Just the Two of Us (2)

“Haa, really.”

Asella finally caught her breath after laying Ras down on the floor. They had taken shelter in a cabin on the mountainside just moments ago. Judging by the magic tools inside, thick with dust, it seemed like an old workshop once used by a reclusive mage.

“How did it come to this.”

No matter how weak her faction was, she had lived as the emperor's daughter. Asella had never gotten a drop of water on her hands her whole life. Now her entire body was caked in filth. She'd never felt anything so repulsive on her skin. Especially the mud squishing between her toes—it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was the worst.

“This is all your fault, Ras.”

She resentfully smacked the chest of Ras, who was still unconscious.

…No response, like a corpse already. Her lips pressed tight with pointless tension. How much more worry would this man make her endure? It was infuriating.

“…You won't die, right.”

Even after his practical exam as chief physician, he'd collapsed like this. Back then, Asella had been so sure he was dead that she'd started thinking up epitaphs for his tombstone. But now, she hoped he wouldn't die.

…Why was that?

In the imperial family, it was common for wayward members or rebellious nobles to be dragged in and executed. Camilla had made her attend every execution, saying she needed to catch the emperor's eye. So she'd thought she was used to seeing people die. Vassals offered their lives for their lord as the highest honor, and lords shouldn't waste emotions on expendable tools, lest they botch important affairs. That's what she'd always been taught, so she'd figured she wouldn't blink an eye even now.

But Ras was a bit of an exception.

“No.”

Max couldn't die either. He was too fluffy. Ras wasn't fluffy, but… probably the same reason. Asella put that inexplicable emotion on hold.

“When are you going to wake up.”

Daring to make the imperial princess of the empire suffer like this—what nerve. You're my personal physician. You're supposed to attend me. She vented pointlessly at the man who couldn't hear her.

—Plip, plip…

Rain began pattering on the cabin roof, growing louder ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠until it filled her ears. With it came an odd sense of liberation blooming in her heart.

Come to think of it, this was her first time leaving the palace without guards or maids. Her first time escaping Camilla's watch. In some unknown place, with nothing but her unconscious personal physician. The fresh moss scent rising with the rain felt invigorating. The sensation of being alive.

Before she knew it, Asella realized she was enjoying the atmosphere. It felt like she'd fled the stifling palace—her heart raced.

“It'd be more fun if you felt this too.”

Without thinking, Asella brushed Ras's cheek with the back of her hand. His baby-soft skin wasn't very manly. Observing his face was surprisingly entertaining. Touching here and there was too.

She hated when he touched her. It felt belittling somehow, embarrassing. And realizing she felt embarrassed made her hate it even more.

“And yet you dare grope my royal body like this.”

She knew he had no ulterior motives. Ras was always so professional, touching her only to fulfill his duties as physician. Utterly oblivious. He even showed reluctance sometimes. Asella always noticed those moments. It bruised her pride a little.

He might be used to women's bodies from his debauched life in the marquess's house. Her still-developing body might not interest him.

“We're engaged.”

Infuriating—too infuriating. Of course, if Ras ever forgot his place and tried to claim her like a real fiancée, she'd sever his head on the spot. It was purely a political engagement between families. She knew her thoughts were contradictory.

But she could be selfish. It was the privilege of imperial blood. Tyrants made nations mighty more than sage kings.

“What are you thinking about.”

Asella had always wondered. Why did this man help her? He always grumbled but supported her shoulder at crucial moments. The abdominal pain from the injected talent came with negative emotions wrapping her body. Strangely, lately, he was always there when it hit. When Camilla berated her harshly, when she had to endure training without resisting, when she grew to despise commoners, when imagining Max's death filled her with despair.

Each time, something writhed in her gut, whispering. Unleash your magic, destroy the world, it tempted. Mages heard voices or saw hallucinations as their hierarchy rose, her teacher Seymour had said. He even had tricks to stay sane.

…Was it really the magic?

Something stronger seemed to implant destructive urges.

“Ras.”

It's strange since you came. The voices feel fainter now. Who in the palace truly understood her condition? He'd stuck needles in her, drawn her blood. The pain had actually lessened. His medicine worked like magic, dulling sensations and bringing calm.

Then.

“Cough.”

Her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠physician coughed deeply. Thinking he'd woken, Asella prepared a stern scolding. The crime of exhausting an imperial princess was grave. She'd extract payment somehow.

“Cough, cough.”

But Ras didn't open his eyes—just kept coughing deeper.

“Huh…?”

Only then did Asella realize something was wrong. The sticky sensation on her palm against his cheek was unpleasant. Dark red blood.

“Ras?”

Startled, she shook his shoulders. No response. His frail body swayed limply. Her hands began to tremble. Shadow fell over her face. Regret flooded her—why hadn't she checked sooner? He'd taken the full brunt of the evil dragon's curse too. Not just magic reflection—maybe other effects. She should've suspected injury while he was out. Too complacent.

“What… what do I do.”

Asella racked her brain desperately. She couldn't cast healing spells. No helpful magic now. Her mana was depleted anyway.

“Something—anything.”

Rip! She tore off Ras's robe, rummaging his inner pockets. Syringes of colorful liquids and vials of drugs spilled out.

“If I feed him this…”

Asella started to grab a drug but stopped. Ras had always warned about overdoses. Even aspirin—no more than two a day. Blindly dosing him could kill him instead.

“What the hell is what…!”

Tongue clicking, she groped his body more. Muscles stiff like paralyzed. Urgency mounted—if she didn't act fast, it really would be bad.

“This.”

What she found was a notebook. The one Ras always carried, jotting everything down.

Flip.

Asella skimmed it quickly. Detailed uses for drugs and syringes. Dense records on her condition. Odd sentences caught her eye. Some crossed out, some left.

…No time to waste on useless noise. Asella flipped pages, finding useful info.

“Candy.”

She didn't know some words, but the candy he always ate would surely help. Asella roughly pulled candies from his pocket. Unwrapped and shoved in his mouth—no obvious effect.

“Needs water.”

She dashed outside, cupping rainwater. Her clothes soaked through, but no time to care. Back inside, she trickled it into his mouth; the candy slowly dissolved. His breathing steadied a bit. But no sign of waking.

“Need other ingredients?”

She checked the note. Rare plants and fruits illustrated. She vaguely knew them from etiquette lessons. Golden Rose seemed key.

“If this is near a dragon nest…”

Grabbing her staff, she bolted from the cabin.

“Hoo.”

I barely opened my eyes. My whole body tingled. Side effect of the muscle enhancer. Time had passed; paralyzed muscles twitched slightly. My mouth was sticky with dried blood. Must've regurgitated a ton while out.

…Why the sweetness too? Already dizzy, text scrolled wildly in my status window.

Medicine skill ranked up. Probably from aspirin and masks spreading, knights thriving thanks to them. Biggest factor: Asella beating the evil dragon with my elixirs. EXP piled up fast. Not the happiest timing, though—curse hit me square at the end.

Stamina—need to resynth candy.

Had to move ASAP, but no strength. Barely turned my head, scanning. Rain pattering. In the dark, a figure sat demurely before me. I knew who instantly and called.

“Your Highness.”

Asella looked exhausted. Too drained even to yell at me. Yet she briefly seemed relieved, then offered a flower from her bosom.

“Is this what you need?”

The flower clutched preciously in her mud-caked hands. A golden rose, gleaming even in darkness.

“Where did you find this?”

My surprised slip drew a snort from Asella, like it was nothing.

“It was just lying around.”

As I reached for the rose, our hands overlapped. Asella spoke.

“You asked if I hated the imperial family.”

“Yes.”

“I do.”

Answer I'd expected.

“The imperial family's all enemies. Who else but Mother could summon the evil dragon?”

She spoke with weary resignation. Exhausted indeed.

“Siblings, His Majesty—all foes. Why should I like a family like that? No one's my family here.”

Recalling their attitudes at the tournament, her view made sense. No attachment to family or palace. Even annihilating them in an empire-ending route felt justified.

But we couldn't let that happen.

“Family matters to you that much.”

“It… seems important.”

“Then acquire one. Like everything else you possess, Your Highness.”

“How? No matter my efforts, they ignore me. Even Mother just disappoints.”

“Family isn't just what's already there. Make a new one.”

Not sure if right, but a textbook answer. Asella paused at my words. Her hand on the rose stem quivered slightly. She stared straight at me.

“…With you?”

No, not what I meant.