Chapter 339 - Watcher and the one being watched

Chapter 339: Chapter 339 - Watcher and the one being watched

Ryan had been aware of the eyes watching him for quite some time.

The thin changing screen offered very little privacy, especially with the lantern burning behind him. He could see the faint outline of his wife sitting on the bed, and every so often, the quiet sound of someone chewing grapes reached his ears.

Then came another swallow.

Ryan lowered his head to hide his smile.

His beloved wife apparently thought the screen concealed everything. Unfortunately for him, Ryan had spent years on battlefields where noticing the smallest movement could mean the difference between life and death. A person staring so intently at him from only a few feet away was hardly difficult to detect.

He continued washing, deliberately taking his time.

Usually, Ryan preferred to finish his bath quickly. Tonight, however, he found himself in no particular hurry. He slowly wiped the water from his shoulders and chest, then bent to rinse the cloth in the basin.

The chewing stopped.

Ryan’s lips curved.

He straightened, wrung out the cloth and ran it down his arm, allowing the movement to remain visible against the screen.

A moment later, he heard another grape being eaten.

His wife was certainly enjoying himself.

Ryan had never considered his own appearance particularly interesting. His body had been shaped by years of military training and warfare, and the scars scattered across his skin were reminders of battles he had survived. Yet knowing that his new wife was watching him with such interest filled him with a rather unfamiliar satisfaction.

He finished washing and reached for his nightclothes.

Instead of fastening them as carefully as usual, he loosely tied the robe around his waist. The soft fabric settled against his body, leaving much of his chest exposed. His long hair was still damp, and several strands clung to his shoulders as he stepped out from behind the screen.

The moment he appeared, Eric’s hand tightened around the grape he was holding.

Squish.

The fruit burst between his fingers.

Juice splattered across the bedding.

Eric stared down at the mess in horror.

Ryan stopped near the screen.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Eric hurriedly grabbed a cloth from the bedside table and began wiping the stain.

"Damn it."

Ryan pressed his lips together.

"Did something happen?"

"Nothing."

Ryan glanced at the crushed grape still clinging to Eric’s fingers.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. The grape was rotten."

Ryan looked at the bowl of perfectly fresh grapes.

"I see."

Eric shot him an irritated glance before returning to the stain. "Why are you standing there? Go dry your hair."

Ryan obediently walked toward the bed, though he had to turn his face away to conceal his amusement.

He sat near the edge, facing away from Eric, and began rubbing his damp hair with a towel.

Behind him, Eric continued fussing over the bedding. Fortunately, the juice had only stained a small portion of the coverlet, and after a few moments, he seemed satisfied enough to abandon his efforts.

Ryan heard him put the cloth aside.

Then there was silence.

He could almost feel his wife’s gaze settling on him again.

Ryan lowered the towel and let his damp hair fall down his back.

As expected, Eric moved closer.

"You’re going to sleep with wet hair?"

"I’ll dry it."

"You’re doing a terrible job."

Ryan glanced over his shoulder.

Eric was kneeling on the bed behind him, looking at the damp strands with a faint frown. His gaze briefly wandered toward Ryan’s exposed shoulder before returning to his hair.

"Give me that."

Ryan handed him the towel without protest.

Eric moved closer and gathered the long black hair over one shoulder. He began gently squeezing the moisture from it, working through the thick strands with considerably more patience than Ryan had expected.

Ryan relaxed.

It had been a long time since anyone had helped him with something so ordinary.

Servants had attended to him when he was younger, of course, but he had spent most of his adult life in military camps, where washing and dressing were matters he handled himself. Even after returning to the capital, he rarely allowed anyone near him while he was bathing.

Now his wife was kneeling behind him, carefully drying his hair as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Ryan found that he rather liked it.

A polished bronze mirror stood on the dressing table beside the bed. From where he sat, he could see part of Eric’s reflection.

His beloved wife was concentrating on the task, but not nearly as much as he pretended.

Every few moments, Eric’s eyes wandered downward.

Ryan’s nightclothes had slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing the muscles of his upper back and the faint scars crossing his skin.

Eric swallowed.

Ryan watched his reflection with growing amusement.

His wife bit his lower lip, then quickly released it and resumed drying his hair.

Ryan lowered his gaze before he was caught smiling.

After a while, Eric moved the towel aside and began separating the damp strands with his fingers.

"Your hair is ridiculously thick," he complained softly.

"Is that troublesome?"

"A little. How do you manage it when you’re fighting?"

"I tie it up."

"Of course you do."

Eric gathered another section of hair, lifting it away from Ryan’s neck.

His fingertips brushed the exposed skin.

Ryan felt the touch clearly.

It was light enough to have been accidental, but when those same fingers lingered against his nape a moment later, he began to suspect otherwise.

He remained still.

Eric continued drying his hair, occasionally letting his fingers drift along the back of Ryan’s neck. Once, his thumb brushed the sensitive skin just beneath his ear.

Ryan’s shoulders tightened slightly.

Eric noticed.

In the mirror, Ryan saw a small, satisfied smile appear on his wife’s face.

So that’s what he’s doing.

His beloved wife had apparently decided to amuse himself.

Ryan let him.

A few moments later, Eric’s fingers slipped beneath the damp hair again, lightly tracing the line where Ryan’s neck met his shoulder.

Ryan turned his head.

Eric immediately withdrew his hand.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Then why did you stop?"

Eric blinked.

Ryan looked at him calmly. "You were drying my hair."

Eric’s cheeks warmed slightly.

"I was."

"Please continue."

There was just enough amusement in Ryan’s voice to make Eric suspicious.

He narrowed his eyes but resumed the task.

Ryan turned forward again, smiling to himself.

For a while, neither spoke. The quiet rustling of the towel filled the tent, accompanied by the occasional crackle of the brazier.

Then Eric leaned closer to reach the hair falling over Ryan’s other shoulder.

His chest nearly touched Ryan’s back.

Ryan could feel the warmth of him through the thin fabric.

Eric’s fingers moved along his shoulder again, slower this time, and Ryan finally caught his wrist.

Eric froze.

Ryan turned toward him.

Their faces were suddenly much closer than either had been a moment earlier.

"Does my neck require so much attention?"

Eric’s eyes widened.

Then, recovering quickly, he lifted his chin.

"I’m being thorough."

Ryan glanced at the towel in his other hand.

"With my hair?"

"Your neck was wet."

"I see."

Eric frowned. "You keep saying that."

"Because you’re very considerate."

Something about Ryan’s expression made Eric realize he was being teased.

He tried to pull his hand away, but Ryan held it gently.

"Have you finished?"

Eric glanced at the damp hair resting over Ryan’s shoulder.

"Almost."

"Then I shouldn’t interrupt."

Ryan released his wrist and turned around again.

Eric stared at the back of his head.

That bastard.

He knew.

He had known all along.

Eric considered throwing the towel at him, but that would mean admitting defeat. Instead, he resumed drying Ryan’s hair with renewed determination.

Unfortunately, Ryan had apparently decided to make things more difficult.

He leaned back slightly, bringing his shoulder closer to Eric, and tilted his head to expose the side of his neck.

Eric’s fingers paused.

Ryan closed his eyes.

"That feels pleasant."

Eric stared at him.

He had only intended to tease the man a little. How had he ended up being the one teased instead?

After another minute, Eric finally tossed the towel onto Ryan’s lap.

"There. Finished."

Ryan turned to look at him.

"Thank you."

Eric was already retreating toward his side of the bed.

"You’re welcome."

Ryan watched him rearrange the pillows along their makeshift boundary. His wife’s ears were faintly red, though he was doing an admirable job pretending otherwise.

Ryan stood to put the towel aside, then returned to the bed.

Eric immediately pointed at the pillows.

"Remember the boundary."

Ryan nodded. "I remember."

He settled onto his side, leaving the pillows undisturbed.

Eric lay down as well, pulling the blanket over himself with an air of complete indifference.

For a few moments, the tent was quiet.

Then Ryan spoke.

"Wife."

Eric turned his head. "What?"

"Next time, you needn’t watch from behind the screen."

Eric went completely still.

Ryan looked at him with a faint smile.

"You may simply ask."

A pillow struck him squarely in the chest.

Ryan caught it, laughing softly, while Eric turned away and pulled the blanket over his head.

Unfortunately, the warmth spreading across his face was considerably harder to hide from himself.