Chapter 452: The Mess Afterward

The lock turned with a sharp, heavy clack, sealing the washroom off from the corridor outside.

Valen set Libby down onto the small wooden bench near the door, keeping a firm, steady hand on her small shoulder so she wouldn’t run. The little girl was trembling violently, her chest heaving in quiet, ragged gulps as she stared down at her hands. Red blood was drying sticky across her knuckles, flaking into brownish-red traces under her fingernails.

Behind them, Philia stumbled against the heavy stone washbasin, his left hand clamped flat against his chest.

Fresh blood squelched out between his pale fingers with every heavy, shuddering breath he took. His white shirt was entirely ruined, a wet bloom of crimson stretching from his collarbone down to his trousers, sticking the heavy cotton straight to his skin like a second layer of raw flesh.

"Water," Philia gasped out, his knees buckling so hard his thighs slammed against the lip of the stone basin. "Valen... get the water..."

"Sit down, My Lord," Valen commanded flatly.

He didn’t waste time reaching for a stool. Valen simply grabbed Philia by the elbow and hauled him straight down onto the low wooden washing crate near the floor. He picked up the pitcher sitting on the side shelf, tipped it over, and dumped a heavy, splashing wave of freezing well water straight into the copper tub resting between them.

Philia didn’t wait. He grabbed Libby’s small, blood-stained wrist with trembling fingers, pulling her toward the edge of the tub.

"Come here, Libby," Philia whispered frantically, his voice raspy, dry, and shaking with sheer terror. "Put your hands in. Put them in right now."

Libby whimpered, shrinking back against Valen’s leg. "Philia, it hurts..."

"It doesn’t hurt, it’s just cold water," Philia begged, his eyes wide and bloodshot as he pulled her hand down into the sloshing basin. He grabbed a piece of soap from the wooden tray and began scrubbing her tiny hands under the water with desperate, frantic pressure. "Look at me, Libby. It’s coming off. See? It’s just red. It’s coming right off."

Valen stood over them, his jaw set so tight the muscle beneath his cheek pulsed. He reached down, placing his large, heavy palm over Philia’s frantic wrists, forcing his movement to a complete stop.

"Gently, Lord Philia," Valen said quietly, his tone dropping into a low, firm murmur that cut straight through the rising panic in the small room. "You are skinning her fingers."

Philia froze. He looked down at Libby’s small, trembling hands submerged in the pinkish, cloudy water. The blood was mostly gone, leaving her pale skin raw and red from the harsh soap and the violent scrubbing.

Libby looked up at Philia, tears spilling over her wet cheeks, her mouth trembling as she sniffled into her shoulder.

"I’m sorry," Philia choked out, his shoulders collapsing forward as a violent tremor ran straight down his spine. He let go of her wrists, pressing his forehead against the cold copper edge of the basin. "I’m sorry, Libby... I’m so sorry... I almost harm you..."

Valen took over without a word. He grabbed a clean, dry rag from the shelf, gently lifted Libby’s wet hands out of the water, and wiped her fingers clean with soft strokes. He knelt down so he was eye-level with the little girl, who was clearly confused about why Philia was apologizing to her when she was the one who had bumped into him and caused his wound to bleed. Valen’s shadow completely blocking her view of Philia’s soaked, bloody chest.

"Listen to me, Libby," Valen whispered. "Philia had an old injury that reopened while you were playing. It looks scary, but he is going to be completely fine."

Libby sniffled, wiping her nose with her sleeve. "Is... is he going to stay here?"

"He is going to rest," Valen said, his voice flat, steady, and impossible to doubt. "Now, I need you to go back out there. But you do not talk to anyone about this, including Miss Nora. We don’t want them to worry. Do you understand me?"

Libby looked at Valen, then peeked around his shoulder at Philia, who was sitting hunched over the basin, his breath coming in shallow, painful hitches. She gave a small, quick nod.

Valen stood, unlocked the door just wide enough for her small frame to slip through, and watched as she scurried down the empty hallway. The moment her bare feet vanished around the corner, Valen shut the door and shot the iron bolt back into place.

The silence that settled over the washroom was immediate and suffocating.

Valen turned around, stepping over the puddle of sloshing water on the floorboards. He reached into his coat, pulled out a sharp hunting knife, and stepped right up to where Philia sat hunched over the tub.

"Hold still," Valen murmured.

He grabbed the collar of Philia’s linen shirt and sliced it straight down the center, pulling the wet, blood-soaked fabric away from his torso with a dull, sticky tear.

Philia let out a sharp, choked hiss, his jaw clenching so tight a thin line of blood trickled from his lower lip where his teeth had bitten through the skin.

Beneath the ruined linen, the fresh, deep mark carved into the left side of his chest was completely split open. The inner layers of skin were raw and inflamed, heavy blood welling up from the tear and running down his ribs in continuous, thick streams. The white bandage Valen had tied earlier that evening was shredded into soaked, useless rags.

Valen stared at the open wound for three long seconds. His face remained completely expressionless, but his hands were shaking faintly as he dropped the bloody knife onto the wooden floorboards.

"This is what happens, My Lord," Valen said, his voice dropping an octave into something cold, heavy, and raw with suppressed rage.

Philia leaned his head back against the stone basin, his skin damp with cold sweat, his chest rising and falling unevenly. "Valen..."

"You cannot even play a simple game of hide and seek with a child without tearing your own flesh open," Valen interrupted, stepping closer until his boots were touching Philia’s knees. He picked up a fresh cloth, dipped it into clean water, and pressed it directly over the raw, open tear.

Philia’s entire body went rigid, a low, guttural groan tearing through his throat as his fingers dug into the wooden crate until his knuckles turned blue.

"You want to push this power," Valen continued, holding the cloth down with steady, unyielding pressure while the blood soaked straight into the clean cotton. "You want to test how far it goes before we return to the Capital. But your body is still made of bone and skin. It breaks. It bleeds. And if a seven-year-old girl can see through it in a dusty alcove, how long do you think you will last once you are back inside the royal palace?"

Philia squeezed his eyes shut, his head dropping as tears escaped down his cheeks.

"I know," Philia whispered, his voice cracking down the middle. "I know, Valen... I almost harm her... She could’ve been seriously hurt because of me..."

Valen watched the silent, violent tremors rolling through Philia’s shoulders, the raw despair breaking his voice far more than the searing pain in his chest ever could.

Slowly, Valen leaned down, placing his hand flat over Philia’s uninjured right shoulder. His grip squeezed tight, anchoring the trembling young noble firmly against the wooden crate.

"Look at me, My Lord," Valen commanded quietly.

Philia forced his eyes open, his lashes thick with tears, his chest hitching as he stared up through the dim light of the washroom.

"She is fine," Valen said, looking him dead in the eye. "She is not hurt. You caught her, you brought her here, and you washed every drop of that blood off her hands yourself. She is back in her bed, completely safe."

He looked down at his own wet, shaking hands, and then back up at Valen’s face. He took a long breath, forcing the violent panic to settle back behind his ribs.

"Yes..." Philia whispered, his voice still cracking, but his eyes slowly focusing. "Yes... she’s fine. We’re fine." He closed his eyes for a brief second, resting his forehead against Valen’s arm as he forced out the final lie he needed to survive the night. "I’m fine."