I had hoped that Siegren held some innate sense of justice in his character since he would grow up to become the hero a few years later. But Siegren’s face hardened at my words.

“No, I would never do anything like that. Only a spoiled child like you would think like that,” he said.

Now, I was beginning to get frustrated. I fought battles too. I wasn’t just a lady in a castle. “Wait, Siegren. I’m not—”

Knock, knock.

“May I come in?” said a voice from the other side of the door. It was the doctor who had treated Siegren earlier.

“Please come in,” I said.

A kind-looking man walked through the door. “I see you’re here again, Lady Fiona.”

“Yes, I am.”

This older gentleman had been loyal to the castle for years. He had helped almost everyone living here at some point in time, and he treated me as if I was his own granddaughter.

“I see you two have become friends. It’s nice to have someone your age, is it not?” the doctor asked.

Siegren grimaced. “You should leave”

“I want to see how you’re doing. Can’t I stay here?” I asked.

“You? If you can manage not to faint after seeing my wounds.”

Well, that certainly wasn’t anything to fear. On the battlefield, dead bodies were a regular sight—some soldiers horrifically mutilated or even cut in half. Sometimes, the demonic beasts would end up in such fates from my own hands. Therefore, I was pretty sure that a small wound on Siegren’s stomach would not make me faint.

“Get out already. We can’t change the bandages because of you,” Siegren said.

Though I was curious to see how he was doing, I could tell he was a little embarrassed. With a shrug of my shoulders, I relented. “All right, I’ll go.”

To change his bandages, Siegren would have to remove his shirt. I supposed he didn’t want to take off his clothes in front of a girl his age. He was definitely a teenager.

It was kind of cute in a way.

With Siegren’s stare burning into my back, I left the room.

* * *

I could have returned to my own room, but it wouldn’t take very long to change some bandages. So I decided to wait in front of Siegren’s room instead. It was important to me that he realized I wasn’t some spoiled lady. I wanted to finish what I had tried to explain earlier. I wanted to tell him I was a hard-working mage.

Why does Siegren hate me so much? This genuinely confused me. I had never given much thought to his character as a child, so I couldn’t understand the meaning behind his actions.

In my story, I had written it from the female lead’s point of view. Readers saw the world through the eyes of Eunice, the saint who was destined to save the world. Siegren’s role was simple: to be a handsome, devoted, kind, and loyal partner to Eunice.

I guess such simplicity is only possible in the realm of fiction. But who isn’t guilty of dreaming of such unrealistic love? Everyone wants someone trustworthy who will always stay by their side. Since I had always imagined him as a perfect character, I had no idea what to do with the real Siegren in front of me now.

Is it because my intentions were impure?

Yes, I felt pity and affection toward him, but the main reason I wanted to befriend Siegren was to save myself. He must have been suspicious of my seemingly unconditional hospitality because it was true that I held an ulterior motive beneath the surface. Of course, with his past, I knew it would be difficult to become close to him. I just hadn’t expected it to be this hard. I felt like I was trying to befriend an incredibly skittish kitten. If I approached him too hastily, he might run away from me, which would only endanger my future.

“Lady Fiona,” called the doctor as he stepped out of the room. He must have finished treating Siegren.

“Is everything finished?”

“Yes, but...” said the doctor, looking quite troubled. Was Siegren not doing well?

“Is there a problem?”

“No, he is healing very well. But...” The doctor seemed hesitant, and I grabbed onto the hem of his clothes.

“Please, doctor. What is it? If this has to do with Siegren, you must tell me.”

The doctor looked back in the direction of Siegren’s room with pity dripping from his eyes. “I heard that the boy came from a group of mercenaries. But I don’t know if we should send him back once he is healed. He wouldn’t tell me any details, but there are many scars...”

The more he talked, the faster my heart began to race. Cool beads of sweat formed on my forehead, and I couldn’t feel my hands as I ran back into Siegren’s room.

* * *

No way. I had never thought things would be this bad. What had I done?

“What is it?” asked Siegren, drinking from a cup of water.

Seeing the panicked look in my eyes, he hastily put down his cup. I dove straight onto Siegren’s bed.

“Wh-what are you doing?!” he cried, trying to push me away.

It was no use. I clung to him desperately and began pulling at his clothing. “I’m sorry! But there’s something I need to see!”

“What? What are you talking about?” he exclaimed.

Before the boy could realize what was going on, I pushed him onto his back. He fell over easily, shocked by my behavior. Climbing on top of him so as to not touch his wound, I pulled up his clothes.

“I’m so sorry!”

“If you’re really sorry, then stop it!” he yelled.

But if he really didn’t want me there, I wouldn’t have been able to hold him down. Thankfully, he merely flushed and flailed his arms.

“I just need to take a quick look,” I said.

“That’s not the issue... Hey! Don’t touch my stomach!” he said, dodging my hands while blushing furiously.

I felt like I was molesting an innocent boy. “I swear I’m not doing anything lewd.”

“Ugh, you really...!” protested Siegren.

I pushed my hand inside his clothes despite his cries. I knew this wasn't the right way to go about things, but in the moment I felt like I had no other choice. Otherwise, I would never find out. Dodging his injured stomach, my fingers crept up Siegren’s torso to find, not smooth skin, but a vast field of scarred tissue.

I pulled his shirt back down with a pale face.

I couldn’t move.

“I told you to stop!” Siegren yelled, pushing hard against my shoulders.

I fell down onto the floor with a thud.

“Oh...” he said, looking at me in shock, glancing at his hands and then back at me. Clearly, he had not intended on pushing me with such force. “Are you... made of feathers or something? Why are you so light—”

Tears fell from my eyes.

Siegren hastily fumbled down from the bed and sat beside me. “Hey... Did you hurt yourself when you fell?”

No, that wasn’t it. I shook my head. The room was carpeted, so it didn’t hurt.

He approached me slowly and began stroking my head with hesitant hands. “Come on. Stop crying and tell me where it hurts... Your shoulders? Legs? Oh, I should call the doctor—”

Pushing up against his hands, he began standing up when I hurriedly grabbed at his shirt once more to pull him back down. Awkwardly standing there, he turned over his shoulder to look back at me. The more I cried, the more uncomfortable he looked.

“I’m not hurt. It’s just...” I said.

But I could not finish my words. I recalled the wounds on Siegren’s body. The little dips in his scars and the black-and-blue bruises that covered his body. These were not regular wounds from the battlefield. I could tell at once that someone had purposely beaten him and burnt him.

The scars were proof of years of malice.

“Siegren…”

“Yes?”

“Who did this to you?”

Siegren froze.