The Substitute Healer (BL) Chapter 23: “That’s not the point—”

’There’s nothing really to see here. Aside from the darkness creeping around the camp despite the torches, all we can see is snow.’ Soren pulled his robe tighter around his shoulders, trying to ta the fabric as a sharp gust of wind whipped past him just to give an impression that he’s getting cold, though he’s not. He then lifted his gaze to the sky, hoping for at least a small comfort. ’There’s no star either... nothing to guide us.’

The heavy clouds swallowed the night whole, turning everything into a muted blur of white and shadow. His footsteps crunched softly against the frozen ground as he lowered his head again.

Beside him, Cael walked with an easy stride, smirking like the cold couldn’t touch him. His hands were tucked lazily into the pockets hidden beneath his thick fur robe, his breath fogging the air in smooth, unbothered puffs. Soren watched him from the corner of his eye, slightly annoyed and relieved that soone could still look so relaxed in this bleakness.

"Hmm, do you have sothing to say to ? Or is there sothing on my face?" Cael suddenly halted, turning his head with that lazy curiosity of his. Soren then stopped as well, almost bumping into him.

Beside them stood a massive oak tree coated in thick layers of snow, its branches sagging under the weight. Near its roots lay a freshly cut tree trunk, broad and sturdy enough for two people to sit, if they were comfortable sitting that close.

But Soren wasn’t.

"Ah, it’s nothing, Your Highness," Soren replied quickly. He kept his eyes low, watching Cael settle himself on the flat surface of the chopped trunk as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Really?" Cael leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. "What are you thinking? Co on, you can tell ."

"It’s really nothing, Your Highness." Soren’s voice stayed polite but guarded.

"Well, if you insist. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, so I won’t keep asking." Cael shrugged and patted the space beside him. "Here. Have a seat."

’I’m already uncomfortable even if you don’t ask, Your Highness...’ Soren sighed inwardly and forced an awkward, faint smile. "How can I take the sa seat as yours, Your Highness? I’m fine standing here."

"Oh, co on. I even spent so ti leaning on your shoulders back then, so how co you won’t even sit next to now?" Cael pouted, though the smirk curling at the corner of his lips betrayed how much he was enjoying this. He tilted his head, expression playful, but his eyes sharp and commanding left Soren with no room to refuse.

’How dare he refuse . Just who does he think he is?’ Cael thought, still maintaining that easy smile while subtly signaling with his gaze for Soren to sit.

Soren forced himself to move, lowering onto the cold, flat surface of the cut tree. The space was just wide enough for them to sit close, closer than he wanted. As soon as he settled in, they both turned their heads at the sa ti—

faces suddenly inches apart.

For a heartbeat, Cael froze.

Soren’s golden eyes, illuminated by the orange glow of the torches, glead like molten tal. They were striking, impossible to ignore, and the sight hit Cael harder than he expected.

"Your eyes..." Cael murmured, montarily srized. "They’re pretty..."

Soren blinked, unmoved as complints like that were things he’d heard thrown at him carelessly sotis mockingly so they never landed the way people intended. He simply responded with polite detachnt.

"Oh, you flatter , Your Highness..." He looked away before he could notice the sudden shift in Cael’s expression.

The smirk faded into subtle confusion, as if Cael himself couldn’t understand how he ended up saying such a thing. ’Pretty? Why would I call anything pretty? Everything looks the sa... so why him?’

The thought lingered in Cael’s mind, unsettling and unfamiliar.

As the night deepened, the world around them grew quieter. The wind softened into a distant hum, and the torchlights flickered weakly against the vast blanket of snow stretching outward in every direction. Cael and Soren remained seated side by side, their breath rising in soft, cold puffs.

Soren, true to his nature, didn’t speak unless Cael initiated the conversation. And Cael, for once seed content to sit in silence, though every now and then his eyes would drift toward Soren as if waiting for him to say sothing.

But Soren never did.

anwhile, farther off among the trees, the twins were scouting the area with several knights to determine whether they could return to the fortress before dawn. The snow crunched loudly under their boots, sharper in the absence of nearby voices.

Lyric walked ahead, but his steps were uneven while his mind clearly elsewhere. Sylas imdiately noticed.

"Hey, what are you thinking?" Sylas asked, nudging him lightly with an elbow.

"It’s nothing," Lyric muttered without looking back.

"Co on, you can tell ."

"I said it’s nothing, okay?" Lyric snapped, more harshly than intended.

Sylas huffed, offended but not surprised. "Fine! But why do you keep spacing out? You almost injured yourself back there!"

"It’s not like we don’t have a healer, you know," Lyric retorted.

Sylas glared at him. "That’s not the point—"

Lyric didn’t respond.

Though Lyric kept walking, his thoughts tangled like threads caught in a storm. He found it baffling—no, infuriating at tis how Soren, despite being treated unfairly from the very beginning, remained utterly submissive.

He never argued, never complained.

Soren had been forced to sleep in a thin tent in the biting cold. He had been placed on probation simply for saving a life. And still... he accepted it with bowed head and quiet obedience.

’How peculiar. Is he really a person?’ Lyric wondered, his brows knitting tightly. The way Soren endured everything felt unnatural and wrong. He didn’t fight back and get angry. He didn’t even ask for better treatnt.

Almost as if he thought he didn’t deserve it and that though made Lyric’s jaw tightened. He glanced at the knights following behind him, then raised his voice. "Let’s head back, everyone!"

They turned around, the snow crunching rhythmically beneath their boots as they made their way toward the camp. As they neared the entrance, lit only by a few struggling torches—Lyric and Sylas spotted two silhouettes.

Even in the dark, the shapes were unmistakable that it was the prince’s tall figure, and the smaller, slender one beside him.

"Hmm? Since when did His Highness beco so close to that commoner?" Sylas murmured, narrowing his eyes. He then signaled the knight holding the torch to lift it higher, trying to get a clearer look.

Lyric remained silent.

"I don’t know," he said finally. "But where did they go? Did they take a walk?" His voice was low, confused. And when he saw Soren bow politely before walking away... and Cael turning toward the Davenmore tent with a calm, almost satisfied stride... sothing inside Lyric tightened.

Sylas let out a smirk. "Well, I guess His Highness found soone new to toy with. This is getting interesting."

He glanced sideways, expecting Lyric to scoff or laugh. But Lyric only shook his head slowly and stiffly. He didn’t say anything, but an uncomfortable heat settled in his chest, sothing he didn’t want to acknowledge.

"Right..." he muttered under his breath. "His Highness wouldn’t even approach that commoner unless he’s entertaining enough."

But the words tasted bitter the mont he spoke them.

And Lyric wasn’t sure why.

When morning arrived, a pale light slipped through the thin fabric of Soren’s tent. He woke earlier than usual, stretching lightly as he sat up. His body didn’t feel heavy, and his mind seed surprisingly clear. It was only when he stepped outside, feeling the icy air brush against his cheeks, that he realized how short his sleep must have truly been. Still, he didn’t dwell on it. He simply adjusted his robe and headed toward the healer’s quarters.

Unlike his first week, the atmosphere there felt noticeably lighter. The tent, once crowded with wounded soldiers and frantic movent, was now far calr. Only a few healers remained inside, tending to those who still required care.

The number of injured had dropped significantly after the reinforcents arrived where Alaric, the Duke, his twin brothers Lyric and Sylas, and the prince himself had brought enough strength to turn the tide of the battle.

Because of their efforts, casualties fell from ten down to only two. It was still loss... but far less devastating than before. Knowing that, the Emperor had been overjoyed upon hearing the news that he had sent extra supplies such as food, dicines, thick blankets and even several barrels of drinks for celebration.

He also ordered generous compensation for the families of the fallen, easing at least a part of their grief.

Soren walked into the tent quietly, taking in the calr morning around him yet unaware that so people around him are planning for his early...

death.

anwhile, Cael hadn’t slept at all.

Right after receiving a report from one of his own shadow-knights, he returned to the fortress and now stood in the dungeon, grinning from ear to ear. His sword was still bloody, and his personal knights waited outside the door like silent statues.

Inside, a guy was tied to a wooden chair, breathing hard and avoiding Cael’s eyes.

"You can tell now, okay?" Cael said, crouching in front of him with a too-cheerful smile. "Don’t be shy, I won’t bite..."

His smile faded into sothing sharper.

"...but I will bite if you keep stalling for ti. You understand, right?"

The man swallowed hard, and the dungeon fell silent.