Chapter 24
Chapter 24
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 24
Chapter Title: A Hollow Laugh
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A soft chuckle escaped Dever's lips. It was the kind of deflating, hollow laugh that carried a sense of utter futility toward the person standing right before his eyes.
That person was Beth Jens.
She was panting heavily, hands clasped tightly together—that was the reason.
Beth was just as dumbfounded by her own appearance. Last night, as she left Dever's hospital room, she had firmly promised herself she'd return before dawn broke.
She always slept lightly, so what wind had blown through yesterday to make her sleep so deeply?
On top of that, Dixie and Aines, who knew the situation, had tiptoed around preparing for the morning, leaving Beth to sleep blissfully unaware of the world.
Early morning sunlight poured through the space between the two facing each other.
After yesterday's incident, the fourth floor had been completely restricted to a minimal medical staff. It was an extreme measure to hide Dever's injury. In truth, only a handful knew about it, and everyone was more than happy to surrender to the peace that secret created.
"I wrecked my shoulder trying to protect my 'wife'."
His voice was deliberately grave, and Beth's face flushed bright red.
Yesterday, she'd been too focused on negotiating with the errand boy to even register him calling her his "wife." But this morning, the word "wife" coming from his lips rang out so vividly.
Beth kept getting embarrassed. The awkward word "wife." The man who'd gotten hurt because of her was lying there suffering, and she'd slept soundly like nothing happened.
Suddenly, as if remembering something, Beth hurriedly patted down her clothes. But where her pocket should have been, she felt only the flat plane of her stomach. Only then did she realize she'd rushed over so hastily that she'd forgotten her apron.
Embarrassment gave way to dismay on Beth's face.
Dever, leaning casually against the window, watched her expressions shift by the moment. What he'd said yesterday was true. "Someone I wouldn't feel awkward with even without words."
In truth, that had been meant for himself. He wasn't bothered by her silence. Of course, he still hated seeing her hunt for that damned paper.
He didn't know what she'd meant to give him, but she'd clearly forgotten it. She had rushed over, that much was true—her thoroughly disappointed face still glistened with unshed tears. Her bare, clear face was different from yesterday's made-up one, but it stirred something in him just the same.
Meanwhile, Beth seemed to steel herself, hardening her gaze with resolve. Oversleeping was spilt milk; she needed to fetch medicine and a note right away. She turned to leave.
"Does ringing this bring you?"
Dever lightly shook the call cord dangling by his bed. A crisp bell rang out softly, matching the yellow morning light.
Beth nodded.
"Go on."
One corner of the man's mouth quirked up. It was a serpentine smile.
The bell, which rang whenever one least expected it, carried busily all the way down to the lower floors of the hospital.
After breakfast, the mystery patient on the fourth floor kept ringing it incessantly. For all sorts of reasons. "Bring water." "Fetch a military map." "Tighten the bandages on my shoulder." There was no refusing the requests shuttling between the patient and the army commander.
Dever Cliff was a soldier addicted to wielding the weapon of secrecy.
"Who's ringing that bell nonstop all day?"
At the mutter from someone unaware of the secret, Beth hurriedly dashed up the stairs.
The first time the cord rang, she'd carefully gathered medicine, ointment, and a note. But Dever had only accepted the note from what she offered, rejecting the rest.
"You said you'd help me cut back on meds, but you're trying to feed me from the morning? Bring it at night."
The ointment too.
"How am I supposed to apply it to my own back?"
The note, at least, he'd glanced at briefly.
"No sincerity, Beth. Show some sincerity."
So now, to show that "sincerity," Beth was volunteering for her umpteenth trip to the fourth floor.
What would he say this time? Bristling with irritation, Beth flung open the door—and froze.
What the hell was she seeing?
The unusually wide isolation room window was flung wide open. Thick, acrid smoke filled the air around Dever standing beside it. And there on the side table, as if on display, sat an uncorked whiskey bottle—who the hell had brought that?
Has that man lost his mind?
She couldn't voice it or write it, but Dever understood perfectly. And he quite liked her dumbfounded expression conveying those unspoken words.
Falling asleep alone like nothing happened after setting him up like that last night. His twisted irritation finally eased. This was decent payback for oversleeping.
Beth marched straight to the man and tossed the cigar from his hand out the window. The small ember plummeted limply into the air.
Fresh wind blew in through the open window.
The man, utterly unperturbed, swept back his fluttering bangs with his empty hand. His hair, always neatly combed to show his forehead, now tickled his eyes with its soft sway—so different from its cold owner's demeanor.
Beth turned and rummaged in the small drawer under the side table.
Sure enough.
Grabbing the cigars and lighter from the drawer, along with the whiskey bottle, Beth heard a sigh from behind her.
"I'm already struggling to quit meds—what else do you want from me?"
Dever was starting to figure her out. Which parts made her weak, and what expressions she wore then.
Hesitation flickered briefly on Beth's face as she clutched the contraband boldly, but she soon set it all down on the table.
Dever's long fingers brushed his mouth. If he got caught smiling, she'd glare at him again.
The woman, whom he'd thought would leave right away, pulled out a pen and scribbled something.
"What can you even give me?"
The curt retort made her flinch for a moment, but she soon wrote again with renewed determination.
Unable to hold back any longer, Dever let out a low laugh. Something better, huh.
He'd momentarily forgotten that Beth Jens was always a woman beyond his expectations.
Was she really trying to reform me?
Now he was genuinely curious what she'd bring. Something better than medicine, cigars, or whiskey.
"Alright, I'll look forward to it."
Beth had no idea how to react to this smile she'd never seen before. She was probably making a stupid face again. Before he could mock her, she spun around and fled the isolation room.
She'd always thought of him as strange and scary, but maybe she was the strange one. Thinking his smile resembled the sunlight reflecting off him.
Her ears burned at the embarrassing thought. Leaning against the corridor wall to cool the rising heat, a chill raced up her spine.
With just one door between them, time flowed for Dever and Beth.
Beth stood there for a long while. Unaware if the man inside had halted his own steps.
Arthur caught Beth as she hurried down the stairs like someone was chasing her.
"Nurse, where are you off to in such a rush?"
His lips curved up winningly, accentuating his handsome features.
"Seems like we keep bumping into each other. Guess I'll have to wander around more."
And his eloquence matched his looks. He delivered playful words with just the right lightness, serious ones without excess weight—that was his talent.
At first, Beth had found this Arthur uncomfortable, but now she could play along to some extent. Though all she managed was an ambiguous smile.
"Is Dever alright?"
Beth recalled Dever's face from moments ago. He'd nonchalantly said it felt wrecked, but showed no sign of pain. Was he hiding it so she wouldn't feel guilty, or was it really bearable? She wasn't sure.
But the awkwardly gripped cigar in his left hand told her raising his right arm was difficult.
"Is it that bad?"
As Beth's complexion darkened, Arthur immediately regretted his question. Should've just said something bland. Why'd he have to ask that?
"He's endured worse. That's nothing to him."
Meant as comfort, his words only paled her face further.
Arthur wanted to bite his tongue right then.
"Guess I really am a glib-tongued fool."
The snide remark from that marquis's daughter, who always disapproved of the empire's beloved prince, now stabbed right at his heart.
"No, that's not what I—"
"Duke Arthur."
Madam Molly, who had approached unnoticed, cut off his lengthening excuse. Arthur slowly moved his reluctant feet.
'His Majesty is looking for you.'
Arthur's expression was colder than ever as he walked the empty fourth-floor corridor.
A call from His Majesty.
After parking him in this ruin for nearly a year, now he calls. Was it to caution him about sending the Britain fellow?
He locked the hospital director's office door firmly and picked up the receiver.
"Your Majesty."
[Have you met Colonel Bottom?]
"...Yes."
[You've worked hard on the battlefield.]
A dry laugh escaped Arthur's lips. Such insincere words. The Nexus Emperor wasn't one to call just to praise effort.
"Did Your Majesty contact me just to mention my humble efforts?"
A brief silence traveled the line.
Arthur cursed the Kovah Army that had blown up the barracks phone lines. If they were going to blow them, why leave this one intact?
[...Dever was ambushed.]
As expected.
"...It seems Your Majesty's eyes aren't just on me."
His voice, thick with suppressed emotion, trembled faintly at the end.
"Was Wayne within a day's ride from here?"
He'd vaguely known the emperor's gaze wasn't solely on him. Just as someone watched Dever through him, there was likely someone monitoring Arthur. A man whose life was defined by suspicion and distrust—the emperor.
But for news of yesterday's ambush to reach the imperial palace before sunset?
Bitter bile rose from deep in his chest.
[Arthur, my brother.]
My brother.
The tedious times he'd raged just to hear those words.
He remembered the endearing young prince he'd once fawned over for family recognition. Hoyden touched Arthur's wounds all too easily.
"...Brother. Hoyden, please......"
Just like now.
[A chance given by the gods for you to be recognized as my brother.]
Arthur closed his eyes.
Please, not those words.
[A chance to cut off Dever's lifeline.]