Chapter. Thirty__eight.

"Speak again," Arthur commands, stepping further into the room, his piercing gaze locked on Madin, who is frozen in place, staring back at him.

Madin remains silent, his mind racing. Why does Arthur want him to speak again? Surely, he couldn’t have recognized his voice.

Madin lowers his head, unable to meet Arthur's eyes again.

By now, little Prince Adriana had already slipped out of the room, with the lady following close behind.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my son’s room?" Arthur asks, suspicion thick in his voice.

His initial shock at hearing a familiar voice that he has been longing to hear has faded, replaced by guarded curiosity.

Madin adjusts his voice, letting a trembling tone creep in. "My lord, I didn’t mean to intrude. I was brought here to assist."

"Do you work in the palace?" Arthur presses.

"No, Your Highness," Madin replies, his head still bowed.

Arthur exhales sharply, his irritation evident. "Ugh, whatever. You can leave." He strides toward the little one’s bed and sits down, dismissing the matter.

Madin moves toward the door, but before he can leave, Arthur's voice halts him. "Wait."

Madin's heart pounds violently in his chest.

“That drawer up there—there’s a tin of medicine. Get it for me before you go,” Arthur says, gesturing vaguely.

"Yes," Madin answers, stepping back into the room. He approaches the indicated drawer but falters.

“No, not that one. The upper drawer—ugh! You’re too short to reach it.” Before Madin can react, Arthur is already beside him, his tall frame brushing past as he opens the drawer himself and retrieves the medicine.

Madin tenses, instinctively moving a step back, trying to put some distance between them.

Arthur takes the medicine and, without a word, moves back to the bed. Just as Madin turns to leave again, Arthur’s voice stops him once more.

“Do you know how to massage a head to relieve pain?” he asks, his tone lighter but no less commanding.

“Not really, Your Highness,” Madin lies, though he knows he’s an expert. He used to do it for his late mother, after all.

“Then learn now. My head feels like it’s about to explode,” Arthur declares, lying back on the bed, his head sinking into the pillow. He motions for Madin to come closer.

Madin hesitates, his hands trembling as he places them on Arthur’s head. Arthur’s eyes close involuntarily at the touch, his entire body relaxing.

Unexpectedly, Arthur guides Madin’s palm to his cheek, holding it there. Madin stares down at him, stunned and unable to move.

Arthur’s voice breaks the silence, low and almost vulnerable. “Earlier, your voice—it reminded me of someone. Your eyes... they say so much. And now, just your touch... it makes me feel something I have wanted to feel for years but I haven’t.”

Madin tries to pull his hand away, but Arthur doesn’t let go.

“My headache is fading,” Arthur murmurs, his voice barely audible. “Stay. Just for a little while. Please.”

Madin perches on the edge of the bed, his posture stiff. Across the room, a mirror reflects his image—his disguised appearance with the fake beard and thick eyebrows.

Yet, somehow, Arthur is still connecting to something deeper, something real. The realization overwhelms Madin with emotion.

What if I reveal myself now? Madin wonders. I swore never to return to him after how he treated me. But what if staying away only continues to hurt us both? And what if revealing myself leads to even more pain?

Arthur’s sudden movement startles him. Arthur sits up, looking at him briefly before turning away, as if unsure. But before Madin can rise to his fit, Arthur pulls him back down, forcing him to sit again.

“How old are you?” Arthur asks abruptly.

Madin, who is actually 22, hesitates before lying. “I am twenty-seven, my lord.”

Arthur studies him, his expression unreadable. “I see. So, we’re the same age,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with something unspoken.

“What is your name?” Arthur asks again.

“Marsel Myaraman,” Madin lies once more. His life has always been one of deception.

Arthur’s gaze lingers on him, his heart pounding unreasonably fast. Why does this stranger make him feel so restless, so vulnerable? And yet, when he touches him, a strange calm overtakes him.

“What is your opinion on... uh... man-to-man romantic relationships?” Arthur asks suddenly, the words tumbling out before he can stop himself.

The question catches Madin completely off guard. Before he can formulate a response, Arthur softly commands, “Raise your head. Look at me.”

When Madin’s eyes meet Arthur’s, the air between them changes again. Both of them lose themselves in the intensity of the moment.

Arthur feels an inexplicable pull toward this 'stranger' sitting in front of him, his hands itching to reach for him, but he holds back.

“You have something I’ve been searching for—a feeling I’ve been yearning for,” Arthur begins hesitantly. “So, if you’re willing, I’d like to... to stay close to you. We could—”

Madin is unable to take it anymore. He stands up abruptly.  “Do you seriously want to replace me?!” He snaps, cutting Arthur off. His voice shakes with fury. “You’d really replace me with someone else if they gave you what you were looking for?”

Arthur stares at him, bewildered. What does he mean by ‘replace’? Why is this ‘Marsel’ so upset all over sudden?

After a while of wondering, and trying to figure out, Arthur speaks,  “Ma... Madin? Is... is this you?” Arthur whispers, his voice breaking.

Madin’s trembling hands reach up, pulling off the fake beard and eyebrows. His true face is revealed—a face Arthur had yearned to see for years.