Layla watched as Lysandra walked away, her elegant silhouette disappearing down the corridor.
— I'll be waiting for you at the ball, Oris. Everyone is so proud of your victory.
Oris gave a faint smile, but Layla noticed the skeptical glint in his eyes.
He watched Lysandra leave, then, in a mocking tone, murmured:
— Really? Proud… or just relieved that I'm still alive?
A quiet, bitter laugh escaped him as he swept his gaze across the room.
— So, people of the palace… are you happy about my return? Or have you simply learned to live without me?
Layla frowned.
What did he mean by that?
She had always assumed that the prince ruled from his throne, surrounded by gold and servants. Not that he disappeared so often that his own people grew used to his absence.
Lost in thought, she didn't immediately realize that Oris had settled onto the edge of the table, right in front of her.
When she finally looked up, he was there close his gaze locked onto hers.
Then, in a light tone, he said:
— Can you check my wound now?
Layla rolled her eyes, irritated.
— Oh, stop joking already.
But when she met his gaze, she froze.
It wasn't a joke.
A flicker of pain crossed his golden eyes. A real pain.
Layla felt a lump form in her throat.
He was hurting. Truly.
Without thinking, she jumped to her feet, frantically searching through the shelves.
— Where is that damn healing balm… she muttered, panic rising in her voice.
Oris, meanwhile, watched her in silence, a faint smile lingering on his lips.
Maybe, after all, she cared about him more than she wanted to admit.
Oris grabbed the collar of his shirt and, with a fluid motion, pulled it down slightly, revealing his sculpted torso.
Layla blinked, stunned.
The torchlight cast shadows on his skin, accentuating every line, every muscle tensed from pain.
Then, without warning, he moved his injured arm.
A simple motion, but one that made his muscles shift beneath his skin with almost insolent precision.
A sudden heat rushed to Layla's cheeks.
She looked away so fast that her neck ached.
Good grief.
Oris, for his part, seemed to notice her reaction and, to her surprise, he also averted his gaze, his posture relaxing slightly as if he, too, was somewhat embarrassed.
A strange silence lingered between them.
But Layla quickly regained her composure.
She took a quiet breath and stepped forward with confidence, pretending total indifference.
No matter what scene was unfolding before her.
She sat beside him and finally examined the wound.
It was worse than she had expected.
Gently, she applied the healing balm to the injury, her fingers brushing against his heated skin.
— If you keep throwing yourself into battles like this, you're going to drive me insane, she thought to herself.
A faint smile played on her lips at the idea.
But when she looked up…
Oris wasn't looking at her.
His gaze was distant, lost in thought.
An expression she had never seen on him before.
Layla bit her lip.
No matter how hard she tried, she still couldn't figure him out.
And yet…
He never stopped unsettling her.