Take Off Your Clothes, My Lord
I swallowed dryly under the Duke's murderous gaze.
"I asked you what you think you're doing."
A chilling voice. The fury radiating off him felt as though he might draw his sword and press it to my throat at any moment.
Those violet eyes, darkened to something near bloodred, were beautiful beyond mystery—they were outright terrifying. That vivid, predatory intensity pricked against my skin like needles.
I lowered my gaze and spoke with deliberate calm.
"My lord. What is a butler's duty, if I may ask? Nothing more than the management of the estate, is it not?"
"……"
Instead of an answer, the man's gaze flew at me, sharp enough to strangle.
I pressed on anyway.
"And I would consider keeping watch over my lord's condition—the head of the house—part of that duty as well."
"……"
"So, with your leave, I'm going to take a look at you."
This was not a request for permission. It was closer to a formal notice: I will inspect you now, so sit still.
I stepped right up to him.
I knew it.
Very faint, but unmistakable—the smell of blood.
He's hurt.
I began hurrying my eyes over him, from head to toe.
But contrary to my expectations, he looked far too pristine. Apart from a slight dishevelment in his hair, I couldn't find a single thing out of place.
When I tilted my head in confusion, the Duke said in a surly voice, "Done inspecting? Then get out."
"……"
Ordinarily I would have said "Yes, my lord," turned on my heel, and left the room without a second thought—but somehow, today, that didn't feel right.
And in the very instant I let his frosty invitation to leave slide past one ear and out the other—
a slightly thicker trace of blood-scent rose from the Duke's left arm.
I stared hard at that arm.
"It seems……"
"……"
"I'll need to examine you a bit more thoroughly."
"……"
I lifted my head and flashed him my sweetest smile. The Duke's brow twitched.
I fixed him with a firm, unwavering look, willing him to understand just how resolute I was.
"My lord, I beg your pardon, but—"
"……"
"Please take off your clothes."
"……"
"……"
A beat of silence passed.
I had braced for a proper shouting match, but to my surprise, the Duke quietly complied.
Swish, drop. Swish, drop.
With a few economical flicks of his hands, every article of clothing on him fell to the floor and piled up like a shed skin.
While he undressed, I spun around and quickly gathered the supplies I'd need for treatment. Every room in the estate kept a stocked first-aid kit, so there was no need to step outside.
There's a styptic here too. Good.
If the wound wasn't deep, a simple treatment would do.
The blood smell isn't that strong, so it's probably nothing serious.
The Duke had a habit of slipping out somewhere before dawn and returning—
and every time, he came back smelling of the dead. The rancid stench of blood gone bad.
The kind of smell that buried his clean, cool scent entirely.
But what hung on him now was a little different. It was the smell of hot blood freshly spilled from torn skin.
That was how I could be certain: the Duke was injured, and somewhere on that body of his was a wound.
How dare……
which little bastard……
I clenched the bandage in my hand until my knuckles whitened.
I haven't even gotten to touch him yet……!
Of course, judging by the fact that the Duke had come home wounded, the other party was likely already a corpse. Even so, I was furious.
If a wound was to be given, I should be the one to give it. If a head was to be taken, my blade should be the one to take it.
The only person allowed to leave a mark on the Duke was me.
Because that Duke is mine.
How dare he lay a hand on what belongs to me. Even assuming the man was already dead, my anger refused to settle. All I wanted was to dig up his grave and shred him to ribbons.
That settles it.
Next time, I'm following him.
What if he got hurt again?
Carrying the kit, I went back to him. The Duke sat perched on the edge of the bed, shirtless.
And sure enough—there on his bared left arm ran a long gash, a hand-span across.
Idiot Duke. Getting himself hurt like this……
Scolding him silently, I examined the arm with care, mindful not to let the wound reopen.
But would he actually take me with him when he goes out?
So sneaking after him is the only way, huh? No wait—the collar. With this dog collar on, I can't leave without permission anyway……
What do I do?
Drafting plans to shadow him in my head, I studied the wound thoroughly.
It looked like the work of something very sharp, but thankfully, it didn't seem to have been poisoned.
"It won't need stitching."
After soaking a clean cloth in antiseptic, I gently wiped away the blood and debris from the wound and around it, then dabbed on a liquid styptic. The blood that had been seeping steadily stopped almost the instant the medicine touched it.
Once I confirmed the bleeding had stopped, I took out an ointment developed by the Duke's personal physician.
"This was made by Lanners."
Scooping a bit of the ointment with my fingertip, I smoothed it lightly over the wound.
"It'll speed the healing and help keep infection away. ……It may sting a little."
"……"
It went without saying, but as expected, the Duke's expression didn't change in the slightest.
This is the stuff Chef Lanners rubbed on the back of his hand, wailed about how much it hurt, and then spent a full thirty minutes hopping around the back garden over.
Unless the Duke had lost all sensation, his hand had to be stinging and burning like mad right about now.
Tough bastard.
With the ointment evenly spread, I readied the bandage.
"Could you lift your arm a little, please?"
The Duke obediently raised it. I wound the soft bandage around that pillar of an arm and fastened it snugly.
"If it feels too tight, do tell me."
Until then the Duke had kept quiet, but now he spoke.
"……You're skilled at this. Since when did you know how to do field treatment?"
"That, too, is recorded in the Ballot's Book of Runes—"
"No, it isn't. Nothing like that in there."
"……"
"Did you think I hadn't memorized the Book of Runes?"
Tch.
"What was that?"
"Nothing, my lord."
Normally he'd let any half-plausible excuse slide, but tonight he was being surprisingly relentless.
Tidying up the bandages and medicines I'd used, I cast about for a change of subject.
"So—where were you, if I may ask?"
"……"
As expected, the Duke didn't answer. Clatter, clatter. Only the sound of me packing the kit echoed through the silence.
I closed the lid, latched it shut, and looked up at him.
"Is it somewhere you can't tell even your own butler?"
"……"
The Duke pressed his lips into a hard line.
Look at this stubbornness. Clicking my tongue inwardly, I let out a sigh.
Fine, whatever. It's not like we've ever traded secrets like this before.
It wasn't exactly a good moment to push, so prying could wait.
I'll feed him something delicious first, wait for his mood to improve, and dig then.
With that thought, I rose with the kit in hand and gave him a smile as light as a sketch.
"My lord."
"……What."
"You don't have to tell me where you were."
"……"
"But in exchange—don't carry every burden alone. You have an aide, don't you? Commander Jayden would do, or Sir Allen. Why not try finding someone you can actually open up to?"
I knew it would earn me a scolding for overstepping, but it was a thing worth saying at least once.
It would be even better if he poured those secret thoughts out to me.
Isn't that how trust gets built, after all?
I was grinning to myself when the Duke gave a short, mocking laugh.
"Sharing your hardships, is it? If you're about to spout that kind of nonsense, then say nothing at all."
"……"
Ah, this Duke. He's twisted. Deeply, thoroughly twisted.
But he's not wrong, though. It matches my own philosophy of life, actually.
We're oddly compatible on this, aren't we?
I nodded.
"You're right, my lord. Everything you said is absolutely correct."
"……"
At that, the Duke's brow furrowed.
"Weren't you just telling me to open up?"
"Pfft—that's advice for ordinary people. Not for someone like you, my lord."
"And what, exactly, is someone like me?"
"Someone with a great many enemies?"
"……"
I wiped every trace of laughter from my face at once and spoke with grave, level eyes.
"For a man like you, my lord, burdens are things you carry to the grave. Because they could become…… my leverage against you."
"Ah. So that's why a butler hides so very much from her master? Afraid of being exposed?"
"……"
Paying his last remark no mind whatsoever, I smiled sweetly and backed toward the door.
"So you should keep yours hidden too, my lord. Don't let me get the better of you."
"……Where do you think you're going."
"If you keep getting hurt like this before the Hunting Festival, you might fall even further behind me."
"……"
"Well then, have a restful night."
Toodles!
I hurried out of the room.
"A liability, is it……"
He knew. It was a line that turned up even in the most commonplace advice.
And yet……
Every time I look at that woman, I feel a strange sense of déjà vu.
Kadrian stood before the mirror, studying himself.
The pristine white bandage wrapped snug around his left arm. The meticulous hands that had examined the wound beneath it.
She was more practiced at binding wounds than Lanners, his own physician.
Try as he might, he could not understand her.
And then there was this.
"Listen well, Duke. Your burdens are yours alone, carried to your grave. The moment you let one slip past your lips, it becomes my leverage. What, are you desperate for me to get the better of you?"
The words of that knight—the woman who had once been his enemy—rose unbidden the instant the butler finished speaking.
For those two people to overlap in his mind……
Am I losing my mind……? Or……
Deep in Kadrian's heart, another question had quietly taken root—one he himself had never noticed sprouting.