Chapter 210: An Eternal Promise
Then...
Elias shuddered suddenly, a sharp breath catching in his throat. His body tensed above her. She felt the wetness through his shirt before she saw it. Dark crimson seeped where his wound had reopened, staining the fabric, spreading against her gown.
"Elias!" she gasped, her hands flying to his side.
His forehead dropped against hers, eyes squeezed shut, his lips trembling against her own as though he couldn’t bear to let her go. His breath came ragged, pained, yet he clung to her with desperate longing.
"Damn it..." he whispered hoarsely, the words breaking between his teeth. "Not now..."
Emma froze, horror flooding her as she felt the warmth of blood soaking between them. "Elias!" she gasped, hands flying to his side. "You’re—oh Gods, you’re bleeding again!"
She tried to push him back, fumbling to rise, her instinct screaming to call the physician, but his hand caught hers with surprising strength. He held her there, eyes half-lidded yet steady, his grip trembling but unyielding.
"No," he breathed, forcing himself upright, dragging his weight against the backrest of the bed. His face was pale, but his arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders, drawing her into the shelter of his body as if he could still shield her from the world. "Stay. Don’t leave me."
"Elias, you’re hurt—" her voice cracked, urgent, her eyes glassy with tears as her fingers hovered uselessly at his side.
"I’m fine." The words were quiet, stubborn, but his tone had shifted; lower now, rough and unshakable, every syllable soaked in longing. It was a lie, she knew, but it was a lie meant only to hold her here, pressed against him.
Her lips parted to argue, to insist on fetching help, but then she heard that note in his voice, husky and dangerously tender, one that wasn’t meant for physicians or bandages but for her alone.
"Stay."
The word was not a plea. It was a vow.
Emma’s chest tightened, tears blurring her vision as she leaned against him, cradled against the warmth of his shoulder. She could feel the erratic thrum of his heartbeat beneath his shirt, each pulse telling her that despite the wound, despite the blood, he was alive—and he wanted her beside him.
Her hand hovered over his chest, where old wounds and scars remained. Her eyes watered thinking all the sufferings he had endured till now. And now there is one more wound, still fresh, still bleeding.
Elias exhaled slowly, his chin resting against her hair. He did not trust his voice anymore, so he said nothing, just closed his eyes and held her tighter, memorizing the tremble of her breath, the way her body fit against his.
He was not alone. For the first time, when he was in pain, he was not alone. He had a beautiful and kind woman by his side, sharing his pain in silence with him, and she even cried for him.
He must be the luckiest orphan in the whole world.
And then, silently, inwardly, he marked it. The date. The hour. The fragile line where pain and desire, fear and love had crossed into something eternal.
Their first kiss. The moment their promise was sealed.
Only death could separate them now.
-----
Leroy stepped into the Arvand Mansion, the heavy doors groaning shut behind him. At once, the air told him something was wrong. There were hushed whispers, hurried footsteps, and the sharp tang of fear clinging to the walls. The servants moved like startled birds, their panic barely contained, and it coiled in his chest like a warning.
"Where is Lorraine?" His voice cut through the noise, taut with command. Then, sharper, unable to restrain the tremor beneath his words, he asked, "Where is my wife?"
"In her room, Your Highness," the butler stammered, bowing low. "I’ll ask someone to escort—"
But Leroy was already moving, his stride devouring the marble floor, cloak sweeping behind him. He did not glance back, did not slow, did not need to be told where to go. The butler, startled, quickened his steps to follow, ready to guide, but the prince ascended the grand staircase with unerring certainty, each step carrying him closer to her.
The butler faltered at the landing, watching with wide eyes. How could His Highness know the way so instinctively, as if his wife’s very presence called to him through these walls?
Reluctantly, the butler turned, descending to greet their young master. The grand doors opened again, and in strode Lysander Arvand, his steps steady, his face set like stone. The whispers of the servants swelled into silence as every pair of eyes turned to him, searching, pleading for answers.
"Hadrian Arvand is dead!" Lysander declared, his voice echoing through the cavernous hall.
Gasps rippled among the gathered servants. The butler and others bent low, murmuring condolences, but Lysander’s voice cut through, cold and resolute.
"He died plotting against the Empire." The words struck like a blade, silencing grief before it could form. "There will be no mourning for him. Strip this house of everything he touched, remove and burn all that belonged to him. Nothing of Hadrian’s treachery will remain within these walls."
He lifted his chin, his voice carrying with the weight of finality. "From this day, I renounce him—not as my father, nor as master of this house. His blood may run in me, but his sins do not. I will not inherit his shame. I claim nothing of his hand, not wealth, not relic, not even a shadow."
His gaze swept across the hall, steady and defiant. "As steward of the Arvand name, I stand only with my forefathers who served with loyalty and honor. Their legacy I will preserve. His I will erase."
The servants, shaken, lowered their eyes. The severing was absolute. Hadrian Arvand was dead, and to Lysander, he had never existed at all.
-----
Leroy found Aldric standing sentinel outside Lorraine’s door, his posture straight but his eyes shadowed.
"She’s fine," Aldric said at once, bowing slightly. "Just sleeping. You need not worry."
But Leroy’s gaze was sharp, unwilling to be soothed so easily. "Osric... is he one of the Six?"
Aldric hesitated only a fraction before nodding.
Leroy exhaled, his shoulders easing, though his jaw stayed taut. "He went with the Dowager," he said, almost testing the words on his tongue.
Aldric’s smile faltered, the edges stiffening.