210 - Pieces of the Broken Glass Slipper
Shattered Glass Slipper Shards 210
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Was that why? As if possessed by something, my vision, which had been focused solely on the cut sleeve, quickly cleared. I feigned ignorance of my cheeks, which were heating up, and avoided his gaze.
To think I had brazenly grabbed a man's hand—or rather, his sleeve—without a shred of shame. Even if I was flustered by the torn fabric, I shouldn't have acted this way.
Especially since grabbing a man's hand, especially a knight's wrist, without a word was something even family members didn't do easily. Even more so if it was the arm that held a sword.
After all, weren't these the people who were trained to counterattack in preparation for a sudden assault? I could have been strangled by a reflexively extended hand.
Having had an experience in my previous life where I grabbed a knight's hand without thinking and almost got into serious trouble, I had to be even more careful.
It wasn't for nothing that knights were referred to as ferocious beasts who would readily prostrate themselves beyond the elegant mindset of revering women.
It was also why precautions such as "don't approach a knight from behind" and "don't suddenly grab their hand" were passed down within social circles.
And yet, I had made all these mistakes.
I glanced at Sir Ayres, pursing my lips slightly. I couldn't even begin to guess how much leniency the word "affection" would allow, and my heart was growing anxious. The only thing that could be considered fortunate was that his body hadn't retaliated.
Of course, someone like Sir Ayres wouldn't be unable to control his body. Even Sir Halberd could freely adjust his actions, evading or threateningly countering depending on the opponent.
Moreover, Sir Ayres had a history of attending social events with the Crown Prince, so he would be somewhat accustomed to these situations.
Even if precautions were issued, not everyone followed them. There would naturally be one or two people who suddenly lunged. He was just so popular, after all.
Perhaps he was so fed up that he didn't even react anymore. Maybe he was enduring it out of habit from repeated experiences.
But it was unexpected that he smiled so brightly, as if pleased by my behavior. It was also unexpected that he grabbed my hand, which was about to release the sleeve I was holding due to embarrassment.
He whispered to me in a gentle voice, his expression not hiding his discomfort.
"It hurts."
His hand looked perfectly fine. Only the fabric was cut, and blue veins stood out prominently on the delicately woven skin.
Whether the Crown Prince didn't want to injure him—if he was doing it as a warning, it was certainly possible—or Sir Ayres had skillfully dodged, there wasn't even a small scratch on the man's smooth skin. I felt foolish for my impulsive actions.
Yet, he said it hurt and, with his free hand, swiftly pushed the fabric up to his shoulder. He had a rather cheerful expression for someone who was supposedly in pain.
I blushed, flustered by the suddenly exposed bare skin. I couldn't help but be surprised by the sight of the man's muscles, which had been honed through training, suddenly stimulating my vision.
His arm, optimized for swordsmanship, had fine, dense muscles that were more beautiful than excessive.
The gracefully flowing lines were captivating. Even with my ears burning red, I couldn't help but keep looking.
Besides, it was Sir Aires' arm.
"It really hurts."
He made a sound close to a groan again as I blinked rapidly, seemingly at a loss.
Thinking that perhaps I had gripped his wrist too tightly, I subtly loosened my fingers, but he said that the visible wounds weren't everything and brought the hand he was holding right up to my nose. His masculine scent wafted into my nostrils.
"There's not a scratch on it."
As I felt embarrassed and pulled my head back slightly, Sir Ayres shook his head. His brow was slightly furrowed, as if he were genuinely feeling pain, as he spoke seriously, as if I didn't understand. But the smile on his lips remained.
"Cutting this cleanly is only possible because of precise control of strength. But even the wind of a passing sword can't be controlled. Invisible injuries are more dangerous.
The Knight of Ice said that the inside was tingling and throbbing, and that he might need to apply herbs and wrap a bandage.
As an amateur when it came to swordsmanship, I didn't know if internal injuries could cause pain even when the outside looked fine. I had no choice but to believe him since he said it hurt. Sir Ayres wasn't the kind of man to deceive me.
However, his eyes, honestly expressing pain unlike his usual self, looked so pitiful that I couldn't help but wonder if I should do something for him. It was rare for me to feel so troubled.
I turned my gaze back to the sharply cut sleeve. As my eyes returned to the torn fabric, Sir Ayres said it was his fault for not properly adjusting his attire.
And then, he trailed off, asking me to pity him for not being able to bear a moment of pain and complaining to me about it.
Oh, my goodness, why is this man so kind and innocent?
Suddenly, I felt a surge of anger. It was because I couldn't agree with his words. Why should Sir Ayres apologize to me? Rather, he should have blamed my rudeness for grabbing his arm, which might have been injured, so carelessly.
No, before that, he should have been even angrier at the Crown Prince, the culprit behind the injury. Even if he was engrossed in a melodrama, did he have to go this far? In a situation where a rebellion could break out at any moment, he was wielding a sword and causing injuries, which was more of a loss than a gain.
Of course, the ambitious Crown Prince wouldn't do anything that would greatly disrupt his plans. Perhaps even this was a concession. A moderate injury would be necessary to deceive the enemy.
But I could easily imagine how terrible the situation leading up to this had been, and my stomach was churning.
Hadn't I also experienced how much the Crown Prince's provocations could wear down a person's nerves? Even the cool-headed Sir Ayres would have found it difficult to endure.
Moreover, it was a close friend pointing a sword at him. Sir Ayres might know that all of this was a play, but actually doing it was another matter. How could a loyal knight rebel against his lord?
Only then did I realize why Sir Ayres had come to me without even thinking of dressing properly. That was why I felt so sorry and pitiful for the man before me.
"Does it hurt a lot?"
"Yes."
Was the injury not only on the wrist where the sleeve was cut but also on his forearm and elbow? That was why he had raised his entire shoulder to show me.
I pressed down slightly on the inside of his arm, his elbow, and his shoulder, observing his reaction.
Each time, Sir Ayres flinched and let out a small groan. His forehead was gradually becoming beaded with sweat, as if the invisible injury was truly serious. I almost felt sorry that his flushed cheeks looked like a blush.
Even a slight press caused him to turn his head and cover the area under his nose with his hand while suppressing a groan. What an absurd sight.
Perhaps that was why his words were low and cautious. I gently stroked the hand I was holding and asked him. It was as if a large dog, big in size but gentle in nature, was whimpering with its ears drooping, which made me feel somewhat dejected.
I said to him in a low voice, as if scolding him.
"Why didn't you go back to the mansion to get treatment right away, and instead came to me..."
If it hurt this much, why come to me instead of going home? What a foolish man.
Without realizing it, I put strength into my fingertips out of frustration. Sir Ayres smiled at that, as if he liked it.
"I haven't seen you much lately. Even when you entered the palace, you didn't come to see me. I missed you. So much. Every moment that passed, I felt like I was going crazy with longing. And I thought you would be upset about what happened today."
"You visited because you were worried about me?"
Seriously, even while enduring this pain? Someone who was in pain even with a slight press?
As I pursed my lips, finding it difficult to fathom the depth of Sir Ayres' affection, he looked at me seriously, lowered his gaze, and brought his face close to mine.
And just as the breath from his lips tickled mine, he asked in a deeply subdued voice, as if pleading.
"So... is it not allowed?"
Was this a question about his visit, or was it hiding another meaning?
I wanted to lean towards the former, but the clear emotion that surfaced in his eyes was too familiar to dismiss it so easily. He had had those eyes when we shared that passionate and sweet kiss.
Chu.
A wet sound suddenly pierced my ears. A warm piece of flesh, moist and tender, gently landed like a stamp, making my heart flutter.
Sir Ayres was smiling gently as if he wasn't in pain at all, and was kissing me. No, this wasn't a gentle smile. It was a wild and seductive face that seemed to enchant people.
There was no deep penetration into my mouth, but the man's face, raining down small kisses like a bird pecking with its beak, resembled a beast just beginning its meal.
Was that why? Even though it was a kiss without permission, I was captivated by his gaze and couldn't move, silently accepting the kiss.
The man's actions, as if tasting the sweetest thing in the world, were cautious yet passionate, and at the same time, he licked the surface of my lips slightly, as if he found me very lovely, making my stomach twist.
It was strange. Why did this light contact feel more stimulating than the previous time when he had inserted his tongue into my mouth and tasted every corner? The concentration was much weaker, but my whole body felt sticky, as if it had been candied.
Chu chu chu.
The problem was that the more wet sounds I heard in succession, the more strength I put into my hand holding his painful arm. I barely managed to turn my head and said to the man, who was lost in affection and didn't know what to do.
"Wait a moment, Sir Ayres. Your hand, your painful hand..."
"I told you I missed you. I told you I wanted to see you so much. Didn't you think of me, my lady?"
"But it hurts... the injury... the treatment... Sir, please let me speak. I never said it was okay."
I had only rubbed my lips against his, but why was I so out of breath? His heartbeat and mine were already moving with the same rhythm. Our inhales and exhales were also the same.
Goodness, wasn't it more disadvantageous for me to breathe at the same rate as an excellent knight like Sir Ayres?
I hadn't opened my mouth or had my breath stolen like last time, but I was panting as if I had been running for a long time. That was why it was very difficult to speak or think.
So much so that I didn't even see Sir Ayres, who wasn't even trying to hide his eyes, which were curved like a crescent moon, whispering coaxingly.
"Are you saying that you will refuse my visits in the future?"
"That's not what I mean, Sir Ayres."
"Then it's okay to do it, right?"
I wanted to clarify the meaning of "it's okay to do it."
I barely managed to hold back something that was welling up and glared at him, and he smiled sweetly at me again and said.
"Only my lady in this world can injure and heal me. No matter how skilled a doctor is, they can't compare to my lady's touch."
"Yes, I'll have a maid bring medicine and bandages to treat you. So please stop now..."
I avoided his gaze and stammered. I was too embarrassed to say this explicitly.
"What about the wounds in my heart? What about the thirst on my lips? How much more do I have to confess? I wanted to see you. I missed you. I felt like I was going to die because I wanted to go to my lady. Please have some pity on this poor man who is moaning with longing. This is no different from an incurable disease."
Could my already red face burn even more? But my face reflected in his eyes was already like a ball of fire.
Sir Ayres seemed to have caught on to my expression and coaxed me in a sweet voice. His seductively sparkling eyes were reminiscent of a young beast.
"Just a little bit, okay?"
He was indeed a friend of the Crown Prince. This man was too cunning. He was a man with the kindest nature in the world, but at times like this, he became as ruthlessly cunning as he had been on the day he had browbeaten the knights of the family. The biggest problem was that I couldn't resolutely push away this Sir Ayres.
"Treating the wound on your arm..."
"It can be postponed for a while."
As I hesitated, he smiled brightly and brought his lips to mine again. As if to prevent me from thinking about anything else, like that.
He made kissing sounds with a face full of joy, as if a traveler in the desert had just discovered an oasis, to the point where my toes curled up.
That was how gluttonous and very seductive his kiss was. At the same time, it was as soft and gentle as a feather. It was because Sir Ayres was being considerate and caring for my feelings even in the midst of all this. Who else in the world could treat their partner so preciously while satisfying their own desires?
"I can't stand how lovely you are, my lady. Sometimes I think I'm crazy."
Perhaps even I, who thought it was cute that he was muttering these words, was crazy. From the way he was so nonchalant about the pain in his arm in order to kiss me. Our touching lips were as sweet as honeyed wine, making me feel like I was going to get drunk.
