I Reborn to Save Her, She Loved Him

Chapter 2

Alistair froze on the spot, utterly speechless.

Back in his past life, he'd hurled that exact line at her to cut her deep time and time again. Right now, he didn't have a leg to stand on to push back.

Before he could get a word out, Rowena leaned in slightly and nipped gently at his earlobe.

A rush of scorching heat flooded every inch of Alistair's body in an instant.

The woman who'd spoken to him with ice in her voice mere moments ago pressed her lips to the shell of his ear, her tone low and honeyed, "What's it going to be, Ninth Prince. Do you want me to act proper and demure tonight... or cut loose a little?"

Before he could fumble out a reply, her signature soft, clean scent wrapped around him completely, drowning out every other thought in his head.

By the time their night of tangled passion came to an end, the raging wind and rain outside the window had gradually calmed down.

Once they'd finished, Rowena sat up smoothly, as if she'd done it a hundred times before. She pulled a small brown herbal pill from the carved silver storage box on the nightstand and swallowed it down right in front of Alistair, no hesitation whatsoever.

"See that, Ninth Prince? I've taken it." Her voice was still rough and thick, hoarse from the events of the night.

Alistair's eyes locked onto that pill like a vice. He'd ordered the court apothecaries to make that exact contraceptive brew himself, back in his past life.

He'd hated Rowena with every fiber of his being back then, hadn't wanted her carrying his child in a million years.

But none of that mattered anymore. Everything was different now...

He reached out and stopped her as she was about to put away the rest of the medication. "Don't take these ever again."

Rowena blinked in brief surprise, then her face turned colder than a winter frost. She tucked the pills back carefully, her voice sharp and distant enough to cut glass. "If I don't take them, I'm afraid you'll spend every day stressed out of your mind."

That one short, simple sentence struck Alistair dumb, leaving him frozen where he sat.

She couldn't have made it clearer if she'd yelled it in his face: she wanted nothing to do with having his child.

At that moment, the full truth hit him like a ton of bricks. It wasn't just him who'd loathed Rowena all those years. Rowena had loathed him just as fiercely, deep down in her bones.

Aside from the time they spent tangled up in bed, they had absolutely nothing in common. Nothing at all.

A sharp, stabbing pain ripped through his chest. Alistair pressed his lips into a tight, thin line, and in the end, he didn't say a single word.

Even so, a tiny, stubborn spark of hope lingered in his chest. If he put in the work to make up for all the hurt he'd caused her, someday, surely Rowena would change her mind about him.

The very next day, Rowena left the castle before the sun had even fully risen above the horizon.

Alistair was dead set on mending the tense, frayed edge between them, so he decided to head into the kitchen and cook her a full dinner himself.

It was the first time he'd ever lifted a finger to cook anything. The scalding hot pots and pans left bright red, blistering burns all over his hands.

He waited brimming with anticipation, from the golden glow of dusk all the way to the dead of night. The sky outside went pitch black, but Rowena never showed. As the hours dragged on, the hopeful warmth in his chest cooled little by little.

He summoned the estate guards and ordered them to head out and track down Rowena.

Not long after, the sent-out attendant came bursting back in a wild panic, his voice shaking uncontrollably as he reported, "Your Highness, the Princess Consort went to Nightingale Pavilion, the most famous pleasure salon in the entire city, and she still hasn't come out."

Nightingale Pavilion, the capital's top-tier pleasure salon, didn't just have women for the nobles to amuse themselves with. It also held young men from disgraced families, reduced to nothing more than playthings for the elite.

All the male courtesans in the salon came from families convicted of crimes. Without a special royal pardon, they would never be allowed to leave that place or regain their freedom for the rest of their lives.

In his past life, the two of them had blown up at each other countless times, and the root of every single fight was Rowena, a married noblewoman, visiting Nightingale Pavilion over and over again.

She'd poured nearly her entire knight's stipend into that place, all to protect Cedric Langley, the most sought-after top male courtesan in the entire salon.

Every time they fought over it, she'd fire back unapologetically, "Why do noble men get to saunter in and out of pleasure salons whenever they please, but women don't?"

As soon as he finished listening to the attendant's report, Alistair's face drained of all color, and he shot to his feet so fast his chair scraped against the floor.

"Prepare the gilded four-wheel carriage. We're going to Nightingale Pavilion."

Half an hour later, Alistair stood outside an exquisitely decorated private wing on the east side of Nightingale Pavilion.

Alistair paused outside the door, took a deep breath, and pushed open the intricately carved wooden door.

The second he lifted his eyes, he saw a handsome young man yank himself away from Rowena in a panic, scrambling clumsily out of her embrace.

Alistair went rigid all over. It felt like a sharp blade had been driven straight through his heart, and a wave of suffocating pain washed over his entire body.

Cedric bowed hastily to Alistair, his face twisted with terror. Rowena, by contrast, looked completely calm and unruffled.

She stepped forward to shield the young man behind her before slowly curtsying in greeting. "Greetings, Your Highness. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit today?"

The scene in front of him felt like a stab right to the eye. His throat went dry and tight, and he forced out, "You are my wife by arranged marriage, the officially designated Ninth Princess of the royal family. Naturally, I'm here to bring you back to the castle."

A thick, sharp sneer crept into Rowena's eyes. "Has Your Highness forgotten? It was you who personally told me I could leave the castle whenever I wanted and visit Nightingale Pavilion as often as I liked. You said you wouldn't interfere or even ask questions about it, remember?"

He had indeed said those words back then, snapped in a fit of pique back when he couldn't stand the sight of her. But now, he cared for her deeply, respected her more than anything, how could he possibly brush off her actions the way he used to?

Alistair gripped the cuff of his velvet gown so tight his knuckles turned white, his voice coming out rough and unrecognizable. "I just... wanted to ask you to come back home with me, to have dinner."

Rowena lifted her eyes to look at him, and a flicker of confusion so faint he almost missed it crossed her face.

After a beat of silence, she bowed slightly. "Your Highness has given an order. How could I dare disobey?"

Even though she'd agreed to come back with him, a bitter, aching tightness coiled in Alistair's chest, leaving him completely unsettled.

When they stepped into the dining hall of the prince's castle, the spread of dishes he'd cooked with his own two hands had long gone cold, a slick sheen of congealed oil crusting over their surfaces.

Alistair forced a tight, wobbly smile. "I'll have the servants reheat these, you just—"

Rowena didn't even spare the table a single glance. She spun on her heel without a second thought, already heading for the door.

"Don't bother. I already ate at the Nightingale Pavilion."

Alistair's heart dropped to his stomach. He called out after her in a panic, "Food from that salon can't compare to a home-cooked meal. Just have a bite, at least?"

He was just about to tell her he'd made the entire spread himself.

Rowena flicked a lazy, dismissive glance at the plain, unappealing dishes on the table and scoffed. "This bland, barely edible home cooking really doesn't compare to the delicate butter pastries and roasted meats they serve at the Nightingale Pavilion."