You, My Devil - Chapter 20

Her consciousness wavered in and out, her mind floating between reality and dreams. In her dazed state, she felt the rhythmic, steady thump of Yuri’s heartbeat against her back. It was strong and unwavering, like an anchor pulling her back from the brink.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she felt a sense of safety. Her trembling eyelids fluttered closed, and the spasms in her body began to ease.

So warm…

The thought drifted through her mind like a feather on the wind. She instinctively pressed herself closer to him, seeking more of that warmth.

Yuri tensed as her soft, smooth skin shifted against his. Every slight movement she made set his nerves ablaze, her warmth igniting something primal within him. He clenched his teeth, willing himself to stay focused.

Focus, damn it…

The fire crackled softly, its glow casting flickering shadows across the cave walls. Yuri inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling as he fought to maintain control.

Carefully, he adjusted their positions, rolling her gently so she was facing him. It was easier this way—or so he told himself. Holding her from the front allowed him to monitor her condition more closely.

Her breathing had steadied, soft and shallow, her delicate face relaxed as if in a deep slumber. Sweat began to bead on her forehead, a sign that her body temperature was slowly returning to normal. The antidote was working.

Yuri brushed a strand of damp hair from her face, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as he tucked it behind her ear.

“You’re the most troublesome, exhausting woman I’ve ever met,” he muttered under his breath.

Though unconscious, Heina’s nose twitched slightly, almost as if in response. He noticed the faint sheen of perspiration on her forehead and her slightly flushed cheeks. The color was beginning to return to her face.

“Looks like I’m not entirely useless after all,” he muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching into a rare smirk.

His hand moved to cradle the back of her head, his fingers lightly brushing her soft hair. Despite his grumbling, his touch was careful, almost tender, as he held her close. Her cheek rested against his firm chest, and he felt the faint whisper of her breath against his skin.

The cave was silent, save for the occasional crackle of the fire and the distant patter of rain outside. Yuri’s gaze softened as he looked at her peaceful face, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing.

“Don’t die, Heina,” he murmured quietly, his voice barely audible over the fire. “Keep fighting. Stay alive, no matter what.”

His hand stroked her hair absently, his movements soothing and unhurried. She didn’t stir, her body now still in his arms, her breathing calm and steady.

“…Warm…”

Her voice was a soft murmur, muffled against his chest. She sounded distant, her words slurred as if she were half-asleep. Unlike her usual sharp and defiant tone, her voice now was soft, vulnerable, and strangely endearing.

Yuri’s low whisper brushed against Heina’s ear, his breath warm and steady.

“…Are you not cold anymore?”

“I’m still cold… but also warm,” she murmured, her voice soft and drowsy.

“Come closer to me,” he commanded gently.

“…How?”

“Fool…” Yuri muttered under his breath, irritation laced with a hint of amusement. He grabbed her small hands, guiding them around his neck. Her fingers twitched slightly, brushing against his back.

Yuri’s heart thudded in his chest, loud and relentless, like it might burst at any moment. He could feel the heat coursing through his veins, the pulse pounding in his throat. His mouth felt dry.

He pulled her closer, his voice a husky rasp.

“Isn’t it warmer now?”

“…Mm. Thank you…”

Her words caught him completely off guard, freezing him in place. Thank you. He had never heard those words from her lips before. Yuri stared down at her as if unsure he had heard correctly.

Then, in a quiet mumble, she repeated, “It’s warm…”

“Stop talking. Just sleep,” he barked, his tone gruff and defensive, though his face burned with an unfamiliar warmth.

Heina’s response—so unlike her usual sharp and defiant demeanor—unnerved him. The exhaustion in her voice, the vulnerability in her words, and the softness of her tone stirred something unfamiliar inside him.

Maybe it’s not her who’s out of her mind from the antidote… maybe it’s me, Yuri thought grimly. The absurdity of the situation struck him. Here he was, a prince of a conquering nation, stripping himself bare and sharing his body heat to save the life of a woman from a conquered people—a woman who had done nothing but challenge him at every turn.

“Sleepy… so sleepy…” she whispered faintly, her voice trailing off.

“Then sleep,” he replied simply, his fingers absently brushing over her damp hair.

“…I’m scared,” she confessed softly.

The admission made Yuri pause. The word scared sounded foreign coming from her lips, just as much as her thanks had. This was the same woman who had held her head high in defiance, refusing to show fear even when she was at his mercy.

“What are you scared of?” he asked, his voice quieter this time, almost careful.

He half-expected her to say, You.

But instead, her reply was different.

“…That I won’t wake up,” she murmured, her body curling slightly as she pressed herself closer to him.

Yuri tightened his hold on her, his breath catching briefly. He rested his forehead against hers, his voice a low murmur.

“That won’t happen. As long as you’re with me, you won’t die.”

“My leg… it hurts…” she whimpered softly.

“First thing tomorrow when we reach Constance, I’ll have a physician see you. I’ll make sure the wound heals completely—without a trace. But you’ll have to endure it for now. Just a little longer.”

“…Constance?” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, Constance,” he confirmed. “The place you’ve been so desperate to return to.”

“…Mm. Okay…”

Her arms, which were loosely wrapped around his neck, tightened slightly. A faint, peaceful smile appeared on her lips as she drifted deeper into sleep.

For the first time, she looked truly at ease—safe, even.

But Yuri wasn’t.

He lay there, staring at her serene face, unable to close his eyes. He had held her countless times before, but tonight felt different. She felt different. Despite his usual confidence, something about her fragility unnerved him, filled him with an unrelenting need to protect her.

She was like glass—delicate and breakable.

The thought was both comforting and disconcerting. Yuri sighed heavily, his hand resting against the back of her head as she nestled against his chest.

* * *

Nike, Granada. The Imperial Temple.

In the midst of the eerily silent imperial temple, Camille knelt in prayer. He turned his head slightly, as though someone had called his name.

“Who’s there?”

His sharp brows furrowed as he looked toward the faint presence he had sensed.

“Didn’t I say not to disturb me during prayer…?”

Camille stopped speaking mid-sentence. It wasn’t one of the maids. The maids moved more cautiously, their footsteps softer than this.

The moment he closed his mouth, the faint sound of robes dragging across the floor came to an abrupt halt. The intruder remained silent. Camille’s striking blue eyes focused intently on the unexpected visitor.

“…Is that you, Brother Fessis?”

Fessis eventually broke into laughter as he stepped closer to his younger brother, Camille, the high priest of Nike.

“Haha… As expected of a priest. Sometimes I wonder if you’re truly blind.”

“Since I cannot see, other senses have developed abnormally—nothing more,” Camille replied in an even tone, devoid of any change in pitch.

Fessis glared at him sharply, but his voice softened, a stark contrast to the deadly look in his eyes.

“That’s why everyone believes you can see with the eyes of your heart. No one dares lie in your presence. Where else could they find a priest as perfect as you? Nike should offer its gratitude to the gods for you.”

“…Everything that happens has a reason. The gods must have willed my blindness. All things are according to the will of Nike and the gods who protect it,” Camille answered, still kneeling in his prayer posture.

Fessis suppressed a scoff, quietly rubbing the vial of poison hidden in his sleeve with his other hand.

Although Camille was the nation’s high priest, his close relationship with Yuri, the imperial prince, was enough to grate on Fessis’s nerves. Lately, Fessis had become increasingly uneasy at the thought that Camille might someday invoke the gods’ will to endorse Yuri as the next emperor.

The thought of Camille drinking the poison he carried and collapsing with blood spilling from his beautiful lips made Fessis’s heart race with anticipation.

The opportunity would come soon enough. When it did, he’d ensure that Camille would have ample time in the afterlife to meet his gods.

A faint sneer formed at the corner of Fessis’s lips.

“What brings you here today?” Camille asked, his voice monotone.

“Haha, you speak as though you can’t wait for me to leave. I simply came to chat with my brother after so long,” Fessis replied.

“Conversations are always welcome,” Camille said, unmoving. His stiff posture made it clear that no hospitality would be extended. He neither invited Fessis to sit nor called for a maid to serve tea.

Despite his words, Camille’s entire demeanor radiated rejection. Seeing this, Fessis’s brow twitched in irritation.

“…Are you aware that Nike attempted to kill Yuri?”

“I am not,” Camille replied instantly, without hesitation or even a flicker of surprise.

He had been trained to keep his emotions in check. When Camille’s mother succumbed to madness and took her own life, the young Camille had shed tears from his unseen yet beautiful eyes. The emperor of Nike had spoken to him then.

“Camille, my son. If a priest of the state allows himself to be swayed by emotions, the entire nation could falter. Your allegiance must be to the gods alone.”

“What are the gods, Father? Where are they?”

“The gods are Nike itself.”

Camille’s serene blue eyes, seemingly devoid of emotion, blinked steadily, unshaken.

“Camille, Yuri, though only half-blooded, is still our brother, sharing both your blood and mine. Even if he isn’t of direct descent, he remains a prince of Nike.”

“That is correct.”

Once again, Camille’s answer came without hesitation, his voice calm and assured.

Fessis grimaced at his younger brother, who, though blind, seemed to look directly into his eyes, as if reading his every thought.

“You know well that Nike’s health has been declining in recent years, don’t you?”

“All is the will of the gods. The span of a human life is determined by their will as well.”

It was a flawless response, as if rehearsed. Fessis bit his lip.

“Do you think I don’t know that? What worries me is whether the sickness that has plagued Nike’s body has also invaded its mind. Nike was never the kind of man to obsess over losing his absolute power to his son.”

“That’s true. Long ago, when the council of ministers cited the prophecies and urged him to kill Yuri, he burned the nation’s prophecies instead of doing so.”

“A lion whose claws have fallen fears even the scavenging hyenas.”

“…What is it that you wish to hear from me, Brother Fessis?”

Camille, sitting upright without the slightest movement, asked back with an expression that betrayed no thoughts.

Fessis shook his head, his ebony hair with a faint blue sheen swaying over his shoulders.

“There’s nothing in particular I wish to hear. I only thought it proper to inform you, as your elder brother, since I know how deeply you care for Yuri. Exiling him was one thing, but sending soldiers to kill him feels excessive.”

“If I may speak as the high priest of Nike,” Camille said, his blind gaze seeming to momentarily gleam, causing Fessis to involuntarily suppress his expression.

Camille continued in a voice as steady as ever.

“Discussing matters of state with foreigners beyond the desert is the quickest path to a nation’s ruin.”

Fessis’s face contorted sharply, his voice cracking as he responded without restraint.

“What do you mean by that?”