Chapter 38
Chapter 38
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 38
Chapter Title: Not Just a Dream
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The faint muttering faded away, and even after a long stretch of time, the man refused to loosen his tightly gripped hand. It was as if he feared the hand he held might vanish, his desperate clutch somehow heartbreaking.
Beth twisted her palm to clasp his hand in return. His much larger hand wove between her slender fingers. She wrapped both her hands around his rough one, which yielded so readily.
I hope you dream sweetly.
So you won't have to face that pitch-black darkness alone... I hope you sleep deeply until morning comes.
Once her true feelings had surfaced, they refused to sink back down.
Dever winced at the harsh sunlight pouring in. His head throbbed like it did after a night of heavy drinking, and nausea churned in his gut. Amid the dizzy haze in his mind, vague visions drifted by.
Was it a dream?
Those eyes gazing only at him. The warm hand caressing his face. Even the gentle nod answering his question.
None of it felt real.
"A dream..."
Emptiness washed over him. And in a way, it was ridiculous. To expect a sweet reality for someone who had never even known a good dream.
As he tried to sit up, leaning on his left arm instead of his aching right one, a different warmth spread from his fingertips. His gaze drifted downward slowly.
More precisely, to Beth, who lay curled against his waist, fast asleep.
"Beth?"
Stray locks of hair veiled her face. Dever, unable to move properly because of their clasped hands, awkwardly leaned over her again.
"Beth."
Even whispering her name didn't wake her. Beth had rested her round forehead atop their intertwined hands and drifted off.
Dever's throat tightened.
It wasn't a dream.
"It was you."
He twisted his body carefully, trying not to disturb their grip. The bandages on his tensed shoulder pulled tight, but he endured the tearing pain and used his good hand to brush her hair behind her ear.
Her face was so innocently peaceful in sleep.
"You must've worked yourself to the bone."
A faint ink smudge marked her pale cheek.
This woman surely gave her all to her duties, even in his absence.
She must have run herself ragged everywhere.
Dever rubbed the smudge with his thumb. The soft texture tickled his chest.
Under the pretense of wiping it away, he pressed gently on her yielding cheek. Her brows, curved in gentle repose, soon furrowed deeply. Her fluttering lashes clearly hadn't caught on yet.
"Wake up."
Dever didn't stop his playful prodding.
Her dark eyes blinked a few times before widening in shock, and she bolted upright. Ignoring the chair that toppled behind her with a clatter, Beth blinked at the man before her.
"You can sleep later than the patient?"
She hurried over, pressing a hand to his forehead to check for fever, then inspecting the wounds on his back to ensure they hadn't reopened. There wasn't even time to grab paper and pen.
[Are you okay?]
The man whose hand she clutched stared up at her blankly.
"Like I'd be okay."
Speechless, Beth dazedly looked down at his now-empty hand.
Seeing that vacant expression, Dever couldn't hold back anymore. His shoulders shook. Each laugh sent fire through his ribs and wounds, but it was pain he could gladly bear.
He tugged her arm, reaching for her face again, but she darted back a couple of steps, as if suspecting something.
"You've got ink on your cheek."
Beth frantically rubbed both cheeks. Ever since that 'incident' by the window, she always felt like she was the only one panicking whenever he got close. Indignation welled up.
She glared daggers at him, but he—whose injury was to his shoulder, not his head—grinned silently, his mirth bubbling over.
And that, too, tickled her heart.
A prim knock—tap tap—interrupted the standoff between them. Arthur was visible through the small window.
He cracked the door open with a smile.
"May I come in?"
Dever's expression soured at once, but Beth nodded quickly and stepped aside.
"What, can't you at least pretend to be glad to see me?"
Dever's face remained impassive despite Arthur's teasing.
"Wow, you look great now that it's been a while."
"What nonsense is this now."
Dever brushed it off as unworthy of response, but Arthur pressed on undeterred. Pacing the isolation room with hands clasped behind his back like a stage actor in soliloquy,
"Duke Dever Cliff has once again led us to victory—what are your thoughts? When we return to Wayne, the Emperor and all the ladies will line up to see you. Who will you meet first?"
"Cut the chatter. What about 'that one'?"
"She's still alive."
He swallowed the part about her being half-dead.
"What are you going to do? Kill her, right?"
"No."
"No?"
Arthur reflexively shot back at Dever's unexpected reply.
The Dever that Arthur knew wasn't the type to spare prisoners. Surely, he ought to kill her to ensure Nexus never dared provoke them again. And hang the body not at the Kovah border, but at one bordering another nation—as a warning: tread carefully if you don't want to end up like this.
"Because of that woman?"
He knew the answer, yet asked anyway. Who could he blame for his own foolishness?
"Arthur."
The low voice chilled him.
"Watch your insolence."
The gray-eyed man stared at Arthur with a gaze no different from one he'd fix on the enemy.
"What does that woman have to do with my decisions?"
No one spoke. A tense silence stretched on before Arthur's eyes crinkled. His sharp smile formed the easygoing youth's grin.
"I'm kidding, man. You'll give someone a heart attack."
Arthur turned away. He couldn't risk even a moment's lapse, lest Dever glimpse his true face.
Once a crack formed, it invited the next all too easily.
With even his sole weapon—hiding his emotions—rendered useless, Arthur no longer knew how to conceal himself.
"The war's even over, and yet I feel more terrified now than during the fighting."
He couldn't even stop these slips of genuine feeling.
"What happens to us from here?"
Dread crushed his chest.
Aines helped Gail slowly move his bandaged legs on the bed.
His fighter, shot down from high altitude, had plummeted to the ground nose-first in flames. Fortunately, he'd ejected swiftly, and his landing spot was on the Nexus side.
He had burns on both legs, but thankfully no joint damage. Aines, who only learned of it that morning, had been overjoyed—practically leaping. She'd even ended up sobbing in Madam Molly's arms.
Aines's face shone with unbridled joy as she assisted her fiancé's rehab. Seeing it, a soft smile graced Beth's lips too.
Since Dever woke, her own expressions had mirrored Aines's, though Beth was oblivious. Only sharp-eyed Dixie had noticed the subtle shift.
"See? Everyone's got a sweetheart, so of course you're all smiling."
Dixie said it with mock seriousness. She shot Beth a pouty glare, then added a jab: "What, did I say something wrong?"
Frustrated, Dixie thumped her own chest. Her friend refused to spill even a word about dating Duke Dever Cliff, leaving her burning up inside every night.
"While we're at it, just tell me. How did it happen with the Duke?"
Her voice turned secretive, like a spy extracting intel. She pestered Beth at every chance, but this stubborn, inflexible friend always dodged with "I have work."
This time was no different.
Beth pressed her lips tight and shook her head firmly. Her resolute face brimmed with determination not to utter a single word Dixie craved. Utterly unaware of how much it disappointed her friend.
"You can't do this to me. Who lent you that dress for your first date? Huh? Tell me. Come on."
Aines raised her voice slightly at their bickering.
"Dixie, you! Stop bullying Beth."
She usually played peacemaker, but with all three together, Aines could pull off the big-sister act convincingly.
"You're the ones tormenting my lonely heart! Got it?!"
Dixie fired back, her face crumpling.
"If it's fun talk, I'll join in."
Gail, as oblivious as her fiancé, chimed in. He looked worn but relieved, having fulfilled his duty in the final battle.
"No, Count. Please focus on dating—no, rehab—with Aines."
Dixie yanked Beth's wrist and dragged her into the empty supply room. The cramped space held just a table and a few chairs, used by nurses for quick breaks or urgent letters.
Dixie plopped into a chair and scribbled furiously on a blank sheet. Curious, Beth leaned in, but Dixie swiftly covered it with her arm.
"No way! You won't even talk to me."
She grumbled on, refusing to budge her arm.
Beth fidgeted glumly with her fingers.
"Aw, our baby princess is sulking."
Though same age, Dixie sometimes treated birthday-latest Beth as the baby of the trio.
Back in nursing school, the three had stuck together, even joking to others they were sisters. That led to quips like "Guess only the middle one's like her dad," sparking her indignant rampage.
"Want me to tell you what the letter's about?"
Beth nodded eagerly, her round eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"I asked for outfits for the Founding Day party. Yours and Aines's too."
Founding Day party—here? Reading Beth's mind, Dixie continued triumphantly.
"Looks like we won't make it back to Wayne by Founding Day. War's over, but we can't mope through it. No way! We'll party, even if just five minutes. Crank up the phonograph too."
Party in this place, with peeling walls, creaky floors, and now shattered windows everywhere?
Beth's eyes narrowed.
"I'm Dixie Coleman. Never missed a trend or a party. We'll definitely throw a Founding Day bash right here."
Dixie's eyes gleamed sharper than ever.