The Witch Didn't Raise the Tyrant That Way - Chapter 2: How He Grew Up (3)

“Was it bad?” he pressed, his tone almost accusatory, as though ready to summon the royal chef for punishment.

“N-no, it wasn’t that,” I stammered, startled by the sudden shift in his tone. “I was just… too tired.”

“Funny, considering how much you slept earlier,” he quipped, one eyebrow arching.

You’re the one who drugged me with that Drowsy-Drowsy Potion, I thought incredulously, frowning at him.

Seeing my reaction, Kyle’s lips curved into a smirk—one far softer and more amused than the sharp, cold smile he’d given me earlier. It was as if he was enjoying my flustered state, teasing me for his own amusement.

Since when did Kyle have such a range of expressions? The boy I remembered had been mostly stoic, making this playful side of him feel strangely unfamiliar.

An awkward silence stretched between us. I didn’t know what to say, and Kyle seemed in no hurry to push the conversation forward. He simply sat there, looming over me with his arms braced on either side of my body, watching me intently.

The tension in the room was palpable.

“Um… I don’t really understand what’s going on here,” I finally ventured, my voice hesitant.

Kyle’s lips twitched, his expression turning into a bemused grin.

“You don’t understand?”

“…No,” I admitted quietly.

How could I? He’d dragged me here like a criminal, yet I was being treated with unnerving kindness. The maids had bathed and clothed me in the softest fabrics, and now I was alone with the king himself—wearing a robe that left little to the imagination. Nothing about this situation made sense.

“You heard me earlier, didn’t you?”

Kyle’s voice dropped to a cool murmur.

“You conspired with the deposed queen and kept me imprisoned.”

Imprisoned? I blinked, startled. He must have been refering to the way I’d kept him confined to the forest. Technically, he wasn’t wrong—especially since even the queen’s letter to me had mentioned keeping him from leaving.

I had done it all to protect him. But of course, Kyle wouldn’t have known that. Explaining my actions back then would’ve sounded ridiculous, even to him.

“And because of that,” he continued, his voice tinged with mockery, “I suffered so much trauma that I’m barely functional as a human being anymore.”

“…What?”

My eyes, which had been trembling with confusion, froze in place.

Barely functional as a human being?

What was wrong? In what way? Are you saying that the time you spent with me left such a terrible scar on you?

“Otherwise, how would it make sense that I can’t sleep because I keep thinking about that strange smell that clung to your house?”

“…What?”

So… you’re saying you have insomnia?

But…

You liked it. You told me that when it rained, the scent of the herbs intensified and made the air feel cleaner, fresher. You said the smell that lingered on me—the one that came from the herbs I handled—felt like it was everywhere, like the whole world smelled that way, and it made you feel at ease. You liked it so much that whenever I dried herbs or made potpourri, you always found an excuse to help me, just to be near it.

You’d say all that with a hint of shyness, your lips pressed together and your gaze darting away. Was that all an act? Were you just flatteLyng me because you had no choice but to rely on me back then?

I had been rough with my words, and I’d tried my hardest to keep my distance emotionally, but everything I did was for your sake.

This revelation was shocking, then hurtful, and finally, infuriatingly unfair.

Kyle had lived in my house for seven years. Seven long years. How could I not have grown accustomed to his presence? No matter how much I tried to stay detached, those years naturally bound us together in familiarity. Of course, I had felt his absence when he left. How could I not?

But I had supported his departure because it was for his sake. I had hoped he would take back what was rightfully his, exact his revenge, and claim his place in the world. I endured his absence because that was all I could do.

What else could I have done? The best I could offer was to soften the harshness of his worst years, to provide a shred of stability. A boy with eyes as brilliant as rubies deserved that much. The outside world, with all its cruelty and glory, awaited him. I was just an accident—a witch at the bottom of society whom fate had forced into his life.

Thanks to inheriting Lilithea’s life and knowledge, I had a home, a way to make a living, and enough security to support myself. That was enough. Hearing bits and pieces of Kyle’s triumphs from afar, I’d comforted myself with the thought that I had done my part by treating him decently when he needed it most.

And yet… the years I cherished as a time when I did my best for him… had been a source of wounds for him all along?

Wounds so deep they kept him awake at night?

Kyle, who had been staring into my eyes with an intensity that made my chest tighten, suddenly broke the silence.

“So now, it’s your turn. You’re going to stay in my house, not take a single step outside, and live by my orders.”

“…What?”

“You’re going to experience the same thing. To understand exactly what you did to me.”

His voice, slow and deliberate, was like a blade dragging through my chest, scraping against my guilt. Whatever his reasons, I knew I hadn’t treated him with the kindness he needed. My shame made it impossible to argue.

“You could have… at least explained this before bringing me here,” I muttered, my voice trembling.

“Did you explain anything to me?”

…Right. I didn’t.

Instead, I had dumped tasks on him without explanation, expecting him to obey.

“그러니까,” Kyle said, his voice low and deliberate.

The faintest hint of satisfaction crossed his features as he seemed to notice the glimmer of understanding in my expression. His tightly pressed lips curved slightly into a faint smirk.

Then, moving slowly, he leaned to one side, settling into a reclined position. He propped his head on one arm while his other arm moved to wrap firmly around my waist.

The sudden weight of his muscular forearm resting across my stomach made it feel as though his pulse was vibrating against my navel. The sensation was unnervingly heavy, and for a moment, it felt as though my breathing became more labored.

I struggled to find something—anything—to say.

“That… potion earlier. The Drowsy-Drowsy Potion—are you saying it doesn’t work on you anymore?”

My hurried question, which I thought might lighten the tension, was met with a faint scoff that barely escaped Kyle’s lips.

Right… if something like that had worked, he wouldn’t have brought me here in the first place.

“Did you… um, burn down my lab? Maybe some of the ingredients didn’t suit you, but if I could try different combinations, I might be able to…”

“Not that.”

His calm, unhurried voice cut through my rambling.

Kyle’s lack of interest in my suggestions was clear. He didn’t even pretend to consider them, his gaze instead fixed on his hand, which was absently toying with the fabric of my chemise.

It was only then that I realized just how thin the material was. The delicate fabric clung to my skin, tracing the faint shadows of my navel and the curve beneath my chest. I was so distracted earlier by Kyle’s presence that I hadn’t even noticed.

Under his half-lowered lashes, those vivid crimson eyes quietly took in… something. I couldn’t tell what.

“When I couldn’t sleep, you used to do something,” Kyle murmured.

“Ah…”

“You know. Do that.”

Oh. Thunderstorms during the rainy season, his nightmares… when he’d crawl into my bed and cling to me for comfort until he finally fell asleep.

He was asking me to be his body pillow.

I blinked, processing the request. Maybe he wanted to recreate the environment of those years we spent together, hoping it might help him rest.

It was… surprisingly mild as far as demands went. Compared to the fear I felt when he had me seized outside my house—fully expecting to face the stake—this was nothing short of leniency.

The thought made me exhale in relief, and I felt a small, tentative smile creep onto my face.

“Okay. But… you’ll have to untie this first,” I said, holding up my bound hands with a playful grin.

Perhaps it was a trace of the lingering fear I hadn’t completely shaken, but my tone came off almost teasing—an unconscious attempt to lighten the mood.

“Hurry. Didn’t you say you wanted me to do it like I used to?”

I brought my tied wrists closer to him, lifting them toward his chest, shaking them lightly for emphasis.

But Kyle remained silent.

His gaze dropped to my hands, specifically to the ornate ribbon binding my wrists, tied in a neat bow courtesy of the maids. He stared at it for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“Come on, Kyle, please?” I coaxed, trying to sound cheerful as I shook my hands again. The ribbon brushed lightly against my chest with the movement, grazing the hollow between my collarbones.

Still, he didn’t respond.

The silence stretched out, becoming heavier with every passing second. The confidence I had mustered wavered, and I felt a nervousness I couldn’t quite explain creeping back in.

Had I overstepped? Was I being presumptuous?

The playful grin faded from my face, replaced by an uneasy frown. My hands, which I had lifted so eagerly moments before, slowly dropped back down onto my chest.

And then –

Kyle tugged on one end of the ribbon, loosening the neat bow that bound my wrists. His crimson eyes briefly lingered—not on the ribbon itself but on the soft curve of my chest beneath it. Yet, caught up in the relief of finally having my hands freed, I failed to notice his gaze.

Still reclining with his head propped on one hand, Kyle used the other to fully unravel the ribbon, his rough fingers brushing against the delicate skin of my wrist as he worked. Once undone, he slid his fingers under the last loop, giving the ribbon a final flick before letting it fall behind him.

The calloused pads of his fingers grazed against the tender skin of my chest during the process, leaving behind a faint, unintentional roughness.

“…It’s chafed,” he murmured.

Before I realized it, Kyle had taken one of my wrists into his hand. His touch, firm yet deliberate, lingered on the sensitive underside of my wrist as he rubbed it gently. Then, without warning, he bent down and pressed his lips against the spot.

I flinched, heat flooding my cheeks as his tongue darted out, leaving a trail of warmth where it glided over my skin.

“What are you doing…!” I stammered.

“Didn’t you always say that spit helps wounds heal faster?”

He didn’t lift his mouth from my wrist as he spoke, his crimson gaze flicking up to meet mine with a sharp glint of amusement. Before I could respond, he playfully bit down on the soft flesh of my wrist, his teeth grazing against the sensitive skin.

The sensation was strange—a mix of pressure and an unsettling intimacy.

“Y-you could’ve just used some ointment,” I stammered, my voice shaky.

“Did you bring any?”

He had a point. I hadn’t brought a single thing with me—not that I had much of a choice.

But still, the palace surely had an abundance of supplies, including the very remedies I’d created. Nora once told me my products dominated the market. Surely there were plenty of my ointments in the palace’s medical ward.

Yet, before I could voice that thought, Kyle had already taken my other wrist, giving it the same deliberate treatment. His lips and tongue moved slowly, leaving a damp warmth in their wake.

It was oddly gentle, almost ritualistic.

Wait… why doesn’t it sting? I wondered. Come to think of it, the knights had tied the ribbon with great care. How did it even end up chafed?

“Look at me,” Kyle’s voice cut through my thoughts.

The questions in my mind evaporated as his low command pulled me back to the present.

“You’re supposed to do it like before,” he continued.

Before I could ask what he meant, Kyle shifted closer, pulling my arm to rest beneath his head. He turned onto his side and, with a fluid motion, draped one of my hands around his waist, effectively wrapping me around him.

“Go on,” he urged.

“….”

Do it like before…?

I was speechless.

Back when Kyle first came to live with me, he had been so small and fragile that he could easily curl into my arms like a kitten. Even in the last year before he left, when he stopped crawling into my bed, his size had been manageable—he had been roughly my height at best.

But now…

I looked at him, his broad shoulders and strong, grown frame making it clear that he was easily twice the size of the boy he once was.

“How am I supposed to…?” I began hesitantly.

“That’s for you to figure out,” Kyle replied, his lips curving into a faint smirk.

I sighed inwardly. Of course. I’m the prisoner here.

Bracing myself, I shifted and turned toward him. Lying on my side, I placed his head on my arm, which was much smaller and lower than the pillows. His gaze bore into mine from this proximity, his ruby-red eyes inscrutable. Even from such a close distance, I couldn’t discern what emotions lay beneath the surface.

“On nights when I had nightmares, your potpourri scent was the only thing that could help me sleep…”

I remembered his words, his quiet confession from before.

No matter how much he had changed or how he now viewed the past, the man lying in front of me was still Kyle—the boy I had raised. Whether he had reclaimed the grandeur of the Roderneburg throne or not didn’t change that fact.

Focusing on that thought, I gently pulled his head closer and wrapped my arms around him, as I used to do. Shifting upward slightly, I managed to cradle him against me.

It was awkward. His forehead rested against my chest, while his prominent nose pressed against my stomach. His much larger frame and the sheer intimacy of the position made it impossible to ignore how strange this felt.

…Is this position okay? I wondered, trying to adjust slightly.

Regardless, I decided to recreate the comforting gesture from years ago. I awkwardly guided his arm around my waist, though its sheer size and strength made it feel almost burdensome. His forearm rested heavily against my hip, radiating warmth.

“Should I have turned the lights off?” I asked quietly, trying to cut the tension.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, his voice low and curt.

His response wasn’t particularly warm, but it wasn’t entirely dismissive either.

Maybe this won’t work after all, I thought. If Kyle’s insomnia was as severe as he claimed, something this simple probably wouldn’t be enough. Still, I pulled the blanket over us, using it as a makeshift barrier to dim the light further.

“Do you think this will help?” I asked softly.

“Who knows,” he replied evenly, his tone giving nothing away.

His flat response stung more than I expected, making me feel oddly self-conscious.

“….”

“….”

The room fell silent again, save for the sound of our breathing.