I Helped The Imprisoned Male Lead And He Became Obsessed - Chapter 83

I nearly tripped at his question, startled for no good reason. Thankfully, Rio, already heading downstairs, didn’t notice.

I forced a sheepish smile and replied,

“Uh, yeah. I ended up staying up late doing something…”

“You’re working late again? I told you, staying up like that is bad for your health! It ruins your complexion too!”

Rio launched into one of his familiar lectures about the dangers of sleepless nights. His tone was lighthearted but firm, his concern genuine.

Judging by his casual attitude, it was clear he had no idea what had transpired the night before. I felt a wave of relief and quietly exhaled as I followed him into the kitchen.

The children were already seated around the table, sipping on glasses of milk. Their milk mustaches made me smile as they spotted me and ran over excitedly.

“Anise, what can we help with today?”

As always, the kids were eager to assist with breakfast preparations. I patted their heads affectionately, grateful for their enthusiasm.

“Could you wash the potatoes in that basket for me?”

“Yes!!”

With small, determined hands, the children scrubbed the potatoes clean and handed them to me. I peeled and boiled the potatoes, diced an onion, and sautéed it until it turned golden.

When the onions had caramelized, I added the mashed potatoes and milk, letting the mixture simmer gently in the pot. Meanwhile, the children washed tomatoes and greens, arranging them neatly on plates for the salad.

Mornings were always busy, but thanks to the children’s help, the workload felt lighter.

The soup just needs to be stirred for a while. Next, I’ll…

I reached for the pepper on the shelf but paused when my eyes landed on a glass jar of bergamot tea leaves sitting beside it.

The memory of serving tea to Emilian came rushing back, and my ears burned with heat.

As I drizzled oil into a pan and began frying bacon, my thoughts drifted back to the night before.

The sensation of his lips against mine still lingered, vivid and impossible to ignore.

What was I thinking last night?

I hadn’t been able to push him away when he’d pleaded for kindness, and instead, I’d kissed him. It was a mistake—one I shouldn’t have made.

And yet… I hadn’t disliked it. In fact, I’d liked it too much.

That single moment had made it painfully clear that my feelings for Emilian weren’t just a fleeting illusion.

I kept telling myself I needed to send him back to the palace, where he belonged. Yet, deep down, I didn’t want to let him go.

I don’t want him to go to Serena.

It was selfish, I knew, especially since I lacked the power to heal him. Still, I couldn’t suppress the thought.

If I could cure him myself, I’d never let him leave.

But in the story, it was Serena who had alleviated Emilian’s pain. No other method had ever been mentioned.

But… is there really no other way?

The thought lingered as a faint but acrid smell began to tickle my nose.

Something was burning.

“Ah!”

“Ahhh, Anise!!”

Rio burst into the kitchen, his voice filled with panic, as the children looked on in alarm from the table where they had just set the salad.

“The soup’s burning!!”

***

The morning had been a whirlwind of chaos—oversleeping and burning the soup left me flustered and scrambling.

Good thing Mrs. Pamela next door gave us that lemon pie, I thought with relief.

Thanks to her, the children didn’t have to endure an embarrassingly meager breakfast. Of course, I still had to endure Rio’s scolding about the ruined pot.

That afternoon, golden sunlight streamed through the window, spilling over the drowsy calico cat napping on the sill.

Rio, seated at the counter, let out a long yawn. The morning had been busy with customers, but the shop was quiet now.

Taking advantage of the lull, I opened the herb shelves to check the inventory.

Evening primrose roots, Siberian ginseng bark, and carentilia leaves are all out.

I could gather some of these from the forest myself, but herb foraging was reserved for my days off—and I was on the clock now.

The herbalist’s house isn’t too far; I can make a quick trip.

I left the apothecary in Rio’s hands and headed out.

The herbalist greeted me warmly when I arrived. As he weighed the herbs on his scale, he said, “Three hundred grams each of evening primrose root and Siberian ginseng bark—that’ll be 20 silver and 5 cron.”

I handed him the coins from my pouch, smiling. “Thank you, as always.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied with a chuckle.

“By the way, do you happen to have carentilia leaves?” I asked hopefully.

The herbalist’s face turned apologetic as he explained, “Carentilia is already a rare herb to come by, and it doesn’t thrive in the climate here in the west. It’s nearly impossible to source locally.”

I sighed internally. It was as I expected.

Carentilia only grew in the warm southern regions of the empire, making it a prized herb. At the royal research institute, it was relatively easy to obtain, but here in Petra, it seemed out of reach.

The kind Mrs. Pamela, who had given me the lemon pie, was struggling with diabetes. The tea brewed from carentilia leaves was known to alleviate symptoms, so I had hoped to procure some for her.

Since carentilia isn’t an option in Petra, I’ll have to use alternative herbs with similar effects.

Diabetes, if not well-managed, could worsen over time, and I needed to choose the right treatments for her condition.

I resolved to write to a major city’s herb supplier when the mail carrier visited in two weeks—his infrequent visits were a reminder of how remote this village was.

Walking back from the herbalist’s house, I was lost in thought, planning the next steps. That preoccupation cost me—I accidentally bumped into someone heading in the opposite direction.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” I apologized quickly, feeling slightly embarrassed.

Lately, I seemed to be getting distracted too easily.

The man I bumped into was a scruffy middle-aged figure with unkempt hair. Despite my apology, he didn’t respond. Instead, he stared at me blankly with unfocused eyes.

“….”

Was he upset by the collision? His expression remained stiff as he took a step closer.

But as he approached, I noticed something unsettling—his bloodshot eyes and the unwashed stench clinging to him.

“Run… They’ll… They’ll come for you… to kill you…”

He staggered past me, muttering incomprehensibly, leaving a chill in the air.

I turned to watch him, bewildered. What on earth was that about?

Before I could make sense of it, I overheard the voices of nearby villagers. They were speaking in hushed, urgent tones.

“Tsk tsk, such a young man too. What a shame,” one villager murmured.

“Doesn’t seem like a local. How did he end up like that?” another asked.

“Hmm, it must’ve been about ten years ago. A whole group of mercenaries went into the Mirage Forest looking for something. He’s the only one who made it out alive, and as you can see, he hasn’t been the same since.”

“Well, serves him right for wandering into the Mirage Forest,” someone else chimed in.

“Back then, even the villagers tried to stop them, but it didn’t do any good.”

The group shook their heads in unison, clicking their tongues before continuing on their way.

Their conversation lingered in my mind.

The Mirage Forest.

A mysterious forest north of the village, it was notorious for swallowing anyone who entered. Those who ventured in were either found dead, vanished without a trace, or, on rare occasions, returned alive but completely devoid of their memories.

“Whatever you do, never step foot in that forest!!” Rio had once warned me fervently.

I had heeded his warning and was careful to avoid the forest even while foraging for herbs.

I glanced back at the man’s retreating figure, muttering to myself as I watched him stagger away. Then I shook my head, tightened my grip on the herb pouch, and quickened my pace back to the apothecary.

The chime of the door’s bell greeted me as I opened it.

“Rio, no customers while I was gone, right?” I asked.

The boy scratched his cheek with a finger, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

“Well, someone did stop by…”

“Oh? I hope they haven’t been waiting too long.”

“They’re in the examination room,” he said casually, his tone oddly evasive.

Something about his demeanor felt off, but I didn’t dwell on it. The answer became immediately clear when I opened the door to the examination room.

“You’re finally here?”

Emilian sat in the chair, his long legs crossed casually.

I froze for a moment, wide-eyed in surprise. He smirked.

“Did you sleep well last night?”

“…!”

My ears burned as memories of the previous night came rushing back.

Trying to maintain my composure, I sat down across from him at the table and said, “You’re the patient?”

“Why, am I not allowed to be?”

“That’s not what I meant…”

Focus. This is work, I told myself. But it was hard to ignore the vivid scenes that kept flashing through my mind whenever I looked at him.

Grabbing a pen, I opened the examination log and forced myself into a professional tone.

“What’s bothering you? Why are you here?”

“Everywhere. I hurt all over.”

“What? Don’t joke around.”

“I’m not joking.”

The seriousness in his tone caught me off guard, and a wave of worry washed over me.

Is it because he hasn’t been receiving treatment from Serena? Could the aftereffects of those experiments be flaring up again?

With a heavy heart, I pulled out the diagnostic tools.

Using a stethoscope infused with magic, I began to read the flow of energy within his body.

“….”

A minute passed. Then another.

After several minutes of examination, I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Are you really sick?”

The flow of magical energy within his body was perfectly stable. I found no irregularities, no disruptions—nothing that indicated any kind of ailment.

“Well?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Emilian, noticing my suspicious glare, let out a small sigh, as if he’d been wrongfully accused.

“You’re being harsh, Anise. Do I really seem like I’m faking it?”

“If you’re not faking, then what’s this about?” I grumbled back, feigning irritation.

Emilian gave another small sigh, this time more dramatic, and leaned back.

“Don’t be so quick to judge. Last night was really hard on me.”

Hard on him?

From what I remembered, Emilian had seemed far from breathless despite what happened between us. In fact, I was the one struggling to keep up, to the point of tears welling in my eyes.

His words seemed even less credible as he continued.

“I couldn’t indulge as much as I wanted last night—”

He dropped his gaze briefly, a mischievous smile curling his lips.

“—and it left me aching here.”

“…!”