Caym pushed open the door to the infirmary, revealing a quiet and dimly lit room. The scent of antiseptic hung in the air, and the soft murmur of a nearby bubbling flask filled the space. The infirmary was empty, with its white, sterile walls and neatly organized shelves of medical supplies. The only point of focus in the room was a solitary bed at the far end, where Ingrid lay sideways, her back turned toward the entrance. The faint glow from a nearby window cast a gentle illumination on her form.
As Caym approached, the muffled sounds of her breathing became more evident. The infirmary's atmosphere was one of serenity, punctuated only by the subtle sounds of the infirmary equipment and Ingrid's presence, as she lay there, seemingly deep in thought or slumber.
Caym settled into a chair positioned a few meters from the bed, his unwavering gaze fixed upon Ingrid's frail figure. "Are you awake, Your Highness?" His voice carried a gentle timbre, careful not to disturb her, as if she were a delicate, fragile being.
Ingrid released a weary sigh, her words barely audible. "The doctor assured me I could rest undisturbed. No one was supposed to come in," she murmured.
"Hmm. Were you comfortable before my arrival?" Caym inquired, touching his chin.
"Hardly," Ingrid replied, her voice was gentle but tinged with discomfort. "The bed feels like stone, and the air is thick with the scent of medicine."
"I regret that I can't change that," Caym stated pragmatically. His gaze remained fixed on Ingrid's form, never once wavering. "But, Your Highness, don't you have questions for me?"
A heavy silence lingered before Ingrid's voice pierced through, laden with frustration and desperation. "If I ask, will you even be honest with me, Grand Commander?"
Caym leaned back slightly, his gaze falling to the the floor. "Some questions I may not answer. But whatever I do answer, I assure you, will never be a lie," he said.
The room fell into a profound silence, the only sound the gentle rhythm of Ingrid's breathing, echoing in the stillness.
The air hung heavy with anticipation as Ingrid's back remained turned to Caym. In a soft, almost fragile voice, she asked, "Then... are my maids... safe?"
Caym's fingers softly tapped a nearby table, the sound reverberating in the stillness. "Yes," he replied, his tone unwavering and steady.
"What will happen to them?" Ingrid pressed further.
"They will be banned from entering the capital," Caym explained.
"Will I ever see them again?"
Caym's eyes drifted across the room and settled on Ingrid's form, who lay motionless on the bed. Her frail figure was barely visible beneath the pristine white sheets. His gaze traced the bandaged feet that peeked out from under the covers.
"You still worry about your maids when you cannot walk," Caym mused, his brows knitting together.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips and he replied, "Impossible."
"Can you promise me that they won't endure hardship outside?" Ingrid asked.
"I'm afraid that lies outside the scope of my responsibility," Caym replied.
His eyebrows shot upward as Ingrid made a gradual attempt to rise from the bed. The blanket slipped from her fragile form, her silver hair cascading like a shimmering waterfall down her shoulders. Her body moved with the visible signs of weakness, each gesture an arduous effort.
"What happens if I die today?" Ingrid asked, her voice steady despite the vulnerability in her eyes.
Caym's brows knitted. "What do you mean?" he asked.
A gentle smile curled on Ingrid's lips. Ignoring the pain, she moved her feet to the side of the bed, attempting to stand. A sudden, sharp ache shot up from her wounds, making her gasp and reach out for support. In her struggle, she accidentally knocked some things off a nearby table, the clattering sound echoing through the room.
Before she could take another step, Caym swiftly moved, his strong arms encircling her waist, lifting her effortlessly, and carrying her back to the bed.
"What on earth are you doing, Your Highness? There is a limit to how much you can be impulsive," he exclaimed.
Caym knelt beside her, his eyes focused on her injured feet. He reached out with a warm hand, his touch gentle against her soft skin. With a sigh, he carefully began to remove the bloodstained bandage.
"Seeing as how the Grand Commander makes sure I stay alive, I guess my existence has gained a bit of importance," Ingrid murmured, her smile oddly serene despite the pain she was enduring.
Caym did not reply. Instead, his fingers moved skillfully, unwrapping the blood-stained bandages from Ingrid's wounded feet. Each motion was deliberate, gentle, as if he were handling something precious. Ingrid winced, her lips pressing together tightly, but she didn't utter a word of complaint.
"I will assist your maids in relocating outside the capital. There is no need for you to endanger yourself to get what you want," Caym said, his voice soft yet firm, his eyes focused intently on his task. He stood up and crossed the room to retrieve a jar of healing balm and fresh bandages from the cabinet.
"It might be effective with me, but it will not be with others," he continued, his tone steady.
Ingrid raised her gaze, watching Caym's back. "Effective with you?" she asked, her voice soft with confusion.
Caym hesitated for a brief moment, his expression guarded. He turned to face Ingrid, his eyes meeting hers. "I'm saying I pity you," he replied.
The room filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the subtle sounds of Caym's careful ministrations. He continued to tend to Ingrid's wound, his fingers moving with precision as he applies the soothing balm to her delicate skin and expertly wrapping it with a fresh bandage.
Ingrid's gaze remained fixed on him, her eyes tracing the contours of his profile. The room's soft light played on his hair, casting a shadow over his wide, strong shoulders as he worked. His hands, though rugged, exuded a surprising warmth as they touched Ingrid's skin.
As the seconds ticked by, Ingrid's heart began to beat louder, the sound echoing in her ears. She was accustomed to taking drastic measures to secure even the smallest of her desires, but Caym's unexpected response left her feeling a strange mix of foolish and oddly comforted.
"Ha. I shouldn't trust people so easily," she chided herself inwardly, her thoughts echoing with a bitter irony.
Caym's movements were deliberate as he stood up, revealing no hint of emotion. "You should refrain from walking until your injuries have properly healed. You are surprisingly weak. It makes me wonder what food you've been eating so far," he said.
"Mmm. Thank you," Ingrid replied, her gaze fixed on her feet.
"You need not feel obligated to attend the Moonlight Festival. Take the necessary time to recuperate," Caym suggested, his steps measured as he approached the table, where he placed the balm and bandages.
A faint smile graced Ingrid's lips. "Do you believe I could decline the Emperor's invitation?" she asked.
"If you look weak enough, they cannot force you," Caym replied.
Ingrid let out a soft chuckle, her laughter infused with both surprise and amusement. "It's amusing to hear such advice from the Grand Commander," she teased.
Caym met her gaze for a moment before averting his eyes. "The inspection at the Lily Palace has concluded. Would you like to return now?" he inquired, his voice regaining its usual composed tone.
Ingrid tilted her head slightly. "But, I cannot to walk," she said.