What the Body Cannot Lie About
1049 Words
The palace was asleep.
The kind of sleep that came only after exhaustion—lanterns dimmed, corridors emptied, guards stationed quietly at their posts with no expectation of disturbance. Even the city beyond the walls had softened into stillness, the noise of the day folded carefully away.
Alice slept facing Alex.
One arm tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting lightly against his chest, as if the contact itself was reassurance that he was still there.
Then he coughed.
Once.
Sharp.
Wrong.
Alice stirred immediately, half-awake, brow knitting in confusion.
“Alex…?” she murmured.
The second cough tore out of him violently.
He turned abruptly onto his side, one hand clamping over his mouth as his body convulsed. Alice sat up at once, sleep evaporating in an instant.
“Alex—!”
Blood spilled through his fingers.
Dark.
Too much.
Too fast.
Alice froze for half a second too long.
“No—no, no, no—” she whispered, scrambling upright as Alex retched again, crimson staining the sheets beneath him.
Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs.
“I—I’ll get the tabib,” she said breathlessly, already swinging her legs off the bed. “I’ll call someone—”
Alex’s hand shot out.
Weak—but desperate.
His fingers wrapped around her wrist, stopping her mid-motion. His grip trembled, slick with blood, but firm enough to make his meaning unmistakable.
He shook his head slowly.
“No,” he rasped.
Her chest tightened painfully. “Alex, you’re bleeding—”
Another cough wracked him, his body curling inward as he struggled to breathe through the pain burning his chest.
Still, he didn’t let go.
“Please,” he whispered hoarsely.
Alice stared at him, tears blurring her vision.
Every instinct screamed at her to run.
To call for help.
To demand someone fix this.
But the man in front of her—her husband—was asking her to stay.
She swallowed hard.
“O-Okay,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Okay. I’m here.”
She climbed back onto the bed, carefully lifting his head and guiding him so he wouldn’t choke, her hands shaking as she wiped the blood from his mouth with the edge of the blanket.
The coughing slowed.
Stopped.
Alex sagged against the pillows, breathing shallow and uneven, eyes squeezed shut in pain. His grip on her wrist loosened—but didn’t disappear.
Alice slid closer, sitting beside him, cradling his hand between both of hers.
She closed her eyes.
Please, she prayed silently.
Take it from him.
Even a little.
Just enough so he can breathe.
Her thumb brushed over his knuckles again and again, grounding herself as much as him.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
Alex no longer coughed, but his body remained tense, muscles rigid as if bracing against an invisible weight pressing down on his chest. His breathing was labored, shallow, each inhale a quiet effort.
“Alice…” he murmured faintly.
Her eyes flew open instantly. “I’m here.”
His fingers tightened weakly around hers.
“Alice,” he repeated, softer this time, like saying her name anchored him to something solid.
“I’m here,” she said again, leaning down until her forehead rested lightly against his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His breathing gradually slowed.
The tension in his body eased by degrees—so slowly it was almost imperceptible. Alice stayed perfectly still, afraid that any movement might undo the fragile balance holding him together.
Time stretched.
An hour passed.
Maybe more.
Eventually, Alex’s grip loosened, his breathing evening out into something closer to normal. His eyes remained closed, lashes damp, face pale but no longer contorted in pain.
Alice finally allowed herself to breathe.
She leaned back slightly, exhaustion crashing into her all at once. Her hand was still clasped in his, warm, real.
Too precious.
Alex’s eyes opened slowly.
“Wow,” he murmured weakly. “That was… undignified.”
A choked laugh escaped her before she could stop it—half relief, half hysteria.
“You scared me,” she said, swiping angrily at her tears. “Do you know how much blood that was?”
He squinted. “Enough to be dramatic?”
She hit his arm lightly. “Enough to be horrifying.”
He winced theatrically. “I’m wounded.”
“You’re always wounded,” she shot back, though her voice trembled.
He smiled faintly. “You stayed.”
Her throat tightened. “Of course I did.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Alice stared down at their joined hands.
She felt it then—not physically, not yet—but the fear coiling deep in her chest.
That one day, this hand might go slack in hers.
That one day, she would reach out and find nothing to hold.
Her grip tightened unconsciously.
Alex noticed.
He always did.
“Alice,” he said quietly.
She looked up.
“I know,” he said softly.
Her lips trembled. “Then do something,” she whispered. “Please.”
He lifted their joined hands and pressed her knuckles gently against his chest, right over his heart.
“I will,” he said.
And for the first time, his voice carried something sharp beneath the gentleness.
“I’m done letting Kael move the world however he wants,” Alex continued. “Every whisper. Every delay. Every small fracture.”
His eyes held hers, steady despite the exhaustion.
“I’ll end it. All of it.”
Alice searched his face, fear and hope warring inside her. “How?”
Alex exhaled slowly.
“I’ll confront him,” he said. “Directly. Politically. Strategically. Down to the smallest disruption.”
“No more nudges.
No more games.”
He squeezed her hand, firmer now.
“I won’t let anyone make you afraid like this again.”
Alice’s breath hitched.
She leaned down and rested her forehead against his, eyes closing as fresh tears slipped free.
“Just… come back to me,” she whispered.
Alex smiled—soft, tired, utterly sincere.
“Always,” he said.
Outside their chamber, the palace slept on—unaware that something had shifted.
Because the world had pushed too hard.
And Alex of Valenreach had finally decided to push back.
- Writer
