CHAPTER 033
Sir Jacob and Aide Kyle had left, leaving only the Emperor, Arabelle, and Sir George, the Emperor's personal physician, in the Emperor’s chamber.
Sir George grasped Lady Arabelle’s left ankle, which had been seated, or rather placed, on the armchair that only the Emperor could sit on. Suddenly, the Emperor’s leather glove dropped onto the carpet.
Looking up in confusion, Sir George saw the Emperor’s stern gaze, which conveyed the unspoken command.
How dare you touch someone with bare hands? Wear gloves while treating her.
Sir George hurriedly put on his gloves and carefully examined Arabelle’s left ankle. The intense gaze he felt on his head made him break into a sweat.
Before long, a menacing voice echoed from behind.
“Do you need to knead it that long to fix it? You didn’t handle my wrist like this when you treated it at the hunting ground, did you?”
The voice, filled with obvious displeasure, made Sir George’s face crumple.
The chilling voice scrutinizing every step of his treatment process made him anxious. Sir George’s effort to handle Lady Arabelle’s ankle with just his fingertips was almost tearful.
To avoid further displeasing the Emperor, Sir George carefully examined Arabelle’s ankle and spoke.
“Fortunately, it’s not broken or severely injured. It seems to be dislocated from the sudden impact, so if I do this…”
As Sir George gently twisted the ankle in opposite directions, a cracking sound was heard.
“Ouch!”
“What are you doing?”
The spacious bedroom was filled with the Emperor’s thunderous roar.
The cry from Arabelle’s lips was a small, short sound that couldn’t even be called a scream, but the Emperor’s enraged voice that followed was a spine-chilling roar.
The Emperor, who had pulled an arrow from his shoulder without a groan on the battlefield, was now roaring with rage.
Sir George closed his eyes tightly, fearing that the Emperor’s sword might fall upon his neck. He lamented his fate of having to risk his life just to treat a minor ankle injury.
“It doesn’t hurt at all, strangely.”
Sir George opened his eyes only when he heard Arabelle’s voice of relief.
“Thank you.”
As Arabelle stood up and rotated her ankle, she bowed her head in gratitude, and Sir George replied with a smile.
“I’m glad. I’m confident when it comes to setting fractures. You must have been in quite a bit of pain, but you bore it well. On the contrary, His Majesty’s feigned injury seemed real, while you showed no sign of pain, making it seem as though you weren’t hurt.”
At Sir George’s words, Arabelle’s eyes widened as she looked at the Emperor.
“Your Majesty, are you not hurt?”
Sir George, seeing the Emperor’s burning red eyes and the sword at his waist, quickly changed the subject, trying to save his neck.
“We need to apply an ice pack quickly to reduce the swelling. Then you’ll be able to walk without any problem soon.”
Seating Arabelle back in the chair, Sir George wrapped a towel around the ice brought by a maid and prepared to apply it to her ankle. Suddenly, the loud, discontented sound of the Emperor’s shoe striking the floor echoed through the room.
When Sir George nervously looked up at the Emperor again, he saw the Emperor raising an eyebrow and asked.
“Is the treatment over after just applying an ice pack?”
“Yes. The swelling will subside with the ice pack, and the injury will heal completely.”
At Sir George’s response, the Emperor slightly lifted his sharp chin without a word.
His narrowed eyes and twitching brows conveyed his unspoken thoughts. Sir George, initially puzzled, opened his mouth to speak, but the Emperor’s slightly twisted lips and nod toward the door signaled for him to leave quickly.
“I-I have an urgent matter to attend to…”
Muttering and hastily opening the bedroom door, Sir George’s eyes widened at the sight that greeted him as he turned his head.
The Emperor had approached the chair where Lady Arabelle sat, knelt on one knee in a knightly manner, and sat down. The Emperor carefully took her ankle with one hand and lifted her foot onto his other palm.
Though the Emperor’s demeanor was nothing but respectful, there was something oddly intimate and suggestive about the scene. Feeling as though he had witnessed something he shouldn’t have, Sir George quickly swallowed and exited the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
“I-I can do it myself,” Arabelle stammered in embarrassment, but the Emperor, as if not hearing her, brought her foot closer to his chest. He skillfully placed the ice towel over her cream-colored stocking.
The room fell into a silence broken only by the crackling of the fireplace. The Emperor placed her foot on his thigh, holding the ice towel to her ankle with one hand and gently massaging her foot with the other.
The delicate touch of his long, firm fingers through the thin stocking sent a shiver down Arabelle’s spine. The warmth from his fingers through the stocking spread over her tender skin.
As his hands moved slowly, drawing small circles from her heel to the hollow behind her ankle, the mix of warmth and cold sent an indescribable tingling sensation through her, turning her innocent face red.
The Emperor, who had his head bowed like a knight kneeling, cast a shadow over his high, smooth nose with his long, thick eyelashes.
His broad, straight shoulders seemed even more reliable today, and the firm muscles of his thigh under her foot made her toes curl within her stockings.
Being with him made the hurtful words from the banquet seem to vanish like sand in the wind.
She shouldn’t be greedy. But the more she saw, the more she wanted to see. Arabelle bowed her head, feeling guilty for wishing this moment would last a bit longer.
The Emperor’s red eyes darkened as he marveled at the slender ankle he held with his thumb and forefinger.
His voice, slightly hoarse and deep, broke the silence.
“With such small feet, you managed to run around the mountains. They’re so small it would be hard to find you if you tried to run away.”
The Emperor clenched his teeth slightly, making his jaw tighten.
Why am I so anxious? He pondered. Though she was right here in his hands, the feeling of her slipping away made him uneasy. He had brought her only to break his curse, yet seeing her and touching her was the only thing that calmed him.
He felt as if he was being dominated by these unfamiliar emotions far too often.
When he heard the reports of the gossip directed at her during the banquet, his body had already moved to draw his sword and head to the bedroom. If Sir Jacob and Sir Peter hadn’t stopped him with all their might, the banquet hall would have been in ruins by now.
It was absurd. To lose his sanity just by imagining her injured appearance.
It was dangerous. Could this be part of the curse too? A near-animalistic obsession with the woman who saved the beast’s life.
Suppressing the dark desire to move from her slender ankle to a more intimate place, he looked down to see her clear, resolute eyes meeting his from beneath her eyelashes, capturing his gaze.
"As I promised, I will not run away. I will stay by your side until your curse is lifted, Your Majesty."
I may not be worthy to stand by your side, having nothing and being special in no way, just like people say. I have nothing to offer you... but I will keep my promise. I will surely lift your curse.
As Arabelle spoke with sincerity, the Emperor’s previously darkened red eyes softened, and his furrowed brow relaxed.
Standing up slowly, the Emperor spoke gently,
"It seems the swelling has gone down. Shall we go back down to the banquet hall? The final dance will start soon."
He extended his large hand towards Arabelle.
Arabelle looked at his hand for a moment, then looked up,
"I will not go."
She refused his hand.
The Emperor looked down at his empty hand and asked in a low voice, his tone carrying a chilling coldness despite his calm expression.
"Do you dare refuse the hand of the Emperor?"
Arabelle shook her head slightly as she answered.
"If Your Majesty dances the final dance with me, people will suspect your injury."
"Is that a problem? Being suspected? What does it matter?"
The Emperor's brow furrowed slightly. Even if they did suspect, it didn’t matter to him.
There was no one in the Empire bold enough to complain about the Emperor lying, and if there were, he could simply ask, "So what?" and crush their arrogance.
"I cannot allow Your Majesty to be suspected because of me. I cannot let your reputation be stained with a lie made to help me. Your Majesty, who is such a benevolent ruler, should not bear that burden."
Arabelle’s voice was unwavering and resolute. The Emperor's eyebrow slowly rose.
This woman... she couldn't even imagine that the Emperor, for the sake of his goals, would lie countless times a day, wearing masks and trapping and using people like pieces in a chess game.
The Emperor Maxwell she saw was a wise and kind ruler who helped the weak and cared for animals. As he looked down at Arabelle, who had clenched her small fists and stood determined, he thought.
She doesn’t even know why I pretended to injure my ankle before I could dance the first dance with Princess Lilibet. She probably believes there was a grand, hidden reason for the Empire, and that's why I faked the injury.
In reality, I just didn’t want her to see me dancing with other women.
To Arabelle, he appeared as a benevolent Emperor who was trying to protect her honor after the humiliation she suffered at the banquet by offering to dance the final dance with her.
'She will never return to the banquet hall to dance with me.'
Having already experienced Arabelle’s stubbornness, the Emperor thought to himself as he narrowed his eyes.
"You are right, Lady Arabelle. I cannot tell you the reason as it is a top secret of the Empire, but I felt uneasy about having to pretend to be injured in the banquet hall. It would be better not to return to the banquet."
At the Emperor’s words, Arabelle nodded with a brightened expression, understanding.
After escorting Arabelle to the sofa and seating her, the Emperor sat beside her and spoke in a playful voice,
"There is still time until the banquet ends, so you can sit by my side and eat chocolate until I finish my work."
He opened the box of chocolates that he had intended to drop on the balcony of Arabelle’s separate residence.
Comments
Post a Comment