The Witch Didn't Raise the Tyrant That Way - Chapter 1: This is How I Raised Him (7)

“…Me? Aren’t I a bother?”

“What are you even saying? Just don’t forget to keep pretending to be my obedient little cousin around Mrs. Ivy and the others. If you keep clinging to me like earlier, they’ll think you’re spoiled and try to take you away.”

“…Okay.”

Kyle’s face was still mostly expressionless, but there was a faint hint of satisfaction in his features.

“Are you feeling better now?”

“Yeah.”

“Then go finish the task you were working on.”

“…”

“And after that, you can read the books you got.”

“…Okay…”

Kyle’s lips, which had earlier shown a contented smile, now jutted out in a sulky pout, much like the rubber duck I kept in the washbasin.

* * *

It was strange. Starting that day, Kyle seemed to frequently come back injured or whimper about feeling sick. Was it because he was finally relaxing? Or was it some sort of regression caused by the sudden change in environment, making him more dependent?

“How could you try to catch a bee with your hands!”

I’d sent him to pick chrysanthemums for potpourri, only for him to come back stung by a bee.

“What could you possibly trip over on flat ground? Ugh… Let me see—at least there aren’t any scrapes.”

I’d asked him to bring in the herbs drying outside, but he’d tripped over the threshold of the front door, basket and all.

“Ahh…! The pot just came off the boil—why would you grab it with your hands!”

I’d asked him to check the curdling of the milk I’d heated for making cheese, and he got so eager that he decided to pour it into the cheesecloth himself, grabbing the hot pot and burning his hand.

This kid… Is he really the budding tyrant I’ve heard about? What if he goes back to the palace and starts injuring random people for no reason?

“You can’t wrap a bandage on it right away, or the heat will get trapped. Just keep your hand in the cold water like this.”

“It’s freezing…”

“Yeah, well, it has to cool down to prevent blisters. Even if your fingers feel like they’re freezing off, endure it.”

After applying a cooling salve to each of Kyle’s fingertips, I gave his now-plump cheek a playful pinch.

“Ow! That hurts!”

“It’s supposed to.”

His cheeks had filled out nicely over the past month, making them satisfyingly squishy to pinch. I tugged at the other cheek too.

Of course, this wasn’t what I’d planned for when I decided to take care of him. But he kept getting hurt or feeling unwell, and no matter how much I grumbled, I couldn’t help but worry. Sometimes, I even wondered if he knew I softened when he was in pain and was doing it on purpose.

“My stomach hurts again…”

His most frequent complaint was indigestion. Was it because I fed him too much compared to the scraps he used to eat? Or was it because he was suddenly eating far more than he had in his ten short years of life? Either way, it tugged at my heartstrings, and I found myself rushing to get the peppermint oil to massage his temples and hands every time he pounded his tiny fist against his chest in discomfort.

Then one day, he came back covered in dirt. I’d sent him to town for the first time to run an errand at the apothecary. I’d asked him to collect payment for the herbs I’d sold and inquire about making some salves to sell.

“A rabbit jumped out all of a sudden, and I got startled…”

“…”

“But I didn’t lose the money!”

“Ugh, honestly… Are you doing this on purpose so I’ll stop asking you to help in the kitchen?”

“I’m not!”

“Go wash up. I’m baking an apple pie, so you can have some afterward. Do you need help washing since you’re hurt?”

“No, I can… I’ll get it myself.”

“Yeah, sure. Just try touching the kitchen tools with those filthy hands, I dare you.”

Fortunately, he seemed to have only torn his clothes, with no visible injuries. I drew a bath, tossed in his favorite rubber duck, and put up a partition by the tub for privacy.

When he emerged, he dropped his torn clothes into the laundry basket and sat down in front of me. Perhaps because he was a royal prince, he wasn’t very good at drying his own hair, so I’d ended up doing it for him every time.

Taking a towel in both hands, I began drying Kyle’s now-shoulder-length hair.

“Do you want to cut your hair? It’d dry faster if it were shorter.”

“…I’m fine.”

His hesitant answer relieved me. Honestly, I wasn’t confident in giving him a good haircut, so I was secretly glad he didn’t mind his current messy hair.

The only sound that followed was the rustling of the towel through his hair and the faint crackling of embers from the fireplace I’d recently started using. The sweet scent of freshly baked apple pie wafted from the dining table.

“…Isn’t it dirty?”

Kyle’s sudden question broke the silence. It was rare for him to speak up first.

“What is?”

“My hair. It’s so black…”

“Oh…”

So that’s what he’d been worrying about. It had been nearly two months since Kyle came to live here, and I’d dried his hair countless times. I hadn’t realized he’d been fixating on this.

In the palace, Kyle’s black hair was considered ominous. There was no actual superstition about it; his stepmother had spread the rumor to isolate him. She’d even bribed the temple to fabricate a prophecy, making it sound official and spreading the story throughout the noble society. Kyle would eventually take revenge on the church for this.

To a child who had lost his mother early, overhearing such rumors must have been deeply scaring. Just as Lillithea had shut herself away in her cabin to avoid the sharp gazes of outsiders, Kyle was carrying the weight of those words.

My chest ached as I looked at the child before me, curled up and vulnerable, his shoulders seeming smaller than ever.

But what could I say? How could someone living deep in the forest possibly know that those rumors about him were false? I couldn’t bring up the prophecy or refute it outright. The best I could do was offer some small comfort.

“A witch doesn’t think anything is dirty.”

“…”

“Stop worrying about silly things and go eat your apple pie. I even made whipped cream, so you can add some if you want.”

“…Okay.”

Did my words actually comfort him? I wasn’t sure. But judging by the slight redness at the tips of Kyle’s ears, I figured he must’ve felt at least a little better.

That night, a heavy rainstorm rolled in. This world’s winters were marked by rainy seasons, and the storm was a harbinger of the coming cold. Thunder and lightning clashed every few minutes, and the torrential downpour was so loud it seemed to echo through the entire house.

“Ugh… hic… sniff…”

Kyle couldn’t sleep.

It was the first time a storm like this had occurred since Kyle came to stay with me, so I hadn’t realized it before, but it seemed he was afraid of thunder and lightning. Under the makeshift bedding I’d set up for him in the corner of my room, the mound of blankets shivered violently.

“Sniff… Mom…”

Or could it be… was it connected to the memories of the day his mother died?

“Kyle.”

The thought struck me, and without any further calculation, I called out to him.

“Come here.”

“…”

“Come on, hurry.”

“I’m fine…”

His voice was damp and shaky as he managed a reply.

“Well, I’m not fine!”

“…”

“I’m so scared of thunder! I was just pretending not to be because I’m your big sister, but I’m really too scared to sleep. What am I going to do? I think I need to hold onto something to fall asleep.”

I exaggerated my fear on purpose, raising my voice just a little dramatically. Kyle stopped sniffling, and I could almost hear him thinking, trying to gauge whether I was serious or not.

“When I was little, I always hugged my mom during storms, and it made everything okay…”

I threw in the final line for good measure, and at last, Kyle grudgingly shuffled out from under his blanket. As his tear-streaked face came closer, I could see it clearly, even in the dim light, thanks to my eyes having adjusted to the darkness.

I lifted the comforter and welcomed Kyle into my bed. His trembling hands wrapped around my waist as he burrowed into me, pressing his damp face into my chest. The bed was meant for one person, but when we curled up tightly like this, it didn’t feel cramped at all.

Every now and then, Kyle’s shoulders heaved, and he let out soft sobs he couldn’t quite hold back. “It’s okay, it’s okay…” I whispered as I stroked his silky black hair and gently rubbed his back, which no longer felt as bony as when he first arrived.

Kyle finally settled down as the thunder gradually faded, leaving only the soft patter of rain filling the silence.

“Hey…”

“Yeah?”

“Can I call you Lilli too?”

His voice was still thick with tears, slightly muffled by his stuffed nose.

Come to think of it, Kyle hadn’t really called me anything before. He was naturally quiet, and since we were always around each other, there hadn’t been much need for names. Occasionally, he’d refer to me as “you,” which I didn’t mind—it felt like how a prince might refer to a servant in passing.

I kept patting his back, deep in thought, and didn’t reply right away.

“Is it not okay?”

Kyle suddenly lifted his head, mistaking my silence for a refusal. His face, buried in the blanket until now, was flushed red.

“…Because it’s the name your mom used to call you?”

It made sense—both Kyle and I had lost our mothers to the hands of others, so “Mom” was always a handy excuse. But…

“No, that’s not it.”

“But Max calls you that too.”

“It’s not that you can’t call me Lilli.”

“Then…?”

Kyle’s crimson eyes stared up at me, filled with a silent question.

“Well… I’d like it if you called me something else.”

“Something else?”

“Yeah. If Mrs. Ivy overheard you calling me Lilli, she’d snatch you up in a second.”

At the mention of Mrs. Ivy, Kyle’s mouth clamped shut immediately, and I could feel him freeze up.

“Lyn.”

“…Huh?”

“Call me Lyn.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing special. It’s just a name I like.”

This was my nickname in my previous life. If it was just one syllable, even if Kyle accidentally called me by it in front of Aunt Evie, she’d likely just think she misheard.

It was an idea I came up with on the fly, but I was quite satisfied with it. After all, Lilithea wasn’t really my name.

Above all, if Kyle remembered me by a different name, it would solidify the fact that I was truly living a life distinct from Lilithea in the original story… That’s what I thought.

Kyle was a figure symbolizing the end of that fateful story.

“Lyn, Lyn…” Kyle repeated the name I told him, as if trying to commit it to memory, rolling it over his tongue several times. He was so focused on it that even distant thunder wouldn’t make him flinch.

“Smells good. Like grass.”

Once Kyle was satisfied with repeating my name, he burrowed deeper into my arms like a spoiled child. Perhaps having something akin to a pet name for me made him feel more at ease showing his vulnerable side.

I shouldn’t get attached, but it was hard to push away a lonely, frightened child crying out of fear.

“…It’s just because it’s raining.”

“I can smell it on you too, Lyn.”

“Well, I’ve probably picked it up from wrestling with herbs all day.”

I replied nonchalantly, patting Kyle’s back. The trees had shed their leaves in the grip of winter, but the rain had soaked the plants, intensifying their scent, making it smell like the monsoon season from my past life.

I took a deep breath as well. The damp yet refreshing smell that filled my nostrils was one of my favorite things about this life—being surrounded by the richness of nature, indoors or out.

“There are some good things about rainy days, aren’t there?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s think of thunder as a sign that good things are on the way, okay?”

“…Mm.”

Kyle responded agreeably to my passing remark, as I patted him gently.

From that day on, Kyle often slept beside me. As we entered the heart of the rainy season, stormy nights became more frequent, though sometimes he would crawl into my bed even when it wasn’t raining, saying he’d had a nightmare.

Had he endured all of that alone until now…?