I felt a brief sting when Lyanna poured the potion onto my back.

  Almost immediately, a gentle warmth spread through my injuries, soothing them layer by layer. The sensation was pleasant—too pleasant—and I had to bite back a sound as I felt my muscles slowly relax and knit together.

  Once the potion was fully poured out, Lyanna extended her hand.

  She suppressed the faint embarrassment stirring in her chest and focused on her work, reminding herself that she was a doctor first and foremost. Her palm pressed gently against my back as she began to spread the potion evenly.

  Ordinarily, Lyanna was more than capable of controlling her emotions. Years of medical practice had hardened her will. Letting personal feelings interfere with treatment was unacceptable.

  And yet… this time was different.

  Each time her fingers brushed my skin, a faint tremor ran up her arm and into her body. She frowned slightly, confused by the unfamiliar reaction, and tried to steady her breathing.

  I focused on the sensation of her hands as they moved across my back—slow, careful, professional on the surface. Her touch was soft, practiced, and surprisingly intimate.

  From time to time, I subtly guided a thread of mana through her fingertips.

  The effect was minimal—so faint that Lyanna herself would dismiss it as nothing more than a wandering thought or momentary lapse. But over time, those tiny sensations accumulated.

  Gradually, her movements changed.

  Her palms lingered longer than necessary. The pressure became firmer, more deliberate. The massage was no longer just treatment—it carried a rhythm, a warmth that seeped deeper than the skin.

  I clenched my jaw, struggling to suppress the quiet breath that escaped me.

  Lyanna’s breathing grew uneven.

  The air in the infirmary felt warmer, heavy with the faint sweetness of the potion mixed with the closeness between us. A thin sheen of perspiration formed along her temple, though she didn’t seem to notice.

  A soft sound slipped from my lips.

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  Lyanna stiffened, then unconsciously placed her hands on my shoulders, pressing down gently as if to steady herself. The sensation sent a shiver through me, and this time I couldn’t fully hide my reaction.

  She inhaled sharply.

  For a moment, neither of us spoke.

  The potion had long since been fully absorbed, yet Lyanna did not withdraw her hands. Instead, her touch drifted—hesitant, uncertain—as though she herself was unsure when the treatment had ended.

  “Sister Lyanna…” I murmured softly.

  Our eyes met.

  For several heartbeats, the world seemed to narrow to that single exchange of gazes. Conflict flickered in her blue eyes—hesitation, confusion, and something far more dangerous.

  She broke eye contact first, cheeks flushing as she turned away.

  Her hands moved lower, resuming the massage with forced composure. Now and then, her fingers brushed against places they didn’t strictly need to reach. Whether it was accident or intention, even she could not have said.

  Her courage wavered—and then returned stronger.

  Lyanna pushed a loose strand of hair from her face and looked at me again, nervous yet expectant. Her gaze traced my form before she realized what she was doing, and she quickly looked away, breathing shallowly.

  I rose from the stretcher and took a slow step toward her.

  Lyanna startled, retreating half a step—yet she didn’t tell me to stop.

  “Is everything alright, Sister Lyanna?” I asked, my tone innocent, my gaze drifting just enough for her to notice.

  Her breath caught.

  Then—

  “Your Highness, I’m back!”

  Daphne’s voice rang out from outside the door. She tried the handle, frowning. “Huh? It’s locked?”

  The atmosphere shattered instantly.

  Lyanna stiffened, her senses snapping back into place. She circulated her mana without hesitation, clearing her thoughts in an instant.

  At the same time, I quickly reached for my clothes, putting on an embarrassed expression as I dressed.

  Lyanna moved to the door, pausing when she realized it was locked—she didn’t remember doing that.

  She opened it calmly.

  “I’m sorry, Daphne,” Lyanna said evenly. “I locked it to avoid interrupting the prince’s treatment.”

  Daphne nodded and hurried to my side. I had just finished dressing and offered her a reassuring smile.

  “Did Father say anything?”

  “…No.” Daphne lowered her gaze. “He dismissed me quickly. The Empress, however, said a few unpleasant things.”

  “I see.” I patted her head gently, then turned back to Lyanna. “Is the treatment finished? I still feel a little discomfort.”

  Lyanna blinked, clearly startled.

  “…Ah—yes. Come again this afternoon. One more session should be enough.”

  Her voice sounded distant, unfocused.

  I nodded. “Thank you, Sister Lyanna.”

  With that, I left the infirmary with Daphne.

  Lyanna remained standing where she was long after the door closed.

  I almost lost control…

  She pressed a hand to her chest, heart pounding.

  I’m a married woman. I love my husband. How could I even think—

  Her thoughts drifted back to Edric Valemont’s calm eyes, his composed demeanor, the warmth lingering on her hands.

  She shook her head sharply.

  No. I must keep my distance this afternoon.

  Then she froze.

  “…I told him to come back.”

  Lyanna covered her face, letting out a quiet groan of frustration before straightening.

  “I’ll keep it professional,” she muttered firmly. “Nothing will happen.”

  With that resolve, she left the infirmary—unaware that the seeds had already been planted.