The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1788

Dalton was rarely scrutinized so openly, and even more rarely had someone made such accurate guesses about him. After all, even the sect's ancestors couldn't predict what he intended to do.

Under Wynter's gaze, Dalton let out a low chuckle, neither confirming nor denying her suspicions. Instead, he insisted on only one thing. "Indeed, I am just a mortal without spells."

The difference was that something deep within his very bones made malevolent spirits fear him as he was born from refining flames. However, he kept this from Wynter.

Dalton's birth was tied to a golden encounter. Since those who glimpsed the Celestial secret never met a good end, he had no intention of revealing anything.

He turned, picked up the medicine bowl again, and simply performed the duty of a servant. "If you are uncertain, you may have me examined."

"An examination is indeed necessary." Wynter grasped his wrist and took a sip of the medicine, frowning at its bitterness. "But I'm not the one who wants to examine you. All the sects want to know about you. Personally, I don't care about your background so long as you don't lay a hand on Mt. Nyxvarn."

Dalton stilled at Wynter's words and stared at her in silence.

Feeling his gaze, Wynter added, "From now on, call me 'Your Highness.'"

Dalton raised an eyebrow.

Wynter shook her head slightly, her forehead still burning. "I need to rest a little longer. If you can't descend the mountain yet, help me ask around. Once I—"

"You weren't affected by the demonic energy in the Wretched Ground, so what exactly is going on now?" Dalton's gaze swept over her pale face as he interrupted her. "Have you experienced this before?"

Wynter's consciousness was hazy. "What do you mean?"

Dalton looked at her and enunciated each word clearly. "Your spiritual form is unstable."

Wynter didn't respond and only clenched her fists tightly, as if enduring something. Each of her fingers was pale and weak.

Indeed, he was a mortal. If he were using any other body, he wouldn't have been so easily pushed down by Wynter and let her have her hands all over him.

His breathing remained steady, his gaze cold as ever. But the slight tilt of his head—just a fraction—was different from usual.

Wynter was simply trying to chase away the chill in her body. She hadn't meant for this to happen and had only wanted him to handle some matters for her. Now, it seemed she would have to recover quickly to take care of things herself.

Still, why was Dalton so stiff? He didn't seem to enjoy being held at all.

Wynter gave it some thought, then rested her face against his shoulder, her breath warm against his skin. "You didn't leave when I told you to. Now look—I can't control myself. You'd better get used to it. After all, I'm your princess, aren't I?"

Dalton couldn't muster a reply at that.