Don’t Tame It!

Chapter 40

“The Grand Duke’s condition seems to be just a bruise. External injuries are usually visible, and treating them doesn’t require the same level of delicacy as stitching skin.”

“Doctor Rios, whose personal physician are you?”

Irene frowned at Divoa. It was such an obvious question that it seemed strange he was even asking it.

Did he not know? Or had he hit his head instead of his shoulder?

“Oh, there’s no need to worry about my head. I haven’t suffered any injuries there. And no, I wasn’t born with any issues either.”

Divoa kept looking at her, silently demanding an answer. Finally, Irene parted her lips.

“You are my patient, Your Highness.”

Divoa’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“And yet, you treat soldiers with your bare hands, but wear gloves when tending to me?”

“If you’re worried that I’ll be careless—”

“No, it’s more about this.”

Divoa smiled, looking like a generous employer.

“What do you think people will say?”

“They’ll think of you as the Grand Duke, of course.”

“……”

Caught off guard by her unexpected answer, Divoa looked momentarily stunned. Right—he was the Grand Duke. Whether Irene wore gloves or not, that fact wouldn’t change.

But he still smiled as he spoke again. Even though he didn’t know why he was being so stubborn, his lips moved on their own.

“No, that’s not it.”

Irene’s eyes widened as if trying to guess what he meant.

Oh.

After a pause, she finally responded.

“You are the third prince of the Debois Kingdom.”

“No.”

“The commander-in-chief of the Debois Kingdom’s army?”

“No.”

Irene thought about all of Divoa’s grand titles but eventually shook her head, unable to guess what he was getting at. Divoa, however, simply grinned like the sun.

“They’ll think I’m a pathetic Grand Duke who’s treated worse than a soldier.”

“But that’s not true—”

Irene started to protest, but Divoa cut her off.

“Whatever your intentions may be, that’s what others will assume.”

Irene.

He called her that again. Divoa’s way of addressing her was inconsistent—sometimes she was Dr. Rios, sometimes the court physician, and other times just Irene.

It didn’t matter to her. She didn’t care what people called her, especially since “Irene” wasn’t even her real name.

But if she had to choose, she preferred being called “Irene.” Maybe because no one else ever used that name.

“They’ll gossip that you’re disrespecting me, and my honor will be ruined.”

Irene half-understood, half-didn’t. She nodded, though, and Divoa gave her a teasing smile.

“So, how about we test something?”

His smile deepened as if he had just thought of something amusing.

“How about we see just how far your bare hands can reach?”

“……”

Irene suddenly stiffened. Divoa whispered like a devil tempting a human.

“Of course, I won’t force you. If you refuse, I won’t insist. But wouldn’t it be easier for both of us if we tested this at least once? You are my physician, after all.”

Irene didn’t answer immediately. She wasn’t the type to make promises she couldn’t keep.

So silence stretched between them.

Divoa didn’t rush her. He never did. Unlike others, he didn’t pressure her into decisions.

If she shook her head now, he would back off. Just like he always had.

So, after a long pause, Irene nodded. She didn’t think she’d be able to touch him, but if she backed out midway, Divoa would surely let her go.

“Alright.”

Divoa smiled as if pleased with her decision. Then, his gaze fell on her gloved hands.

Irene hesitated for a moment before slowly removing them. She looked up at Divoa, waiting for his next instruction.

He stared at her fingers for a moment before speaking in a lazy tone.

“The buttons are fine, so why don’t you place your hand over my shirt?”

Irene glanced at Divoa’s clothing. A thin silk shirt—so sheer it was almost transparent.

“If it’s too difficult, you can stop anytime.”

“No, it’s fine.”

Irene answered firmly and reached out. The very tips of her fingers touched the fabric—so lightly she barely felt it.

She flinched.

But it wasn’t as bad as she had feared. She could feel the muscles and faint warmth beneath the shirt, but it wasn’t unbearable.

Maybe it was because she had initiated the contact herself. This was different from an unexpected touch—this was her choice.

Feeling a little more confident, she pressed her fingers down slightly. The heat and firmness became clearer.

“Well done.”

Divoa praised her like a child being taught something new.

Irene, unaccustomed to compliments, awkwardly averted her gaze.

She had always prepared for hostility but never knew how to handle kindness.

“Now, why don’t you move the collar aside and touch my bare skin?”

Irene hesitated. The difference between touching through fabric and touching bare skin felt vast.

Seeing her hesitate, Divoa asked gently,

“Do you want to stop here?”

“…No.”

Irene shook her head firmly.

She didn’t want to keep running away.

Divoa was her patient. No matter how kind he was, he had the right to the best possible care. And bare hands were more precise than gloves.

She clenched her jaw and reached for his shoulder. Her fingers trembled violently, and for a moment, she clenched her hand into a fist.

“……”

It took her an eternity to move.

But Divoa didn’t rush her.

Irene exhaled slowly, steadied herself, and reached out again.

Finally, her fingers touched his skin.

“!”

She flinched, yanking her hand back as if burned.

Her fingertips tingle as though her heartbeat had moved there.

She clutched her fingers, breathing unevenly.

Her vision didn’t blur, and she didn’t feel the urge to scream—this time, the sensation was different.

Instead, her stomach churned, like she might be sick.

Her eyes trembled violently as if shaken by the wind. But she forced herself to try again.

This time, the sensation was even clearer.

“!”

She clenched her jaw, her entire body shaking. Her vision swam.

At that moment, Divoa spoke.

“May I touch you? Just lightly. I won’t startle you.”

“……”

Irene didn’t answer.

Divoa studied her carefully, then slowly reached out—moving like someone taming a skittish stray cat.

His fingers brushed the back of her hand.

She flinched.

“!”

It was different from when she had touched him.

His grip wasn’t rough—he touched her as if handling something fragile.

He’s not him.

But still, her body shook uncontrollably. Goosebumps rose on her arms, and nausea twisted in her stomach.

“Irene?”

Divoa’s voice was laced with concern.

“Irene?”

She was deathly pale, swaying as if she might collapse. Divoa instinctively reached out, but before he could touch her—

“Excuse me.”

Irene abruptly turned and bolted out of the tent.

Divoa frowned slightly as he watched the tent flap flutter in her wake.

His outstretched hand hovered in empty air.

“……”

After a moment, he pressed his fingers against the spot where she had touched him.

Had she even touched him? It had only been the lightest brush—but the sensation lingered vividly.

He could still feel her fingertips.

His hand curled into a fist.

“Ha.”

Heat pooled in his shoulder, along with something dark and unsettling.

Desire.

Divoa frowned.

He had always thought it would be amusing to see Irene fall in love. That it would be entertaining to watch emotion fill her indifferent eyes.

But now, he was the one feeling something.

“Ridiculous.”

Annoyed, he ruffled his hair roughly.

As he fastened his buttons, his movements were oddly tense—almost angry.