Chapter 12
Under the moonlight, his smooth skin and well-built upper body came into view. Even so, it was clear he had lost much of his former strength. Declan kept his eyes fixed forward, unwilling to look at his diminished form.
Once completely undressed, he stepped slowly into the water. It was rather cold, but not unbearably so. Since morning, his body had alternated between sweating from a slight fever and cooling down again, leaving him feeling uncomfortably sticky. He submerged himself fully, letting the chill of the stream wash over him.
Then, as before, he reached up and touched the scales behind his left ear.
Just a while ago, the signs of that cursed illness had seemed undeniable, but perhaps it had only been his imagination.
Meanwhile, Maeve had withdrawn a fair distance as the prince had requested. She loosened the stopper of the empty sack slung over her shoulder and began filling it with the stream’s water.
Aside from the steady sound of water flowing over rocks and pebbles, and the occasional chirping of insects or birds from the forest, the area was perfectly still.
Once the sack was full and heavy with water, Maeve lifted it upright and set it at her feet. As she glanced around, wondering if there might be any edible greens or mushrooms nearby, she suddenly heard a faint splash from the distance.
The Prince would probably not scream even if something happened.
Maeve, though she cautioned him in advance, knew perfectly well that the Prince would never disgrace himself by crying out and asking her for help.
Feeling doubtful, Maeve briefly stared into the air. Then, retracing her steps, she walked back toward the familiar rock.
As she drew closer, she noticed something glimmering faintly, bobbing on the surface of the water and slowly drifting away.
“Huh.”
Maeve let out a sound that was half disbelief.
The Prince might have been a bit insufferable at times, but he wasn’t the sort to engage in eccentric behavior. There was no way he would be playing at diving like a child in weather like this—he must have fallen into the water. Up to his navel-deep, at least.
His body was gradually being swept away by the current, drifting toward deeper waters. His pale, well-toned figure sank into the depths in an instant.
It was eerily quiet. As if nothing had happened at all, the river maintained a calm surface, feigning innocence.
Maeve cursed under her breath and immediately jumped into the water.
An unconscious person’s body is heavier than an old tree trunk—and soaked in water, even more so. But for Maeve, it was nothing. Slinging the Prince’s limp body over her shoulder, she trudged out of the water.
She laid him down and was about to check if he was breathing when his mouth opened, and he began to cough and spit out water.
The Prince, still dazed and half-conscious, felt the biting chill yet couldn’t even grasp his own humiliating state. His vacant eyes simply stared into space.
“Your Highness.”
His empty blue eyes turned toward her. Strictly speaking, they weren’t really looking at Maeve—his mind was still far away, and only his eyes reacted reflexively to the figure before him.
Maeve took the rough blanket she had brought along with her clothes and wiped the water from his face. Her touch was as coarse and unkind as one might use to dry the fur of an animal. The Prince, powerless to resist, simply lay there, letting her do as she pleased.
“…Craig.”
At last, his lips moved, murmuring something faintly.
“…The sickness… again… I think… please… give me…”
The words tumbled out like fragments dredged from unconsciousness, slurred and incomplete.
The only word she could clearly make out was “Craig,” the name of his attendant.
“All right. I’ll take you to that attendant of yours. Can you walk?”
His hazy eyes turned toward the night sky above, and a faint whisper escaped his lips.
“…No.”
The Prince closed his eyes again, as though losing consciousness once more.
Maeve waited a little longer just in case, but soon she heard his shallow, raspy breathing. The stillness around them made every uneven breath stand out more clearly.
Instead of moving him right away or calling for help, Maeve sat quietly beside him.
She slowly lifted her hand. The hand that had, unavoidably, touched his body for a brief moment radiated an ominous sensation.
Her fingertips tingled unpleasantly.
“…Cold.”
The thought didn’t last long.
When the sleeping Prince muttered the words in his sleep, Maeve’s head snapped toward him.
Well, of course you are—you’re naked.
She tossed the blanket she had used to wipe his face over his body.
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