The Witch Didn't Raise the Tyrant That Way - Chapter 2: How He Grew Up (2)

When I regained consciousness, I found myself sitting in what seemed to be a bathroom. Or at least, that’s what I guessed. My body was submerged in water, my bare back rested against cool porcelain, and the steam carried a luxurious aroma that hinted at high-quality essential oils.

Although my vision was still obscured by the blindfold tied around my eyes, I could tell I was reclined in a tub.

And then, I felt hands on my skin.

Someone—no, multiple people—was washing me. My bound arms were gently lifted as soft sponges worked over my underarms, sides, stomach, and even under my breasts. The hands moved carefully yet confidently, their motions fluid and precise. The sound of water splashing echoed in the space, amplified slightly by the size of the room. It felt like I was in a spacious, high-ceilinged bath chamber.

In short, I was being bathed while unconscious.

So… is this normal for prisoners? To be stripped and bathed like this?

Where was the presumption of innocence? Or was that not a thing in this world? Oh, right, I thought bitterly. The one who ordered this is a tyrant.

“Um, excuse me, what… what is this…?”

“You’re awake?”

“We were worried you might wake up too early, so we went ahead and washed you while you rested.”

“Please, don’t worry. Relax and leave it to us.”

“We’ll place a warm towel over your face for a moment.”

In response to my timid question, a chorus of bright, gentle voices answered me. Judging by their polite tone, they were probably maids of lower status. Yet, their attitude was unnervingly kind—far from how you’d expect someone to treat a criminal personally apprehended by the king.

“Do you feel any discomfort?”

“Try not to be too tense.”

“You’ve had a long journey, so we’ll give you a little massage to help you unwind.”

It was… overwhelming.

Despite my wrists being bound and my eyes blindfolded, they spoke with such care and respect. It felt surreal, like they were treating me as some sort of guest rather than a captive.

But why?

I’m supposed to be a criminal, right?

Curiosity clawed at me, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask any questions. Even though their voices were soothing, I couldn’t shake the fear that their eyes might be filled with disdain. For all I knew, they might be silently mocking me while attending to a “lowly witch.”

After all, I’d seen how people looked at me ever since I’d arrived in this world. Now, with my vision obscured and my body exposed, any confidence I had crumbled further.

As I silently grappled with my unease, the maids continued their work, methodical and unwavering. They scrubbed every part of my body with meticulous care, even in places that left me red with embarrassment. They massaged my calves and neck with firm, soothing motions, and after removing the warm towel from my face, they applied a honey mask to my skin. My hair, too, was thoroughly tended to—they massaged essential oils into my scalp and combed through the strands with such expertise that it almost felt indulgent.

It’s been six years since someone touched my hair like this…

Ever since Kyle left, I’ve just been tying it up however I pleased.

The memory of him carefully braiding my hair each morning softened the edges of my wariness. Oddly enough, I even found myself grateful for the blindfold—it spared me the discomfort of seeing these strangers meticulously cleaning every inch of me.

For now, I simply focused on the physical sensations and let my thoughts wander.

Kyle… Kyle…

Where did the boy who braided my hair and held my hand when I was sick go? What happened to the child who crawled into my bed during thunderstorms? How did he become this man who bound me as a witch and dragged me here without a word of explanation?

“‘I didn’t do anything,’ huh?”

The image of Kyle’s sharp smile as he mocked my protests flashed in my mind.

Where had the boy who once looked at me with wide, innocent eyes gone? Had he been replaced entirely by this cold, unreadable man? Was it the past six years—destroying his enemies and ascending the throne—that changed him? Or… was this who he always was, deep down?

And why… why did he bring me here?

After the bath, the maids dressed me in an unbelievably soft chemise and robe. They must have untied my hands briefly while dressing me, though I hadn’t noticed—it wasn’t like I could overpower four maids and escape anyway.

No sooner had they slipped my arms into the sleeves than they tied my wrists again, this time with a delicate silk ribbon. I suspected the knot was far prettier than the one the knights had tied earlier.

The maids then guided me out of the bath. There were no obstacles on the floor, and the air around me grew noticeably drier and warmer as we walked. It felt like the bathroom connected seamlessly to another space. After a few steps, they helped me sit down on something soft. The texture against my bare legs felt like silk—a bed, perhaps, covered in luxurious bedding.

“Is… is this where I’ll be staying?” I managed to ask hesitantly.

“You’ve had a long journey, so we’ve prepared a light meal for you to enjoy first.”

The maid didn’t respond to my question directly. Instead, she gently guided my bound hand to a plate on the bedside table.

“It’s a sandwich. We’ve cut it into small pieces to make it easier for you to eat.”

“Oh…”

“If you need anything, just pull this cord, and we’ll come to assist you.”

“W-wait.”

Hearing the maids preparing to leave, I hastily called out to them.

“Could you… untie my hands or remove the blindfold? I mean, if I’m going to eat alone anyway…”

“I’m sorry. His Majesty instructed otherwise…”

“Ah.”

The word His Majesty immediately brought to mind Kyle’s cold, crimson eyes, looking down at me so indifferently. It also reminded me of how these maids likely viewed him—with both fear and reverence. I realized I had asked for something impossible and nodded silently to show I understood.

“Then we’ll take our leave.”

“Please, rest well.”

The maids added a few soft, polite remarks before leaving the room.

Rest well?

Was someone coming to visit me? Or was this just an elaborate ploy to lull me into complacency before interrogating me? Left alone, still blindfolded and bound, my mind began racing with anxious thoughts, and unease crept back in.

…I should eat something first and think later.

If this really was the royal palace, the journey here must have taken hours, even with the fastest route. It was likely late at night, and I hadn’t eaten anything since lunch. Sighing, I decided to follow the maids’ instructions and took a bite of the sandwich.

Huh?

The taste was oddly familiar. Salted ham, arugula, tender lettuce leaves, tomato, and cottage cheese—all sandwiched between freshly baked bread. It tasted just like the sandwiches I used to make at home, using the ingredients I always kept stocked for lunch.

It was delicious, of course. It must have been made by a skilled royal chef. But somehow, it felt off—too refined, as if the flavor had been carefully calculated rather than naturally comforting.

Or perhaps I just couldn’t fully appreciate it due to my current fear and unease.

After a few more bites, I gave up on eating. Setting the sandwich aside, I curled up on the bed. The soft mattress seemed to embrace my body, and the silky fabric of my clothes, smooth and cool against my freshly bathed skin, made it impossible not to feel a small bit of comfort.

Surely… they wouldn’t put me in a prison dressed like this, right? These are loose, comfortable indoor clothes—they wouldn’t interrogate me in something like this…

…I hope.

The combination of a familiar meal, the maids’ soothing ministrations, and the exhaustion from the day began to catch up with me. Despite my fear and confusion, sleep gradually overtook me. I wasn’t even sure if I’d truly rested during the journey here—drugged as I’d been.

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when I awoke to a faint tugging sensation on my hair.

Was I dreaming? No… someone was here, quietly tending to me while I slept.

Under the blindfold, I blinked and rolled my eyes, trying to make sense of the sensation. It felt familiar. My hair was being divided into sections and carefully braided.

“…Kyle?”

I whispered his name without thinking. He was the only one who had ever braided my hair like this.

The memories washed over me, comforting and warm despite the circumstances. Even though I couldn’t see who it was, I wasn’t afraid. Still curled up, I turned toward the direction of the tugging, instinctively seeking the source.

But there was no response.

Whoever it was continued to braid my hair in silence, their hands steady and deliberate. Once they finished weaving the strands into a loose braid, they tied it off gently.

“Now, I’m going to remove your blindfold,” a low voice said suddenly.

It was unmistakably Kyle.

His voice was deeper and more resonant than it had been during our time together, but it still carried the same deliberate calmness. He must have been sitting beside me, close enough that his words seemed to fall directly from above.

“Keep your eyes closed. It’s not very bright, but just in case.”

A moment later, I felt the knot behind my head slowly being loosened. The cravat that had been wrapped around my head gradually slackened, and finally, the fabric that had been covering my eyes was removed.

“Open your eyes,” came the command, spoken firmly yet calmly.

Tentatively, I blinked my eyelids open. At first, my vision was obstructed by a hand, shielding my eyes from the light. Was he… being considerate? Though the room was dimly lit, the sudden exposure still stung my eyes slightly, and I had to blink a few times before they adjusted.

As my vision cleared, I was met with a scene that could only be described as luxurious. Ornate furniture crafted from expensive hardwood, likely by a master artisan, adorned the room. Cabinets and consoles were accented with intricate carvings. Artwork hung on the walls, and elegant vases decorated with gold and gemstones stood proudly. The lighting came from magitech lamps that mimicked the glow of electric bulbs, casting a soft, ambient light. Despite its opulence, the room didn’t feel sterile—it felt lived-in, as though someone called this space home.

When the hand shielding my eyes was finally withdrawn, my gaze traveled upward.

And there he was.

Sitting beside me, Kyle was staring down at me with those piercing crimson eyes. Six years had passed since I last saw him, and the boy I once knew had transformed into a man—his features sharp, defined, and utterly striking.

His gaze was steady but not hostile. Gone was the fierce glare he’d worn earlier when he’d commanded the knights to seize me. I couldn’t help but feel a wave of relief wash over me.

So… you’re not going to hurt me, right? Maybe… not all of your memories of those years were bad, after all?

“Kyle…”

I wasn’t sure if I should even call him that anymore, but the name slipped out naturally.

As I spoke, a confusing mixture of emotions swelled in my chest—relief at seeing him again, joy at this unexpected reunion, and an indescribable, bittersweet ache.

But Kyle didn’t respond.

His expression remained unreadable, his lips pressed firmly together, betraying no hint of emotion. His jawline, sharp and chiseled as if sculpted from marble, didn’t so much as twitch.

I swallowed nervously, my throat suddenly dry.

Kyle’s hair, still slightly damp from his bath, clung lightly to his neck. It had grown much longer, his bangs falling past his ears, with the back reaching the nape of his neck. Unlike the unkempt hair he’d had as a boy, his locks were now neatly groomed, likely tended to by a skilled barber.

Gone, too, were the rough, handmade clothes I’d sewn for him. He now wore a luxurious nightgown fit for a king, tailored perfectly to his frame.

The stark contrast between our lives hit me like a tidal wave.

I couldn’t look away. Lying down, I found myself studying his face in greater detail—the way his prominent jawline flowed into the curve of his neck, the proud arch of his nose, the deep-set crimson eyes that seemed to hold an unspoken weight. His expression, though neutral, carried a faint air of melancholy, as if the silence itself spoke volumes.

And then there was his chest.

Peeking out from the slightly open front of his robe was his bare torso—broad, powerful, and well-defined. His chest muscles met in a pronounced line above his sternum, and his abs, clearly sculpted, shifted subtly with each breath he took.

I couldn’t help but swallow again, my throat dry.

Since when… did he grow into someone like this?

The thought felt almost absurd, and I scrambled to fill my mind with nonsensical distractions to stave off my growing discomfort. Why is he so… so confident and shameless?

But even as I tried to distract myself, his overwhelming presence made it impossible to ignore him. I averted my gaze in embarrassment, only to hear his voice call out:

“Lyn.”

Kyle gently placed the end of my newly braided hair onto the bed, then shifted his body slightly. I couldn’t help but notice how his muscles flexed and moved under the thin fabric of his robe as he leaned closer.

“Did you sleep well?”

His voice was low, calm, and slightly teasing. He leaned in further, one hand braced on the bed next to my face. The faint scent of his freshly washed skin mingled with a deeper, woodsy aroma, enveloping me as his robe shifted, revealing more of his chest.

“Why didn’t you finish your sandwich?”

“Huh?”