The Witch Didn't Raise the Tyrant That Way - Chapter 2: How He Grew Up (4)

With the lights dimmed, the darkness seemed to amplify everything—the closeness of our bodies, the warmth we shared beneath the blanket, the steady rise and fall of his chest against me. Even his breaths seemed louder, more intimate.

No, this isn’t the time to get distracted, I told myself firmly, shaking the thoughts from my head.

Closing my eyes, I started stroking his hair, my fingers running through the strands in slow, soothing motions. His hair, once fine like silk, now felt slightly coarser, thicker—another sign of how much he’d grown.

“You’ve been struggling to sleep this much? Even when it’s not the rainy season?” I asked, trying to distract both of us.

“Yeah.”

“…It must have been hard for you,” I murmured softly.

“…”

Kyle didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes.

Since returning to the palace, he must have lived every moment on edge, constantly watching his back. The royal court had been a den of enemies for him, a place where his mother had been poisoned and where betrayal lurked in every shadow. Even in the peaceful forest, Kyle had struggled to find rest for various reasons. It was no wonder that in the palace—where threats of assassination and treachery loomed large—he’d been deprived of sleep entirely.

Perhaps, in seeking someone or something to blame, his resentment had landed squarely on me.

Not that I could deny my own faults.

At that moment, the arm Kyle had draped around my waist tightened. His grip grew firmer, drawing me closer, as though he needed the contact. His face pressed more deeply into my stomach, and I felt the heat of his breath against me. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep inhale, his chest expanding against mine.

“…I missed it…”

His voice was faint, almost a whisper, but I thought I heard it. The words seemed to hum against my skin, muffled yet heavy with emotion.

* * *

In the dimly lit middle of the night, under the faint glow of moonlight.

A shadow stirred on the king’s bed. Rising from his position was a man with beauty so striking it could rival a masterpiece sculpted by a skilled artisan, even his unkempt hair exuding a decadent charm. This man was none other than the master of this opulent chamber, Kyle Rodenaburg.

“…Hah.”

He roughly pushed the blanket aside and looked down at the woman lying next to him. Completely unaware that he had moved, Lilithea remained in deep slumber. Moonlight filtered through the lace canopy, casting intricate patterns of shadow on her serene face.

Her loosely shut eyes, long downward-tilted brown eyelashes, and slightly parted lips… Despite his efforts to ensure her rest by having the maids relieve her fatigue, she must have still been weary from the lengthy carriage ride. After all, this was Lilithea’s first time riding in a carriage. Except for the one time she left the forest where she had lived with her mother, she had never ventured beyond her familiar surroundings.

“You… really…”

Gazing at her innocent, unsuspecting face as she slept, he swallowed back a surge of irritation.

It was excusable back then, but now he was no longer the powerless boy she had once known. No longer the scrawny, wretched child discarded by the royal family, with nothing to his name. He was now a grown man, the ruler of an entire kingdom, who had swallowed up the royal court and the palace just as she had hoped.

And yet, here she was, lying beside him in the same bed, completely defenseless.

As if he held no appeal to her. As if she still didn’t see him as a man.

A faint, bitter laugh escaped his lips. Of course. You’ve always been like this. So soft-hearted, letting your guard down so easily. Even when you used to detest humanity so vehemently, your gaze would always soften in the end, especially toward my younger, clumsier self.

Mmm… As if to answer his thoughts, Lilithea shifted in her sleep. Perhaps feeling stifled by the blanket, her body, which had been lying on its side, shifted to lie flat on her back. The movement revealed her curvaceous silhouette… The loose neckline of her chemise exposed the soft, rounded curves of her chest that gleamed faintly under the moonlight. Below, the fabric clung to her abundant form, accentuating its shape as it draped downward.

Whether it was due to the moonlight or his relentless gaze, the subtle darkened tips at the peaks seemed to press faintly against the thin fabric. The hem of her skirt, originally covering her knees, had ridden up carelessly along the curve of her legs…

“…”

Kyle slowly reached out and placed his hand on the inside of Lilithea’s knee. Gently, he stroked the velvety smoothness of her skin, moving gradually upward, higher and higher… His fingers halted when they slid just past the midpoint of her soft, plump thigh, slipping beneath the hem of her skirt. In the middle of her luminous, ivory skin, illuminated by moonlight, lay his coarse, calloused hand.

Finally.

If he moved his hand just a bit further, he would touch the place he had imagined countless times—the secret part of Lilithea that had adorned his dreams and marked his first awakening to desire. That forbidden place, which he had never seen in reality, had grown clearer and more vivid in his mind over the years, becoming an object of longing so intense that it had made it impossible for him to find peace while lying beside her.

How many long years had it taken to come this far?

When he had first entered the bedroom, the sight of Lilithea, lightly dozing, had stirred an uncontrollable urge within him. The thought of seizing her ample breast, more than enough to fill one hand, had burned in his mind. He had wanted to lift her skirt, to explore the softness of her skin beneath it—his hands had nearly moved of their own accord.

Yet, he had barely managed to restrain himself, settling instead for braiding her hair. But even then, the sight of her with her vision obscured and her hands bound had tested his patience far beyond its limits. A dark, insistent impulse had surged within him, tempting him to push himself into her unresisting body without regard for protest.

He had only wanted her to feel the same awe and wonder he had experienced the first time his blurry vision had cleared to reveal her face in that humble forest cabin. That was all.

He had to restrain himself. He hadn’t brought Lilithea here to violate her.

And yet, the indistinguishable blend of love and desire churned violently within his chest, coursing through his veins with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. Unable to fully suppress these emotions, he allowed the slightest pressure to build at his fingertips. Her soft skin, warm and pliant, swelled faintly between his fingers. Still, her long lashes remained motionless, her slumber undisturbed.

“Haah…”

He exhaled the breath he had been holding and tugged at the hem of his nightgown, revealing the rigid pillar of flesh beneath, veins bulging prominently along its length. His hand moved unhesitatingly as he stroked the shaft, its tip slick with beads of arousal that oozed freely.

From the moment Lilithea had embraced him—or perhaps even earlier, from the moment he had entered the bedroom where she lay sleeping—his arousal had been impossible to suppress. The mere thought of her presence in his chambers had been enough to keep him hard. He had even tried to relieve himself once while bathing, but the desire that consumed him refused to wane.

Well, considering how many times his manhood had hardened and been relieved in that confined carriage simply from her resting her head on his thigh, this was hardly surprising.

I’m like this—aroused just from looking at you, endlessly hard, unable to control myself. And yet you…

A sudden surge of resentment flared within him, and his hand began to move faster. The slick, rhythmic sound of his movements echoed through the spacious bedroom—slap, slap, slap, slap. His low groan bubbled up from his throat, unrestrained.

I don’t care if I’m caught. No, maybe I even want to be caught. But I can’t wake her. That’s the last thread of my self-control…

His crimson eyes roamed feverishly over Lilithea’s form—her slightly parted lips, the full curves spilling to each side, and the faintly visible dip of her navel…

The hand gripping her thigh tightened further, his fingers sinking into her soft flesh. In his mind, he imagined it wasn’t her thigh but the supple curves of her breast under his grasp. He fought against the overwhelming urge to lower his head and taste her skin, to indulge in the forbidden.

Yes. I’ve finally brought you here. So now, I…

The veins along the shaft of his member throbbed under his grip, the engorged tip twitching and leaking steadily with pre-release fluid. As he approached the peak of his arousal, the chaos of his desires began to crystallize into a clearer, more vivid form.

* * *

The next morning, as I woke up, I was stunned by the memory of the dream I had the night before.

‘…What kind of dream was that?’

It had been a strange one. I had been lying down while Kyle looked down at me, just like last night. In the dream, he was kneeling by the bedside, wearing nothing but his nightgown. His crimson eyes, glowing with a strange, almost wicked light, had roamed over my face and body as if tracing every detail. The intensity of his gaze had begun to feel overwhelming, and then, slowly, he leaned forward, reaching out his hand…

But what did he do?

That’s where the dream had abruptly cut off, leaving me with no further memory of what happened next. However, the Kyle in the dream had been exactly as I’d seen him for the first time as an adult yesterday, making the dream feel so vivid it left me unsettled. Even the room, the canopy, the bed linens—everything had matched perfectly, as though I had glimpsed the scene in a half-awake state during the night.

‘What a bizarre dream.’

As I looked around, I noticed Kyle wasn’t there. I touched the spot where he had been lying, but there wasn’t even the faintest warmth left—it seemed he had been gone for quite some time.

When did he leave? I hope he slept well last night.

Had I been so deeply asleep because of exhaustion from the journey? With his large frame gone, I thought I might have woken up from the shift, but I hadn’t noticed at all. Perhaps it was thanks to the relaxing bath or the maids’ ministrations, but despite my first long carriage ride, I hadn’t felt particularly fatigued.

Either way, I felt refreshed after a good night’s sleep. Hungry, I searched for the sandwich I hadn’t finished eating yesterday, but it seemed someone had cleared it away. I thought about heading out but hesitated, not wanting to move about recklessly. Remembering what the maid had said, I pulled the bell cord instead.

Before long, four women entered the bedroom. They moved in unison with silent footsteps, all dressed in what appeared to be extremely expensive attire. Their outfits were so elegant that anyone could have mistaken them for nobles.

Were they the same ones as yesterday?

“Good morning, my lady,” one of them greeted me.

My lady? The title struck me as odd, but something else caught my attention even more. Their voices—they were unmistakably familiar. They were the same voices I’d heard yesterday, the ones that had spoken so politely as they bathed and massaged me.

So, were they saying that these women, dressed so finely like nobles, had been the ones to serve me yesterday? That they weren’t ordinary maids but noble-born attendants?

“Your meal will be served shortly. In the meantime, let us help you wash up,” one of them said.

Before I could even fully process my confusion, they approached and began assisting me just as they had the day before. They washed my face with water infused with delicate oils, wiped me down with soft, steamed towels, and dressed me in an indoor gown that was clearly made of silk. Every action was meticulous and gentle.

However, one curious detail stood out—they didn’t touch my hair, other than brushing it. They left it just as it had been, with the single braid Kyle had tied the night before.

“Um, excuse me, I can’t seem to find my hair tie. Could you help me tie my hair?” I asked hesitantly.

“Apologies, my lady, but your hair is not within our responsibility,” one of them replied, bowing slightly.

Not within their responsibility? Did that mean I had a personal hairstylist or something? The thought baffled me, but before I could dwell on it further, they finished preparing me and guided me to an antechamber connected to the bedroom. There, a table was set with what appeared to be a freshly prepared breakfast.

“This is tomato vegetable soup.”

Hmm… This dish also felt strangely familiar. It reminded me of the simple tomato vegetable soup I used to make back in the forest, chopping up older ingredients to use them up and simmering everything together with tomato paste. Of course, the vegetables in this soup were undoubtedly freshly delivered by the best suppliers that very morning, and the flavor would certainly be refined and elegant, just like the sandwich from yesterday.

Had Kyle instructed the kitchen to prepare dishes I was familiar with to help me adjust? I was pondering this thought while reaching for the white bread in a silver basket when one of the attendants, who seemed to be their leader, spoke up with a smile.

“Please enjoy your meal. I hope the chef’s efforts meet your satisfaction this time.”

“Pardon?”

I blinked in surprise at her words. She appeared to mean well, but something in what she said caught me off guard.

“When you say this time… about the chef, do you mean…?”

“Oh, the meal served yesterday didn’t seem to suit your taste, as you barely ate it. His Majesty reprimanded the kitchen staff over it.”

“What? No, that wasn’t because the food was bad—I just didn’t have much of an appetite…”

“Yes, well… It is the chef’s duty to prepare meals even an unwell or disinterested lady would find palatable.”

Duty… was. Why did she phrase that in the past tense?

Suddenly, fragments of scenes from the original story I had long forgotten resurfaced in my mind. Memories of a tyrant, casually cutting down those who displeased him for the pettiest reasons, without a shred of guilt.

Though I hadn’t raised Kyle to be that way, the palace’s power struggles and years of court intrigue might have hardened him into someone more ruthless than I’d realized. Even though he had spent a relatively peaceful time at my cabin, the scars from his earlier life had left him struggling with trauma and insomnia.

Surely… surely the chef’s existence hadn’t become a thing of the past…? Not wanting to hear an answer I couldn’t handle, I swallowed my suspicion. Instead, I resolved to do the only thing I could: eat the meal before me as thoroughly as possible.

I ate everything—the soft white bread, the richly seasoned soup made with the finest spices—leaving nothing behind. Like Kyle, when he had first come to my home and devoured the last crumbs of apple pie, I used the bread to mop up every last drop of soup from the bowl.

I did it for the baker, the soup chef, and every other staff member whose livelihood might depend on my appetite. Overeating to an almost excessive degree, I made sure not a single morsel was left behind.

“Next, we’ll provide you with a tour of the palace. His Majesty will be busy with meetings all day and has a dinner engagement, so he’ll return later tonight,” one of the attendants informed me.

As expected of a workaholic tyrant. Even while struggling with sleepless nights, he tirelessly worked through the night…

“And, if I may introduce myself: I am Yvette of Edelbach, and I will be serving as your primary attendant from today forward.”

“…Pardon? Edelbach?”

I repeated the name in shock, to which Yvette smiled warmly and nodded in confirmation.

Edelbach was one of the very few noble families I actually recognized—because it was a ducal house, no less. Even though I had paid little attention to the kingdom’s political hierarchy, I at least knew the three ducal houses and which families governed the nearby territories.

“I, um… I mean…”

“And these are Mary of Orlando, Vicky of Schönfeld, and Henriette of Balzen,” Yvette continued.

“It’s an honor to serve you,” said Mary.

“We’ll do our utmost to assist you,” Vicky added.

“Please feel free to rely on us,” Henriette finished.

“Ah… uh… yes, thank you…”

Barely able to form a coherent reply, I could only bow my head awkwardly. Though I had already guessed as much from their attire, the realization that they all came from noble families—and that their leader, Yvette, was a duchess’s daughter—made it all feel overwhelming.