Shadow's Whisperer

The physician examined the lady with practiced precision, his brow furrowed as he checked the lady's pulse and searched for any signs of deeper distress. "The lady is exhausted, nothing more," he concluded, though his tone was carefully measured. "Stress has taken its toll. She needs rest and proper care. She must not strain herself any further."

Before the head maid could respond, the bedchamber's doors burst open. The lord strode in, his presence sharp and commanding, a force that silenced every sound in the room. His dark eyes swept over the occupants before fixing on the fragile figure lying in the bed.

He was a man whose striking good looks made him impossible to ignore. Tall and broad-shouldered, his physique was a testament to years of rigorous discipline and unyielding strength. Every step he took exuded power, every line of his body a reminder of his commanding presence. His sharp features were chiseled with precision, a face sculpted from the ideals of masculine beauty. His jet-black hair, styled neatly, framed a countenance defined by a strong jaw, a straight nose, and thin, well-formed lips. But it was his deep brown eyes, penetrating and unrelenting, that truly held sway—intense enough to unearth the soul of anyone who met his gaze.

"What happened?" he demanded, his voice low and firm, yet sharp enough to command immediate attention.

"My lord," the head maid began, bowing deeply, her voice trembling. "The lady has been under immense stress. She strained herself, and I failed to care for her properly."

The lord said nothing, his gaze fixed on his wife's pale face. He crossed the room in measured strides, lowering himself beside her. Gently, he took her cold hand in his large, steady palm, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles, an absent gesture of comfort.

The physician cleared his throat. "My lord, she will recover, but only with complete rest. Her mind cannot endure further strain. It is imperative that she remains undisturbed."

The lord's eyes flicked to the physician, his gaze sharp and unyielding. "It will be done," he said curtly.

Leaning closer to Lerina, his thumb continued its slow tracing over her knuckles. "Ensure she has everything she needs," he commanded. "No one is to disturb her rest."

The head maid and physician bowed deeply and retreated from the room, the door closing softly behind them, leaving husband and wife alone.

For a long moment, the lord simply watched her, his expression unreadable. Yet his thumb's slow movement against her skin spoke volumes, a silent testament to his concern.

Lerina lay there like a goddess painted in warm, earthy hues. Her honey-toned skin glowed faintly in the soft light of the chamber, smooth and luminous as though kissed by sunlight. Dark brown, waves of hair framed her face, cascading over the pillows in stark contrast to the white silk. Her green eyes, vivid and flecked with gold, seemed otherworldly—alive with a light that even exhaustion could not extinguish. Her full lips, softly parted, carried the faintest blush, as though nature itself had gifted her beauty to defy her frailty.

"You must rest, Lerina," he murmured at last, his voice low, intimate, as if the words themselves were a balm. "You've grown thinner."

"Do not worry, my lord," she replied, her faint smile tugging at her lips, though it failed to reach her eyes. "I am already feeling stronger."

His brows knit together, a frown deepening his features. He reached out, adjusting her pillows with careful precision, his touch lingering longer than necessary. Then, he pulled the blanket higher around her shoulders, as if the small act could shield her from the world.

"If you were stronger, you wouldn't look so fragile," he muttered, his voice tinged with both frustration and concern. "I can't help but to worry for you."

Lerina's soft smile remained, but her resilience faltered, as though the weight of unspoken truths pressed against her heart.

"What troubles you, Lerina?" he asked, his jaw tightening, his brown eyes darkening with emotions he did not voice. "Tell me."

She hesitated, her gaze lowering as her fingers twisted the edge of the silk blanket. Her voice trembled when she spoke. "Why do you not ask about her?"

His hand, which had been smoothing the blanket, froze mid-motion. Something flickered in his gaze—raw and unguarded—before his expression hardened once more.

"You are my priority," he said finally, his voice steady but distant.

Her faint smile disappeared, and her thik lashes quivered as though holding back tears. "I've been wondering," she said hesitantly, her voice fragile, "if you think the same as the others."

"What do you mean?" His shoulders stiffened, tension creeping into his composed form.

"The dismissed maids—they whispered before they left," she murmured. "They said, she is not your flesh and blood. They said…" Her voice broke, her breath catching. "They said she is a Nashiq offspring. A Nashiq-child destined to devour us all."

The room fell into a suffocating silence, broken only by the faint sound of rain against the windowpanes.

His hand clenched into a fist, knuckles white with restrained fury. "Whoever dared to speak such venom deserves death," he said, his tone chillingly calm. "If you wish it, I will silence them myself."

The severity of his words sent a shiver through her. "I have already let her go," she said quietly, lowering her gaze. "She served you faithfully for so long, so I showed her mercy. But her words..." Her voice broke, and she pressed her hands together as though to still their trembling. "Her words have left a wound in my heart. Since marrying you, I have not stepped beyond these walls-not even to visit my parents. Yet here, within your manor, they whisper such things about me."

Lerina flinched at the cold finality in his voice. "I've already let her go," she whispered, her voice trembling. "But her words… they linger. They linger in my heart, and I cannot quiet them."

The lord leaned closer, cupping her cheek with surprising tenderness. His thumb brushed gently over her smooth skin, his gaze unwavering.

"Do not let their poison take root, Lerina," he said firmly. "The child is mine."

Her eyes searched his face, filled with vulnerability and quiet hope. "Then why do you not see her, my lord?"

Her question struck deep, and for a fleeting moment, his composure cracked. Shadows crossed his face as he exhaled slowly.

"My thoughts have been consumed by you," he said at last, his voice heavy with emotion. "But if it eases your worries, I will hold her before you."

At his command, the wet nurse entered, cradling the infant swaddled in silk.

The lord rose, extending his hands with deliberate care as he took the child. His large hands cradled the tiny frame awkwardly, and his dark gaze lingered on the delicate features.

"Does this ease your mind?" he asked softly, his tone steady and warm.

"Yes, my lord," Lerina replied, her lips curving into a genuine smile.

He returned the child to the wet nurse and dismissed her with a nod.

"You should not trouble yourself with such matters," he murmured, his voice soft yet commanding. "Focus on recovering. Leave the rest to me. I will ensure no one dares speak of this again."

"I can now rest assurd," Lerina smiled widened, her happiness genuine.

The lord's stern features softened as he returned her smile. His hand reached out to her hair, gently stroking the dark waves with a tenderness that belied his usual commanding demeanor.

For a moment, the room was filled with a quiet peace, their shared warmth pushing back the lingering shadows.

Then Lerina hesitated before speaking again. "There is one more thing, I have been thinking," she began nervously, "of visiting my parents once I recover. It has been so long since I last saw them."

His hand froze mid-motion as he stroked her hair. Slowly, he withdrew, his fingers curling into a fist at his side. Though his expression remained calm, a shadow passed over his features, and when he spoke, there was an unmistakable edge to his voice, a tightness that set her on edge.

"We will discuss this after you recover," he said, his tone polite but firm, leaving no room for debate. "For now, sleep, my dear. I will come again tomorrow."

The words, though spoken gently, carried a weight that silenced any further protest.

The door closed softly behind him, and his retreating footsteps echoed faintly. Outside, the storm raged on, but it was nothing compared to the tempest brewing within their hearts.