CHAPTER FOUR: SHARING HIS BED.
1458 Words
A faint twitch pulled at Aldric’s brow.
With his uncle still unconscious, unable to perform the ceremonial escort, someone else had to take his place.
And if Abigail had been given that choice…
She would chosen him without hesitation. At least, that was what he had always believed.
He knew her too well.
Admiring my uncle? Wanting to marry him out of sincerity?
Please.
It was nothing more than another performance. Another calculated move to circle back to him, to force his attention.
It was her who arranged for Therion’s visit for that very reason. Afraid he might refuse outright, she had sent someone to first soften his stance.
And Therion… he had once liked Abigail. Mostly because of the sweets she baked, but still. None of that mattered. Aldric had no intention of escorting her.
A maid entered quietly and placed two cups of steaming tea on the table. Therion picked his up, blew across the surface, and took a cautious sip.
When he remained silent, Aldric,s patience thinned.
“Has no one else in the royal family been considered? I don’t have the time nor the inclination.”
Therion blinked, caught off guard. “But—”
Aldric shot him a sharp glance. “What?”
Therion hesitated, scratching the back of his neck before choosing his words carefully. “Her majesty did think you’d be the most suitable… since you’re not married.”
A short, dry laugh escaped Aldric. Exactly as expected.
“But,” Therion added quickly, “Abigail said it wouldn’t be appropriate to trouble your highness. So her majesty summoned me instead. She said I could go in your place.”
Aldric stilled.
…she refused me?
He had been nothing but irritated at the idea of being dragged into her wedding. Yet hearing that she had rejected him outrightly didn’t bring any relief.
Only a vague, unwelcome irritation stirred in his chest. Tight, unnamable.
Therion watched him closely, catching the subtle shift. Trying to ease the tension, he forceda grin.
“She probably just figured you’re too busy. Escorting a bride would be a hassle. Unlike me, I’ve got nothing going on. I’m free every day.”
Aldric said nothing.
Silence settled uncomfortably over the study. The tea in Therion’s hand suddenly felt scalding. He shifted in his seat, then stood up abruptly.
“Aldric, I’ve got other matters to attend to. I’ll be going.”
Therion took a few steps toward the door, then stopped. Something tugged at him. He turned back, his voice quieter this time.
“Aldric… about what happened back then. Abigail really isn’t at fault. You’ve blamed her all this time, but it’s not fair. And you’re clearly not happy. She—”
“Therion.” Aldric cut him off.
His brows drew together, his voice low, edged with warning. “Didn’t you say you had somewhere to be?”
Therion lowered his gaze. “…yes.”
The rest of his words died in hid throat. He turned and left the crown prince’s wing.
---
The wedding day arrived.
The first thing Abigail did upon waking, was to walk to the window. Sunlight poured from a clear, open sky. The air was bright, crisp, no trace of rain.
She let out a quiet breath.
A good day. Thankfully.
She rose, bathed, dressed and took her before the vanity. Maids moved around her in a flurry of silk and whispers, adorning her piece by piece until every detail was perfected.
Perhaps, because he had already through a wedding before, she felt nothing at all.
No jitters nor nerves, not even anticipation.
Only calm. It was merely a ceremony.
By the time Therion arrived, everything was ready. Tradition dictated that a bride be led from her home by a male relative. But Dale manor had been long stripped of all its men. Lost to battlefield, one after another.
The only one left… was a five-year-old boy. So Therion stepped in.
As he took her hand and led her foward, laughter and well-wishes rose all around them. Amid the noise, he leaned closer, lowering his voice.
“Abigail… Aldric won’t be coming today.”
She paused, just a fraction of second.
Of all the things to bring up… today?
“He’s… unwell,” Therion continued. “Ever since I returned from the palace, he’s been sick. Still hasn’t recovered. The palace ordered it to be kept quiet…”
He hesitated, as if there was more he wanted to say. Abigail sighed softly and cut him off
“Therion.” She said gently. “I stopped caringabout his highness a long time ago. I know you mean well, but the past is the past.”
She looked ahead, her voice steady.
“Eyes are meant to look forward not back.”
The words lodged in his throat.
Abigail lifted her hand and gave his arm a light reassuring pat, her smile soft. “It’s my wedding day, lets be happy, alright? And next time we meet… remember to call me aunt.”
Therion lowered his gaze, a strange mix of emotions tightening in his chest. Bittersweet and complicated.
Outside the Dale manor, the procession was already waiting. Music filled the air, drums beating, horns ringing bright. The escort form Ashnoor manor had arrived early.
This was a royal marriage, decreed by the king himself and overseen by the queen. Every detail was immaculate, lavish beyond reproach.
And yet…
Abigail couldn’t shake the feeling, that this procession was grander that the one she had walked in her previous life.
As thought the Ashnoor manor had been waiting for this day… for a very long time.
---
Because the duke remained unconscious, the ceremony was kept brief. After the essential rites were completed, Abigail was led toward the bridal chamber.
As she passed beneath the courtyard gates, her gaze flicked to the guards stationed on either side, hans firm on their sword hilts, expression sharp.
She had heard the stories. Her father used to say… the number of enemies who wanted duke Elias dead spoke louder than any praise.
The bridal chamber was vast, elegant, draped in pristine white.
In her previous life, the crown prince’s chambers had been far simpler. After the ceremonial wine, Aldric had left her there, alone, to attend to guests.
He never returned. She waited for hours on end, in silence. The heavy ceremonial crown pressing down on her until her neck ached.
That would not happen again. Abigail’s eyes drifted to the bed. Elias lay there, motionless, eyes closed.
The Valmont bloodline was famous for its beauty.
Aldric was refined, polished, flawless.
Elias…
Was something else entirely.
Sharp. Striking. Dangerous.
Like a blade still in its sheath- but still lethal.
A broad shouldered man stepped forward and bowed deeply. “Philip Wren at your service, my lady.”
Abigail recognized him immediately. Elias’ most trusted lieutenant… and now, his keeper. He had lost his right eye. Usually, he wore a leather patch. Today he replaced it with a strip of gold silk, a festive touch.
Rumors about him had always been wild. Some claimed Philip stood nine feet tall. Others said he feasted on human flesh.
Yet the man before her bowed with absolute respect.
“His grace has been asleep for over half a year,” Philip said carefully. “He’s grown a bit thinner, but otherwise, he’s in a good condition. He takes his medicine daily. In this heat, we bathe him everyday.”
Abigail said nothing.
Philip took her silence for reluctance and hurried on. “Please don’t worry, my lady, everything is handled. A separate chamber has been prepared for you, just across the hall—”
Abigail shook her head.
Philip stiffened, “Then… would you prefer another courtyard?”
Since the duke’s fall, many attendants had been assigned to his care. But most were negligent, skipping medicine, cutting corners, assuming a man who could neither speak nor see would never know.
Once, the duke had been revered. Now… he was pitied.
Or worse, despised.
Philip assumed a noble lady from the Dale manor would feel the same.
“No need.”
Abigail’s voice was soft, calm as a spring breeze. Her gaze rested on the man lying on the bed.
“The duke and I are husband and wife now. There is no such thing as separate chambers.”
She paused, then added gently,
“From tonight onward… I will share his bed.”
Philip froze, eyes widening in shock.
“it’s getting late,” Abigail said with a faint smile. “I’ll go freshen up.”
Without another word, she turned and walked away.
She did not see it. The faintest movement.
At Elias’ side, his finger twitched.
Just once.
- Writer
