No Regression for the Victor - Chapter 21

How could someone make even clumsy plowing look so dignified? The Duke’s skill was as poor as ever, but perhaps because he had someone guiding him by his side, even the way he drove the plow into the field now seemed a little stronger, a little more confident than before.

‘Is this how you do it?’

Then, looking back at Mikhail a bit awkwardly, the Duke appeared embarrassed. It was an absurd scene to begin with—the attendant teaching, and the Duke plowing the field himself—but in that surreal moment, Mikhail found himself wishing it would never end.

‘No, like this! If you hold it here, and then pull this way, you can use less strength and dig deeper.’

This was before the topic of the greenhouse had even come up. It was hardly proper, but while earnestly teaching the Duke how to use farming tools, Mikhail kept finding himself in situations where he had no choice but to touch the Duke’s body.

Like just now—he naturally gripped the muscle where the Duke’s elbow bent and pulled, only to feel for himself the sturdy frame, even if the man had grown thinner.

There was no need to check for pheromones—this was unmistakably an alpha’s body. The muscles peeking out from beneath the loosely open collar had clearly diminished compared to the past, but were still firmly in place.

Mikhail caught himself wondering what it would feel like to touch that smooth skin, what kind of face this man would make during his rut.

The moment those unbidden, inappropriate thoughts crept in, the Duke’s long legs and well-proportioned hips unconsciously pressed close to the front of Mikhail’s trousers.

‘……?!?!?’

For a youth at the age when rut was about to begin, that was far too stimulating a contact. Reflexively, Mikhail’s grip on the Duke’s arm tightened.

‘Ah.’

It wasn’t until the Duke let out a short sound of pain that Mikhail regained his senses and hurriedly stepped back.

‘S-sorry…! I… I didn’t control my strength very well…’

As Mikhail fumbled through his apology, the Duke consoled him as if it were nothing at all.

‘No, it’s fine. It happened because I stepped back too quickly.’

The Duke, thinking Mikhail had grabbed onto him simply to keep from falling when he moved back abruptly, apologized even though he was the one owed an apology. Mikhail, face burning, shook his head quickly, hoping the Duke wouldn’t notice how flustered he was.

‘No! I was the one who nearly injured you, Your Grace. I’m terribly sorry.’

Just as mercenaries would bow their heads and beg forgiveness from nobles when they made mistakes, Mikhail lowered his head. The Duke, appearing even more flustered, replied,

‘Please, don’t think that way. I’m the one learning from you, Misha, so don’t treat me so stiffly.’

Seeing him so unreservedly humble himself, Mikhail once again felt his heart clench tightly. In the end, both kept blaming themselves, and somehow the conversation drifted to Mikhail suggesting they ought to prepare a greenhouse for winter.

Then, before he knew it, Mikhail found himself assuring the Duke that he would have the greenhouse built before his assignment was over, and ultimately had to ask Marcel to source the necessary materials.

Honestly, with the prince’s monstrous level of strength and stamina, it wasn’t impossible. But still—why? All of a sudden? Marcel wondered as he contacted the nearby estate and arranged for the materials for a small greenhouse.

The real reason was nothing so complicated. It was simply that Mikhail wanted to keep seeing the look of satisfaction on the Duke’s face, the face he made after finally managing to nurture a proper Osbrandt pumpkin sprout. That was something Marcel would never, ever be able to understand.

And that night, as the prince tried to sleep in the same room as Marcel, he kept getting up to splash water on his face before returning to bed, still feeling his face burn.

Something felt strange.

The Duke’s face and his sturdy body kept alternating in his mind, replaying the scenes from earlier that day. It was said that before receiving the executioner’s crown, the Duke had a body even stronger than most warriors. As long as that punishment continued to squeeze his heart, he would only waste away further.

The Duke was still holding on, as if his mind was a castle built of solid brick, unwavering. To others, he would seem distant, even suspiciously resolute in his aloofness.

But Mikhail couldn’t take his eyes off the Duke’s occasional bitter smile. Every time he glimpsed the cracks carefully hidden beneath that stoic exterior, his heart would race.

At last, he concluded that the faint shadow he saw was, perhaps, loneliness. And he wanted—against all reason—to be the one to soothe that loneliness.

If someone were to ask him why, he couldn’t give a clear answer. He just couldn’t look away from the man.

The Duke stood so resolute, pretending to be strong, yet it felt as if he might vanish if Mikhail looked away even for a second. As if he had never existed at all. What would it take to keep someone like that from slipping away?

Unless the Duke still had something—or someone—precious to him, it would be impossible.

‘What can I do for him…’

Mikhail, thinking of the Duke all the while, found a bitter taste rising in his mouth. All he could do for the Duke now was to help with these simple chores, hiding his identity. If even that were refused, Mikhail had no right to interfere in the Duke’s life.

The thought that he might become someone precious to the Duke never even crossed his mind.

Crestfallen at his own helplessness, Mikhail pulled the blanket over his head all the way to the top.