Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? - Chapter 112

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 112
8. Overflowing
I thought that since I wasn’t a child, holding back wouldn’t be particularly difficult. Isidore soon realized it was foolish arrogance.
When I was caring for her earlier, I managed to feign composure well enough, but now even pretending to be fine was impossible. The moment her soft body pressed against my back, tension surged through me in an instant, and heat began rising to the nape of my neck.
My shoulder and neck muscles tensed rigidly, and my body grew increasingly stiff. My racing heartbeat even created the illusion that my vision was swaying back and forth.
I realized for the first time that I could be so swayed by sensation. Deborah Simour, who usually spoke bluntly with terse quips, was unusually quiet, but I had no chance to notice. My concentration kept scattering.
Barely maintaining the casting, I only realized after considerable time had passed that I’d been circling the same spot repeatedly. The moment I slowly turned my body in the opposite direction, I couldn’t help but let out a hollow laugh. The Blue Stone Slab I’d departed from long ago was visible at no great distance.
‘How absurd.’
Normally, I would have quickly realized that such a simple method—like a flying spell—would never allow escape. But my mind was fixated only on the nape of my neck. Every time her regular, shallow breathing scattered across that spot, my attention focused there, and I recalled her crimson lips.
Though I’d returned to the starting point, unlike before, I felt as though the slightest touch would cause everything to overflow. It resembled water bulging above the rim of a glass, precariously holding back without spilling.
Isidore thought that becoming aware of emotion served as a far more potent catalyst than he’d anticipated. I’d merely named the unfamiliar emotion that had blossomed toward her as affection, yet she’d become unbearably precious to me.
And in proportion, my yearning to become the sole and special person to her deepened. So that a wretch like Philaf couldn’t dare approach her. Pressing my lips together lightly, I slowly descended toward the stone slab to seek a new method of escape.
“Haah.”
Deborah Simour breathed rapidly, slowly loosening her arms around my firm shoulders. The moment her feet touched the ground, her legs wavered, and I quickly caught her, supporting her gently.
“Are you hurt anywhere?”
The princess’s complexion wasn’t good.
“….”
“I know you dislike complaining and have good patience, but there’s no need to put on such an act with me.”
“…My throat is, rather dry.”
Her thirst seemed severe as she frowned slightly.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“…I thought I could endure it. They’re probably searching for us outside anyway. It’s still manageable.”
“How can you endure thirst? It must be agonizing.”
Deborah Simour had given a lecture at the Academy just before coming here, and after being swept up in the mana wave and losing consciousness, she’d even suffered nightmares and perspired. Unlike me, who maintained my condition through mana, she had no choice but to experience severe thirst to the point of throat pain.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”
Isidore hastily removed his gloves and rolled up his shirt sleeves.
“The water might be dangerous. Stop.”
She turned pale with alarm.
“Based on my assessment, this place is a manifestation of the Spirit Realm, so it should be safe. Spirits don’t inhabit contaminated environments.”
“But… wait!”
Before she could stop me, I bent at the waist, reached out, and tested the water by taking a sip.
“…There’s no problem.”
I extended my long arms again, cleaned my hands thoroughly, and offered my cupped palms brimming with water near her lips.
“Drink.”
“…There’s no need for this. I know you have good manners, but….”
“There’s no reason to get water on your hands either.”
I didn’t want to make her risk falling from the stone slab by bending down to drink with difficulty. I was already frustrated enough that she’d ended up in this miserable situation because I couldn’t arrive sooner.
The thought of Philaf made murderous rage surge within me.
“What? You’re thirsty.”
I coaxed her gently, slowly extending my pale hands with water sloshing in them. Like someone regarding a poisoned apple, the princess, tense for reasons unknown, slowly lowered her head.
Soon, Deborah Simour’s long violet hair cascaded down like a curtain, gently tickling my white hand.
“….”
Gulp, gulp—the sound of her throat moving. For a moment, I thought the way she drank so sweetly looked adorable, like a bird, but then she bowed her head deeper and deeper. When all the water disappeared, a soft sensation slowly brushed across my palm.
It didn’t take long to realize her lips had touched my hand. Deborah Simour, her violet-tinted lashes lowered, startled and lifted her head. As I gazed into her flustered crimson eyes, she moistened her lips.
“Knight Isidore?”
A droplet of water traced down her delicate chin, and Isidore found himself captivated even more intensely. Though he could endure without water for about four days, a fierce, unbearable thirst suddenly surged through him.
“Deborah.”
At some point, Isidore closed the distance between them and murmured her name, watching her ears flush crimson.
Until now, we had faced each other across a wooden desk, maintaining that distance. But he could no longer muster his vaunted restraint and closed the gap as his desire demanded. Soon, the princess’s sharp eyes widened considerably.
For a moment, I felt the illusion that his blatant possessiveness was reflected entirely in her crimson gaze. With his breath hot and scattered at a distance where our lips nearly touched, he slowly traced the water droplet at her lips with his own.
“….”
A sweet taste, as if infused with sugar, seeped between our teeth.
“What do you think?”
Isidore’s beautifully shaped lips touched her rounded ear.
“…?”
“About officially dating me.”
* * *
…Officially dating?
Did he mean going steady?
He approached with an alluring expression and traced my lips with his soft mouth, then whispered as if sharing a secret. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t even a kiss—our lips hadn’t actually touched—but his low voice made it feel like intimate contact.
But he’s asking me to date him just like that?!
I, standing there dazed and vacant, moistened my lips a beat too late.
“I think dating might be too soon for us right now.”
When he approached head-on in a way I hadn’t anticipated, I had no choice but to reveal my true feelings.
It would be a lie to say I wasn’t drawn to Isidore—he’s kind, gentle, and even beautiful. But I couldn’t yet be certain whether my affection ran deep enough for a serious relationship, or if it went beyond that.
“…It’s not that I dislike you, but that it’s too soon?”
I nodded.
“The princess will soon make her debutante debut, and I’m already an adult… Aren’t we both old enough?”
“I meant that we lack sufficient understanding of each other to officially date.”
In my past life, afflicted with a disease of fearing rejection, whenever someone confessed first, I felt pressured to reciprocate. That’s why my relationships were passive and pathetic. How many times did I exploit and cling to emotions, causing hurt under the guise of dating?
“I’m honestly interested in you. That’s why I want to understand more about what kind of person you are, whether I can truly commit my heart to you.”
“I see. You need time to know me, and I got ahead of myself without considering that.”
His tone suggested he understood me well, so I tilted my head curiously.
‘What is it? It must be my imagination.’
I felt that he, like the Master, seemed to be hiding something.
“I’d like us to stay in contact, have meals together often, and get to know each other through that process….”
Since he came forward honestly first, I continued as carefully as I could.
“Actually, I’ve never really thought about wanting to date before, so if Knight Isidore dislikes this kind of slow-moving relationship….”
In a world that forced marriages for family benefit, there was no way a tentative connection—that ambiguous space between friends and lovers—could exist. I thought Isidore might dislike such an uncertain relationship continuing, and I didn’t want to pressure him.
“I’m fine with it. How could I dislike it?”
But he cut me off immediately.
“….”
“Your thoughts and opinions matter far more to me than anything else, Deborah Simour.”
My heart plummeted heavily at his words.
“Try it. We’re simply getting to know each other.”
He drew up his well-formed lips in a faint smile.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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