmation.
“…Are you hungry?”
Hungry?
Riena frowned faintly and shook her head.
“No.”
He nodded once.
“Thirsty?”
“…A little.”
Without a word, he reached for the bedside table—only to find an empty bottle. His lips pressed thin with irritation, and then he stood.
“Wait here.”
He left the room, returning within seconds with a new bottle of water.
“…Ah.”
As he was about to sit again, Dante stopped short.
“A glass. One moment.”
He strode out again. Riena tilted her head in puzzlement at his clipped words and odd behavior. Is he still half-asleep?
When he returned with a glass, he poured water and handed it to her.
Riena accepted it carefully and drank. Only then did she realize how parched she was; she drained it in one go, then quietly held out the glass again.
“You must have been very thirsty.”
She nodded.
“That whole bottle, you drank it all.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. When?
Dante, with no further explanation, simply refilled the cup.
“Do you want more?”
“Ah… yes.”
As she accepted the glass again, she studied him in silence. Something about him felt… different.
“Drink it warm for now. Later, I’ll bring you cold water with ice.”
She hadn’t said a word, and yet his voice was almost… coaxing. Soft. Not the Dante she remembered before she fainted.
Resigned, she nodded and drank again. He waited patiently, watching, until she finished and set the glass back into his hand.
The moment she averted her eyes, she met his gaze head-on. His golden eyes were fixed on her, unblinking.
“—!”
She choked suddenly, coughing, sputtering.
Dante was instantly at her side, snatching a towel and pressing it gently to her lips.
“Slowly.”
Her cheeks flamed as embarrassment surged. She had even spat out a little water.
When she finally calmed, she dared to glance up again.
His movements were so natural. Too natural. Even this—he didn’t simply hand her the towel, he wiped her himself.
“…Did you say I drank all that water?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
She frowned faintly. Surely not…
He tilted his head, reluctant, before answering at last with a sigh.
“You couldn’t swallow on your own. I had to… feed it to you by mouth.”
Riena’s face froze. Shock overtook her features.
“…What? You—you’re insane!”
“Don’t imagine things. It was only water.”
His shameless reply made her mouth fall open. This degenerate… shameless…! The words seared her throat, but she couldn’t force them out. She could only glare in horrified silence.
“Who do you think changed your clothes?”
Dante’s voice dropped, flat with irritation.
“I was the one who sat up through the night, cooling your fever, wiping you down every hour.”
He gave a short tilt of his head.
“I gave you your medicine too. Compared to that, a little water is nothing.”
“…Are you trying to be shameless?”
“Just say thank you.”
“This is all because of you, Your Grace!”
“I know.”
He let out a brief, quiet laugh. But his golden eyes, though softened, were steady and solemn as they held hers.
“That’s why I waited. Until you opened your eyes.”
Riena blinked, her breath catching.
Maybe it was the moonlight—but at that moment, his gaze looked… wet.
