Chapter 5
“That can’t be! I sent for the physician myself!”
Honan swept the medicine box off the table in a rage. The violent clatter startled the infant in the cradle, who began wailing
Annabelle, adorned in pearls and silver for the Christening Banquet, entered the room with an impatient huff.
“My lord, you’ll frighten little Edward.”
Ronan brushed past her, his jaw tight with frustration, and stormed out of the hall.
“My lord! The guests are waiting! The feast is about to begin!” Annabelle called after him, her voice rising in exasperation.
But Ronan didn’t stop
He strode toward the e Inner wing, where ivy–choloed walls and crumbling masonry betrayed years of neglect. His rage flared.
at once.
Who in the blazes assigned Lady Eleanor to this ruin? The ceiling’s sagging, the windows are cracked–were you planning for the rain to do what poison couldn‘
He still didn’t believe the guards report. Dead? Eleanor? Impossible. She was cunning–too clever by half. Likely she’d faked her death again, just to steal the spotlight from Annabelle
She’d always been like that. Even when she was a child, she refused to be second to anyone. Training with her father, the great General Viremont, she’d bestod every boy in the barracks.
He could still remember her in that red tunic, all fire and pride. One glance, and he’d been helplessly drawn in
But then came exile. His lands pushed to the border, a title in name only. Surviving those years had consumed every ounce of his strength
By the time the Queen Dowager arranged their marriage, he’d thought Eleanor long married off. But when her name was announced, his hands had trembled
No one had known that his acceptance of that royal edict was more than duty–it was the culmination of ten years of buried longing
Even when Eleanor began to change, growing distant and sharp–tongued, he couldn’t bring himself to cast her out. He kept her close, watched over her. So long as she didn’t truly harm anyone, he could bear her defiance
The memory of that cursed life still clung to him like ash. Her execution. His own blade drawn in remorse
Her crime? The death of Lady Annabelle–once hailed as the noblewoman who had saved his life.
The court turned against him. The scribes and clergy cried out for justice. He had tried–God knew he had tried–to shield Eleanor and the House of
Viremont.
ཁོ དོན ཟེར
But her father’s death loyal to the crown to his last breath, had been twisted into the whispers of treachery. Comered by duty, bound by law, he had done what honor demanded.
The night he signed her death warrant, his hair turned to frost before morning. And when the gallows claimed her, he too laid down his sword- his griet sealing his date.
If she were to stand judgment before the throne of Heaven, then so would he. He would carry her sins as his own, face the fire beside her, and pray that in the neo lile, she and their children might know peace.
And yet, the heavens had offered them another chance.
From the moment he woke in this second life, he’d vowed to change fate. To be stricter. To never let Eleanor spiral again.
He lauw she would resent losing the title of Duchess and the recognition of their children as heirs. She would take it as a blow to her pride–and pride Was something she had in abundaxe
Perhaps this was her retaliation. Felgning death, again.
The Vinemonts had access to all manner of medicines false death draughts among them. They slowed the pulse, chilled the flesh, left the body pliant The guards must’ve been careless. She was likely hiding now, waiting for a dramatic ceappearance.
He pushed open the creaking door
Eleanor lay on the narrow bed, still dressed in the blood–stained gown from the night before. Her twins were curled against her chest.
He approached, his anger softening into weary affection. “Eleanor,” he said gently, taking her hand “Stop this foolishness.”
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But her hand was cold.
Rigid.
His blood turned to ice.
He bolted from the room and ran straight for the physician’s quarters.
She wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be. Not Eleanor.
If it was a stronger draught, only a trained eye could tell A physician could wake her.
But when he reached the chamber, it was in shambles. Drawers yanked open, shelves overturned.
He froze.
Then a figure slipped in through the back door. One of the royal physicians, cloak bundled over his arms.
At the sight of Ronan, the man dropped his satchel and dropped to his lonees,
“Mercy, Your Gracel I beg you–1 only followed the Lady Annabelle’s orders. She forbade me from tending to Lady Eleanor or the babes!”
Chapter 5
