Chapter 03 The Wife and the Bastard (Part I)

To Lady Clementine’s question, she preferred not to give an answer. There was no way she would debase herself to satisfy her husband’s mistress.

How could she possibly let her know that her only blood relatives, her very own brothers, had tried to have her kidnapped and killed?

It was His Grace who saved her from such a fate. Saving each other’s lives tied them together as if fate itself had predicted it all, which was why Sylvia didn’t think twice when the duke proposed to her.

“Don’t bother with the trial. The duke has already made up his mind. For the sake of our time together, here’s a gift. Please do us all a favor and kill yourself.”

Lady Clementine’s parting words rang in her head. In her hand, she clutched a small vial containing a colorless liquid. It sloshed around the glass as she swirled it around.

With a tight grip on it, Sylvia swung her arm upward, preparing to throw it against the wall. A pitiful sound reverberated in her throat. Her eyes stung.

Which were the truth, and which were the lies?

Sylvia couldn’t tell anymore. In the first place, Lady Clementine would do anything to make her fall into despair.

She hugged herself as the tears began to well up, her hands seeking her lower belly where a new life was growing. A child between her and Lord Marcus—proof of her infidelity.

She was going to be sentenced to death—the duke would see to it. But her sins shouldn’t pass on to the child.

With that thought, she drew in a deep breath. Sylvia wiped her tears dry and calmed herself. She hid the vial in a pocket she’d secretly sewn on the lining of her dress.

She exhaled into her hands in an attempt to warm them. The night was growing colder, and she was no closer to forming a plan. Seeking warmth from the torches left behind, she stood near the iron bars.

It was quiet. Too quiet that Sylvia could hear the rats scurry about.

Just then, a new set of footsteps echoed in the dungeon. It grew louder and louder as if responding to her pounding heart. And when it stopped, a large shadow loomed into her cell.

For a moment, Sylvia thought an assassin was sent to kill her. Or perhaps to confirm that she’d taken the poison.

But the voice that rang out was deep and kind.

“Your Grace.”

Relief washed over her. If there was one person who might be of help, it’d be him. Sylvia appeared before him, her lips trembling from overwhelm.

“Lord Marcus.”

The sound of keys clanging against each other echoed in the quiet dungeon.

Lord Marcus made quick work of the lock, then pulled the cell gate open. He extended a hand towards Sylvia.

The shadows hid his face, but Sylvia could feel his heavy gaze on her.

“Why are you here?” Sylvia questioned.

A large hood concealed his face. He wore a light leather armor over a plain linen shirt, and his trousers were splashed with mud. His boots were dirty, like they’d trekked through mountains. His sword hung on a belt secured around his waist.

From the looks of things, he looked to be on the run.

Come to think of it, she hadn’t asked Lady Clementine about his whereabouts. The duke must be looking for him so he could cut his head along with hers.

A sense of helplessness stroked her heart. Lord Marcus wouldn’t be able to help her either.

When he responded, his voice sounded firm and reassuring.

“Come with me. The duke has bribed the court—no one will listen to you. You must come with me, Your Grace.”

Sylvia couldn’t answer.

His hand still hung in the air, offering what little help he could.

“He wants to kill me,” she whispered.

She couldn’t see the expression Lord Marcus made, but he looked away. In the next moment, he removed his robe and draped it around her shoulders.

“You’ll catch a cold, Your Grace,” he said simply, still not meeting her gaze.

“Is it true?”

It wasn’t an understatement to say that Sylvia trusted him.

Lord Marcus was her first and only friend, and their stations in House Winston brought forth a sense of camaraderie between them. If nothing else, she believed that Lord Marcus understood her.

The torches’ light cast upon his long hair the color of autumn that he’d tied in a low ponytail.

It also shone upon the gauze attached to his right cheek and the bandages wrapped around his forehead. Blood had seeped through them, which meant his wounds were fresh and deep.

“He wants to kill you, too.”

“It’s nothing new,” Lord Marcus dismissed. “We both knew this was bound to happen one day. I just …”

“Tell me.”

Sylvia stepped closer to his intimidating figure. Though a man of few words, he could speak when needed.

His silence this time annoyed her.

Their lives were at stake here! Not just her or him, but the life of a child neither of them wanted. Unless …

“Is this what you wanted?” she asked with venom in her tone. “When you told me everything you’d kept hidden that night, was this what you were hoping for? Are you happy now, Lord Marcus? I have no one to turn to but you. I could be yours now.”

That made him turn and finally face her.

But the look Lord Marcus had on his face made her heart ache. He used to always have a cold and confident air about him.

And yet, here he was showing her a look of hurt, one that she never saw on him even when he was injured from training.

Sylvia couldn’t understand it. No, it was more accurate to say that she couldn’t accept the truth—that her friend had loved her all this while.

She could feel her tears building up again, and she saw the same in his dark blue eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

Lord Marcus closed the short distance between them and reached for her hand so she wouldn’t step back. His big, warm hand slid effortlessly against her own as he wedged his calloused fingers between hers.

In this proximity, Sylvia could smell multiple scents on him—his sweat, the smell of horses, the rustic scent of armor, and an herbal salve. It was very much like him, quite fitting for a knight.

“I never wanted things to be where they are now, Your Grace. It’s my fault your honor has been tainted. You can resent me for it all of your life.”

Sylvia could only gasp as his thick arms wrapped around her small frame, pulling her flush against his broad chest. Heat crept to her cheeks in an instant.

“Hate me, Your Grace. Pour all your anger and frustration on me,” he said calmly against her ear, hot breath fanning her cold skin. “I deserve it all. I can take all of it, Your Grace, because I don’t regret harboring these immoral feelings for you. You will never hear me say that I regret what happened between us that night.”

His forehead sank to her shoulder, and Sylvia felt every breath he drew.

“Do I disgust you, Your Grace? I do not care. I’m not happy your life is in danger, but I am happy that even in this moment, you find me reliable. As long as I can stay by your side, nothing else matters to me. So please, even if you hate my existence, please rely on me more. Use me as you please, Your Grace.”

Without giving her time to gather her thoughts, Lord Marcus pulled away and forced her to follow him. His grip on her hand remained steadfast as he grabbed a torch and headed deeper into the dungeon.

-gn_cc-