Chapter 606: Chapter-606
She swallowed the bite of pastry, her pale fingers gripping the fabric of her robes tight enough to turn her knuckles white. She closed her eyes, leaning her head heavily against the wooden frame of the carriage, desperately trying to control her breathing so the Marquis wouldn’t notice.
’It is fine,’ Heena gritted out internally, the telepathic words strained and heavy. ’Just a migraine.’
"It is not just a migraine, and you know it," the System whispered, floating helplessly beside her cheek. "Host, you need to rest. Real rest. No more scheming for today."
For once, Heena didn’t argue. The darkness behind her eyelids was swirling with pain. She just focused on the rhythmic, rumbling sound of the carriage wheels, letting the darkness pull her down into a fitful, exhausted sleep.
When the carriage finally rolled through the heavy iron gates of the Vanguard estate, the sun was fully up, casting a bright, golden light over the sprawling manor.
The carriage came to a smooth halt.
Before the driver could even reach for the handle, the heavy wooden door was pulled open from the outside.
Standing there, framed by the morning light, was Samuel.
He had shed the blood-stained ceremonial robes from the night before, now dressed in a pristine, dark charcoal scholar’s robe. His hair was perfectly styled, and his posture was relaxed, but his golden eyes were terrifyingly sharp. He looked past the old Marquis and immediately locked onto Heena’s pale, sleeping form.
The old Marquis put a finger to his lips, gesturing for silence.
"She is exhausted," the Marquis whispered fiercely, stepping out of the carriage. "The court assembly was a battlefield. She dismantled the Prime Minister, but it took a toll on her. She broke down crying on the imperial steps."
Samuel’s eyes widened slightly. "Crying?"
"Yes," the Marquis sighed, looking deeply troubled. "The pressure was too much. She is putting up a strong front, Samuel, but she is fragile. We must protect her."
Samuel looked at his "fragile" wife. He saw the faint tear stains on her cheeks. He saw the pale, exhausted droop of her shoulders.
And then, his golden eyes narrowed into knowing, highly amused slits.
Unlike the blunt, straightforward military generals, Samuel was a master of the capital’s venomous political theater. He knew exactly what Heena was capable of. He knew that the woman who had casually dissolved three assassins into sludge while making dark jokes was absolutely not the kind of woman who would break down crying over a court debate unless she had a very, very specific reason to do so.
"I understand, Grandfather," Samuel replied, his voice completely smooth, though the corner of his lips twitched upward. "I will take excellent care of her."
Samuel didn’t wake her. He reached into the carriage, sliding one arm under her knees and the other around her back, lifting her effortlessly against his chest.
Heena groaned softly at the movement, her brow furrowing in pain as her head rolled against his shoulder.
"Shh," Samuel murmured, his tone shifting from amused to genuinely gentle as he felt the unnatural heat radiating from her skin. "I have you."
He carried her through the sprawling courtyards of the Vanguard estate, ignoring the bowing servants and the whispered rumors of the morning’s miraculous court victory that were already spreading like wildfire through the household.
He brought her to their private chambers, gently laying her down on the massive, silk-draped bed. He carefully unbuckled the heavy sword from her waist, setting it aside, and unfastened the stiff collar of her navy blue outer robe to let her breathe.
As he pulled the heavy quilt over her, Heena’s eyes slowly fluttered open.
Her vision was blurry, her head pounding with that relentless, suffocating pressure. She looked up at Samuel, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, wiping a damp cloth over her pale forehead.
"Did you hear?" Heena rasped, her voice barely above a whisper.
"That you exposed the Prime Minister as a closeted deviant with a secret male harem, forged his signature to authorize your own illegal investigation, and then faked a public emotional breakdown to manipulate the imperial generals into adopting you?" Samuel asked, his golden eyes glittering with profound, dark affection. "Yes, Wife. The rumors have already reached the estate."
Heena let out a weak, breathy scoff. "He deserved it."
"He did," Samuel agreed, his thumb gently brushing her cheek. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her warm forehead. "You were brilliant. Terrifying, absolutely sociopathic, and brilliant. But right now, you look like a corpse."
"My head hurts," Heena admitted softly, too exhausted to put up her usual prickly defenses.
Samuel’s smile faded. His gaze darkened with a flash of real, hidden fear that he refused to let her see. He didn’t know about the six-month countdown. He didn’t know about the fatal blood clot. But he knew her body was failing her, and it terrified him more than any political enemy ever could.
"Sleep, wife," Samuel whispered, gently smoothing her hair back. "The Prime Minister is locked in his manor. The court is terrified of you. Your grandfather’s military seals are safe. The war is won. You can finally rest."
The heavy silence of the bedroom was supposed to be peaceful, but to Heena, it was just an empty canvas for her agony.
She closed her eyes, but sleep violently refused to come. The agonizing, rhythmic throb in her right temple was entirely suffocating, threatening to drag her back into the dark abyss of her own failing biology. Lying there like a fragile, sickly patient was driving her completely insane.
She needed a distraction. She needed adrenaline, endorphins, an absolute sensory overload—anything loud and physical enough to drown out the blinding pain in her brain. And perhaps the lingering, faint traces of last night’s aphrodisiac in her bloodstream were finally deciding to make their presence known.
With a sudden, frustrated huff, she violently flung the heavy silk covers aside.
She sat up, completely ignoring the dizzy spell that washed over her, and glared at Samuel. It was a look so sharp and heated it could have peeled paint off a katana.
"Are you even a man?" she demanded, her voice raspy, heavy, and entirely provocative.
Samuel, who had been gently wiping her forehead with a damp cloth, completely froze. He blinked, the cloth hovering in mid-air.
"What happened?" Heena sneered, leaning slightly forward, letting the loose collar of her inner robe slip further down her bruised shoulder. "Did someone hit the mute button on your manhood? Have you gone full eunuch on me?"
Samuel stared at her. The gentle, protective husband vanished, replaced by sheer, unadulterated bewilderment. "Excuse me?"
Heena rolled her fox-like eyes so hard it was a genuine wonder they didn’t get stuck in the back of her head.
"Come on," she scoffed, her gaze raking over his broad, muscular frame with blatant, ravenous intent. "Looking at you sitting there like a docile little monk... no one in their right mind would call you a man in his prime. Please don’t tell me you’ve developed a sudden interest in men too... like the Prime Minister. Oh God."
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