NRAL | Chapter 89

~Chapter 89~

Holding Hands

Was the ointment always this sticky?

Did it always feel this embarrassing when skin touched while applying medicine?

Eleanor found herself unreasonably conscious of every little sensation as she treated Karsian’s hand—things she hadn’t paid attention to at all when treating Ernst just earlier.

Karsian’s hands were large. Calloused and rugged in places, giving off a rough impression, but his long, elegant fingers had a beauty to them.

His skin under her fingers felt firm, warm. And because of the sticky ointment, their skin kept making quiet, wet sounds as it met and slid. The sensation felt oddly flustering… and yet, for some reason, she didn’t want to stop.

Then Eleanor realized just how close they were.

Because she had leaned in to apply the medicine, their knees were nearly touching—and their faces were even closer than that.

Just a little more, and the tips of their noses would brush.

Gulp.

She swallowed unconsciously. It was so quiet in the room, it felt like even that tiny sound might’ve been heard.

Her cheeks were heating up. She bit her lip.

This isn’t the first time we’ve touched hands… Why am I like this?

At Nora’s debutante ball, she had taken his hand and danced without hesitation. Even during the masquerade, they had held hands more than once. So why did this simple, medicinal contact feel so… intimate now?

What kind of expression was Karsian making right now?

Was he feeling the same way she was? Or was he simply sitting there, unbothered, letting her treat him?

She was dying to know.

But she couldn’t bring herself to look up.

If she did, he might see how flushed her face was.

“Does it hurt?”

She forced out a bright voice, trying to cut through the thick, quiet tension.

“…No. I’m alright.”

His voice sounded lower than usual, more softly. He moved his fingers slightly.

“Thanks to your kindness.”

And then—whether by chance or on purpose—his fingers brushed hers. Gently, slowly, they began to wrap around her hand.

When his hot, slightly sticky grip covered her skin, Eleanor’s face lit up in flames.

Thump. Thump. Thump!

Her heart pounded so hard it almost ached. She never knew being overwhelmed by butterflies could physically hurt like this.

The air around them grew heavier, so thick it was hard to breathe. Eleanor shut her eyes tightly.

I can’t do this.

The thought flashed through her mind, and she quickly tried to pull away with a clumsy excuse.

“I-I think that’s enough… I should call for Sir Ernst now—”

She didn’t realize, of course, that mentioning Ernst again would only provoke Karsian further.

Just as her fingertips began to slip away—

Grab!

A large hand caught hers, firm and sudden—like a predator snatching fleeing prey.

“Ah…!”

She gasped and looked up in surprise.

And what she saw made her breath catch in her throat.

Karsian was staring at her, breathing shallowly with a look of overwhelming desire barely held back. He stared at her with such intensity that it was almost painful to witness.

“It’s not enough.”

In his crimson eyes burned a desperate longing, and a jealousy far beyond what she expected.

Only now did she truly realize it.

“It’s still not even close to enough.”

His long fingers slid between hers—not too fast, not too slow—until their hands were interlocked. Skin against skin. Palm to palm.

The sound of the sticky ointment between them made a wet, clinging sound with each shift of movement.

It was just hand-holding.

Just that.

The stickiness from the ointment made it feel a little strange, but even so—it was simply a handshake.

It should have been nothing.

And yet, for Eleanor, the sensation was unexpectedly intense.

As if their skin were on fire.

Her entire body seemed to pulse with heat, and every nerve she had rushed to her hand.

And with her whole body aflame, her gaze locked onto his—helplessly.

Eleanor held her breath as she stared at him. The hand slowly caressing the back of her own was relaxed, unhurried— but there was no calm to be found in Karsian’s eyes.

His usually composed face, always marked with courteous control, was now twisted with something almost untamed. His thick brows furrowed darkly, and his burning red gaze looked like it might devour her whole.

Time seemed to stop. But Eleanor forced herself to hold on to reason and parted her lips.

“Ka… Karsian…”

It took all her effort, and all she managed to say was his name.

But luckily—or maybe unluckily it was enough to stop him.

Karsian’s jaw clenched so tightly the veins in his neck stood out. He struggled to keep what little patience he had left from shattering completely.

Was it her unusually beautiful expression that pushed me? Or… was it the way she said Ernst’s name?

Damn it.

He cursed himself inwardly for losing control and finally let go of her hand. Even then, he didn’t want to. That selfish desire only made his self-hatred worse.

As their hands separated, Elenore bit her lip and looked down. Karsian had been the one who crossed the line, but somehow she felt more embarrassed and couldn’t lift her head.

Her hand was still covered in clear ointment. It felt like undeniable proof of what had just happened, making her bite her lip even harder.

“…I’m sorry.”

Karsian managed to utter the brief apology.

He seemed like he had more to say, but didn’t express it. He didn’t realize how flushed Eleanor’s face had become, how hot she still was from what had just happened.

Instead, he buried himself in guilt and changed the subject.

“How are things progressing on your end? If there’s anything more I can do to assist, please let me know.”

It was a sudden, awkward shift—but Eleanor welcomed it. Her feelings were a strange mix of regret and relief.

“No, what you’ve already done is more than enough.”

She folded her hands tightly in her lap, trying to calm her pounding heart.

“The revenge… There were a few unexpected twists, but things are going according to plan.”

Revenge.

Yes—remembering why she was here and what had brought her to this place, helped her mind settle.

She took a few deep breaths and thought back to what Damian had shouted earlier.

“I’ve heard it every day since I was little—how Mom died because of you, how everything in this house is ruined because of you!”

It worked like a charm.

Her heart cooled, and her mind sharpened. She calmly reconsidered what Damian had said.

Could it really be true that Father, in his grief after losing Mother, blamed her in front of his remaining child day after day?

She still found it hard to believe. But Damian hadn’t seemed like he was lying.

She had only known her father after the Partis Church collapse—seven years after, to be exact. So maybe there had been a time when he’d been that cruel.

If so, it made Damian’s hatred more understandable. If a boy had grown up from ages three to ten—during his most critical years—hearing such words daily, it was only natural he’d harbor grudges.

And Eleanor did feel pity for the child he once was, who had to endure that kind of father alone.

But she did not pity Damian himself.

And how could she?

Of course not. Whatever his reasons or circumstances, he still murdered her closest friend and displayed the body in a bedroom. He also used that weakness to kill innocent animals and even forced her to eat a live rat. How could she forgive or pity someone who tormented her in so many cruel ways?

If anything, she hated him more.

“…It’s almost over.”

She had already spread rumors of Damian’s fight with Baron Griffith.

She had already arranged for someone to take care of the aftermath.

The climax she had prepared was near.

If she waited just a little longer—until right before her father returned—and executed her final plan, the timing would be perfect.

That was the plan…

But unfortunately, reality had other ideas.

Once again, the source of trouble was Damian’s stupidity.

As she’d said before, using a foolish person was far more difficult than it seemed.

***

Later…

Damian Astria finally regained consciousness half a day later.

By the time he opened his eyes, darkness had settled outside. His face, once flushed red, had turned an ugly shade of blue and was swollen beyond recognition.

When he remembered he had been physically assaulted by the Grand Duke of Royster, he exploded in rage.

He beat his own knight, Dante, for failing to protect him, then stormed out of the hotel, his bruised face pulsing in pain.

His destination: the Astria mansion.

The woman who had humiliated him was waiting there.

‘I won’t let her get away with this…!’

How dare she get another man to scar my face!

Fuming, Damian boarded the carriage.

But the closer the carriage drew to the mansion, the more his fury weakened… replaced by cold reality.

If he told his father what had happened today, Eleanor would reveal everything about him and Nora. Eleanor had practically declared it using Sir Dante’s name.

All they had done was kiss passionately, but with Eleanor holding proof (a letter), he had no choice but to stay quiet.

And worse…

Damian clearly remembered Karsian just before blacking out.

That towering body, that chilling gaze, that inhuman strength—

He knew what would happen if he touched Eleanor again.

He would face that monster once more.

His instincts warned him: don’t do it.

Damian anxiously chewed on his long fingernail.

It’s unbearable.

It was humiliating. He’d suffered such disgrace, and yet he couldn’t get revenge. He just had to swallow it.

It made his blood boil.

But he had nowhere to let out his rage.

So the fury built and built until finally, he found someone to take it out on.

And at that perfect moment, Eleanor’s words echoed back in his mind:

“Has Nora been giving excuses to avoid sleeping with you? Oh no… You don’t actually believe those excuses, do you? Nora has no intention of being with you. She’s just using you.”

Thanks to that little reminder, Damian had just the right person in mind.