✓ WICKED VOWS| JAKE (Book II )

22-His Flower To Destroy

JAke

There is nothing more bewitching than my duty's naked form. In clothing, no heads turn her way to admire. They don't know what they're missing and I'm glad. There is something so wicked and ungodly about seeing her naked. There's a vulnerability in her eyes my brain can't resist. Without lingerie, her breasts sit lower, more natural, less close together, each so perfect and molded to her form. When I opened her door last night, I didn't linger too long, just enough for her to see how beautiful my duty is to me. It was her eyes I wanted to see and my hands could tell me the rest.

What made it more vile was the confidence of her body, she did not shy away- not even try to hide her breasts, she aced it. She walked without shame or false modesty, knowing she was beautiful to the eye, sleek with her very athletic frame.

I stood at the heart of the bustling operating room, the sterile air humming with anticipation. The bright lights cast sharp shadows on the pristine white walls. Nurses scurried around me, their starched uniforms rustling like autumn leaves. The Duke of Kent's daughter, Lady Eleanor, lay on the operating table—a delicate porcelain doll with a life hanging by a thread. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, her skin as pale as the moon. The room held its breath, aware that the fate of the kingdom rested on this very moment.

A nurse that don't remember her name handing me a scalpel, " the incision is ready. Shall we proceed? " I nodded.

Another nurse adjusted the overhead light before saying, "The Duke himself waits outside, pacing like a caged lion. His daughter's life rests in your hands, sir." Leanor has Mitral regurgitation, a complex heart condition that affects the functioning of the cardiovascular system and her heart tissues were damaged.

The incision was precise, the blade gliding through Lady Eleanor's chest. Her heart, fragile and faltering, lay exposed. The room seemed to hold its breath as I worked, my gloved hands steady, my mind focused. I had performed countless surgeries, but this one was different. This was the daughter of the Duke—the child who would inherit the throne if fate allowed.

"Move a bit," I said mentioning to the nurse who was blocking the light from me, as I repaired Lady Eleanor's damaged heart, I wondered about the irony of it all. The next king, hidden behind a surgical mask, stitching together the fragile strands of life. The weight of the crown would never rest on my brow, but the weight of responsibility pressed down upon me nonetheless. When the last stitch was in place, I stepped back, wiping sweat from my brow. The nurses exchanged glances, their eyes filled with awe. Lady Eleanor's chest rose in a stronger breath, and the room exhaled as one. The surgery was a success—the fragile thread of life now reinforced.

"I owe you my life, Your Highness," the duke said as I emerged from the operating room, the nurses had informed him that his daughter was safe."You owe me nothing. Your daughter is alive," I replied curtly, moving on to my next patient. I felt David trailing behind me, his voice shattering the silence, "Your coldness towards your patients is stony."

"Everything and everyone is stony."

"Off to see your old man?" David asked, prompting a nod from me before I responded, "Find yourself another muse, Dav. I'll call you once I'm done."

"Will you go home tonight?" he persisted.

"No surgeries left, so yes," I said flatly. He muttered an acknowledgment as I entered a room where the old man I'd been tending to lay, his gray hair scattered across his forehead. This frail figure was weak and numb, his face paralyzed. He turned his head slowly as I closed the door behind me, "Long time no see, Your Highness." He smiled feebly. I nodded and walked to his charts, scanning them. His condition was stable, with no recent strokes. "Have you had any headaches today?" I asked.