Back at the estate, the household was thrown into chaos.
The physician arrived quickly, trembling as he examined the wound. The room was so quiet, every breath could be heard. Everyone knew how dangerous it was to deliver bad news to Rowan Vaelrath.
After a tense pause, the physician stood, sweating.
"The wound itself wasn't fatal... but the damage worsened due to excessive force. The duke—" he gulped, "—he must have tried to break it himself. It reached the bone."
He bowed low, voice nearly cracking. "Even if he heals... there's a chance the leg may never fully recover. He may walk, yes, but not... not like before. I'm sorry. I've failed."
Everyone held their breath. The room tensed for rage.
But Rowan only looked at Cael. His lips curled faintly — into a smile.
It wasn't relief. It was something darker. Something selfish.
Because in his mind, this pain was proof. Proof of devotion. Proof that he bled for Cael. That Cael saw it. Felt it.
He would never walk perfectly again — but if it meant Cael would stay, would cry for him, would never abandon him again, it was worth it.
"I've stitched what I can. But you'll need to change the bandages every morning and night. Carefully, with clean hands. This salve," he handed Cael a jar, "must be applied thickly to prevent rot. If it turns redder, or smells... it's a sign of infection."
Cael nodded, clutching the jar tightly like it was sacred. "I'll do it. I'll take care of him."
The physician hesitated, then continued quietly, "The leg must stay elevated. No walking for at least two weeks. If the bone doesn't set right, he may never walk properly again."
That statement alone made every servant in the room tense.
But Rowan didn't even blink.
His violet eyes remained on Cael, watching the worry and guilt twist his delicate features. That was all he needed.
The physician, hands still blood-stained, bowed deeply. "My lord, forgive me... I've done all I can."
Rowan finally turned to him — not with fury, but indifference.
"You've done enough. You may go."
The physician didn't wait to be told twice. But as he turned to leave, he looked back at Cael and said softly, "If you can... keep him in bed. And... be gentle. He listens to you."
Then he walked out, heart heavy.
Because while the wound might heal, the way Rowan looked at Cael — possessive, desperate, obsessed — that was something no medicine could ever cure.
_______
The room was quiet now, filled only with the soft rustle of blankets and the fading scent of herbs. Rowan lay against the headboard, his leg elevated and freshly bandaged, his gaze never leaving Cael — not even for a second.
"You're so stupid," Cael muttered under his breath, voice trembling.
Rowan tilted his head, violet eyes full of softness as he looked up at him. "Am I?"
"That's not something to be proud of!" Cael snapped, though his voice cracked at the end. "You nearly ruined your leg! You forced it until the wound hit bone—do you want to be crippled for life?"
Rowan's smile didn't fade. Instead, he looked... content. Like the pain was nothing. Like it was worth every drop of blood.
"As long as you're here, I don't care if I lose everything," he said.
Cael's eyes widened. "You...!"
But he couldn't finish. He had no words. Only a trembling heart, full of conflicting feelings.
Cael stared at him, heart squeezing painfully. "That doesn't mean you can keep doing reckless things. ... so don't act like your life doesn't matter."
Rowan nodded slowly, still smiling, still staring like Cael was the only thing that ever existed
Without warning, Rowan reached out and gently tugged at Cael's sleeve. "Come here."
Cael didn't move.
So Rowan pulled again—this time with a whisper, "Please?"
Cael sighed. "You're such a pain," he muttered. Still, he shifted closer until Rowan leaned forward and rested his head against Cael's chest.
Like a child returning to the place he called home.
Rowan's arms wrapped weakly around Cael's waist. "Let me stay like this. Just for a bit."
Cael's hand hovered uncertainly above his head... then finally rested in Rowan's black hair, gently stroking through it with a sigh.
"You're like a kid sometimes," he muttered.
Rowan just enjoying the warmth and rhythmic heartbeat coming out from Cael's chest.It's so peaceful.
Cael groaned softly, cheeks heating. "Enough. I'll bring food and medicine. Don't move, alright?"
Rowan nodded obediently, not lifting his head.
Cael gently pulled back, trying to ignore the ache in his heart as he turned toward the door — Rowan's warmth lingering in his arms.
And Rowan... just smiled again, eyes trailing after him like he was watching the sun itself walk away.
The door opened with a soft creak just minutes after Cael had left.
Reilan stepped in, his usual composure cracking at the edges, anxiety flickering in his eyes. He bowed quickly, but his voice carried an urgency.
"Your Grace... we have guests."
Rowan didn't even open his eyes. Still leaning against the pillows, his arms loosely wrapped around the warmth that Cael had left behind, he exhaled through his nose—cold and sharp.
He already knew.
Even before Reilan uttered another word, Rowan's jaw clenched. "Tell them I'm busy."
Reilan hesitated. "It's... not a request, my lord. They—"
"I said," Rowan cut him off, finally opening his eyes—those amethyst eyes gleaming with warning, "I'm busy."
The words dropped like knives.
Reilan's spine stiffened. He bowed again, deeply, and turned on his heel without another word. No one in this world—not even the king—was allowed to push the Duke of Thorne when he didn't want to be pushed.
But as the door shut behind him, Rowan's face darkened.
He leaned his head back, muttering to the ceiling, voice laced with venom.
"Fucking leeches."
_______
In the quiet, dim room, the silence shattered like glass.
The window burst open with a sudden gust of wind, violent and sharp. Curtains snapped in the air—and with it came two shadows, graceful yet monstrous. The twins landed soundlessly on the floor like specters cloaked in royal silk and sin, their eyes glowing like cursed rubies in the dark.
Before Rowan could even blink, a cold blade kissed the side of his neck. A thin line of blood beaded at his skin—but Rowan did not flinch. He remained seated, head tilted slightly, one hand lazily resting over the fur blanket covering his injured leg.
A slow smirk curved his lips.
_________
"Isn't that rude?" he murmured, voice smooth as venom. "To break into a man's bedroom without an invitation? Where are your manners, Your Highnesses?"
The older twin leaned in, blade still pressed to Rowan's throat. His voice was soft, almost affectionate.
"Forgive us, Duke Rowan," he said with mock sincerity. "We simply assumed the concept of privacy didn't apply to thieves."
"Thieves?" Rowan echoed, chuckling low.
His eyes became cold.
"My, how bold of you to accuse me—when you
were the ones reaching for what was never yours to begin with."
Viel's blade pressed tighter against Rowan's throat, his eyes glinting with murderous intent while his voice remained dangerously polite.
"I suggest you choose your next words carefully, Duke," he whispered, smile cold and eyes blazing.
Beside him, Eryx crouched low, fingers twitching like a predator ready to strike, his gaze never leaving Rowan's neck—as if imagining how deep the blade would go.
But Rowan only smirked, unfazed by the threat.