Chapter 104: Fever and Solitude.

Chapter 104

Soren stood beside the narrow cot in the fortress infirmary, his towering form casting a dark shadow across the physician’s worktable. He watched in silence as the head physician bound the final layer of tight linen around Lilith’s forearm. The maid’s face was deathly pale, yet her breathing had finally settled. Adjusting her sleeve with a slight tremble, Lilith looked up, her voice small and trembling as she broke the quiet. "How... how fares Milady, Your Grace?"

Soren maintained his unyielding mask, keeping his low baritone perfectly level. "She is unharmed. Rest yourself." Yet internally, the words tasted of pure deceit. The memory of Sigrid’s face burned within his mind—the hollow, shattered look in her crimson eyes and the fragile posture she had fought so fiercely to conceal before dismissing him.

Leaving the infirmary behind, Soren strode down the cold stone corridors, his jaw set in a rigid line as his mind pulled him back to Sigrid. A deep, agonizing tension coiled within his chest. On the terrace with Marquess Caspian, her countenance had been radiant with authority, her sharp intellect illuminating her composure. Yet the instant he had stepped onto the balcony, that brilliance had vanished, replaced by an icy, deliberate barrier. His heavy boots echoed against the flagstones, but his thoughts refused to leave her. Sigrid had been an enigma from the day she bound her life to his, yet she had never erected such a severe wall between them until this hour. He wondered what misstep he had committed to make her believe she was a burden to his existence, or why she seemed so intent on severing her heart from his. She had never forced his hand. He had willingly extended it to her.

Driven by an urgent need to verify her safety, Soren made his way directly to their private bedchamber. He had fulfilled her request by ensuring her maid was cared for, but her claims of mere fatigue rang hollow in his ears.

Reaching the heavy oak doors, he knocked firmly several times, calling her name in a low, reverberating tone, but no response echoed from within. Setting aside ceremony, he threw open the grand doors and stepped into the dim room, his eyes sweeping the space until they settled upon her motionless form lying crumpled across the bed. "Sigrid?" he called softly. When she did not stir, a sudden, sharp spike of panic pierced his chest. He moved to her side, lifting her limp upper body into his arms just as a sharp knock sounded at the threshold.

Orion stepped into the chamber holding a leather-bound ledger. "My lord, I have calculated the—" He froze mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he took in the sight.

Soren did not hesitate, his low baritone booming with absolute command. "Summon the physician! At once!"

Orion turned on his heel and bolted down the hall without a word. Holding Sigrid against his chest, Soren could feel an intense, unnatural heat radiating through her garments; her skin was burning, her fever escalating rapidly by the second. Within minutes, Orion returned with the head physician in tow. Soren gently laid Sigrid back onto the mattress, stepping aside for the old medic to examine her before turning toward the washbasin to prepare a hot cloth and warm water himself.

When Soren returned to the bedside wringing out the damp, steaming cloth, both Orion and the physician stared at him in quiet astonishment. The ruthless Lord of the North was personally tending to his feverish wife with agonizing care. Orion cleared his throat awkwardly, taking a step forward. "My lord... allow me."

Soren ignored the offer entirely, dipping the cloth into the water before fixing his dark gaze upon the medic. "What is your verdict?"

The physician shifted uncomfortably, his hands hovering nervously over his satchel. "She exhibits all the marks of an acute, severe fever, Your Grace, yet... we can discern no physical cause. The northern winds are harsh, but the fortress hearths keep these quarters pleasantly warm. Furthermore, she showed no signs of ailment earlier, and we possess no prior medical records for Her Grace."

Soren leaned down, gently pressing the warm cloth to Sigrid’s forehead. A soft, pained groan slipped from her lips, her brow furrowing in her unconscious state. Soren’s gaze hardened as he issued a quiet, absolute command to the medic. "Leave us."

The physician bowed hurriedly and exited, leaving only Orion standing near the heavy draperies. Soren continued his quiet work, wringing the cloth and dabbing it against her feverish skin.

Noticing his aide remained, Soren spoke in a low rumble without turning around. "Why do you linger, Orion?"

Orion cleared his throat, taking a cautious step closer. "My lord... there is a grave detail I neglected to bring to your attention regarding the Duchess. During my initial inquiry into her background prior to your nuptials, I gathered reports from the servants at Duke Vesper’s estate. While she was not outright physically abused, she was utterly abandoned and neglected in that eastern wing."

Soren’s tone remained flat and unamused. "I am already well aware of her family’s neglect, Orion. What did you omit?"

Orion lowered his voice carefully. "According to the senior domestic staff—specifically an old maid who attended her chambers—the Duchess rarely left her room, save for the hours she spent privately tutoring noble children in secret. However, on sporadic occasions, she would collapse into a sudden, violent fever without warning."

Soren’s dark brows furrowed deeply as he turned his head to look at his aide, his deep voice dropping into a dangerous register. "Go on."

Orion continued, "She would fall into a fever, only to awaken the following day with no memory of the previous day’s events."

"What?" Soren uttered, his baritone heavy with disbelief.

Orion bowed his head. "It was no isolated occurrence, my lord. She would fall mysteriously ill at random intervals. Duke Vesper grew accustomed to it when she was a mere infant, so he simply instructed the staff not to panic whenever it transpired."

Soren felt a cold knot form in his chest as he processed the revelation. "This affliction has plagued her for her entire life?"

Orion inclined his head. "Yes, Your Grace."

Soren’s eyes flashed with quiet rage. "And her father made no attempt to discover its origin?"

Orion shifted nervously. "Rumors amongst the staff suggest the late Duchess always managed those episodes privately before her passing, so the matter was never pursued by the Duke."

Soren returned his attention to Sigrid’s pale face, his chest aching as he traced the subtle lines of pain etched around her eyes. "So she remains unaware? She believes her memory lapses are merely exhaustion?"

Orion answered softly, "It appears so, my lord. She simply awakens believing she was weary."

Soren’s jaw set firmly. "Is there any pattern to these collapses? Environmental triggers, dates, or seasonal shifts?"

Orion shook his head. "None, Your Grace. It occurs entirely without warning."

Soren carefully folded the warm cloth and rested it on her forehead before turning his full, lethal attention upon his subordinate. "Why was this critical detail omitted from your primary briefing?"

Orion lowered his head with genuine regret. "I failed to review the secondary domestic logs thoroughly out of my own foolishness, my lord. At the time, I suspected her to be an operative sent by the Queen, and I assumed any records of mysterious illnesses were fabricated cover stories. But witnessing her condition now, I can see the ailment is entirely genuine. There is no possibility she is faking this to spy for the Crown."

Soren stared down at his wife, the silence heavy between them. The Queen was never fond of broken things. Not that Sigrid was broken. "Ensure that not a single word of her condition leaves the walls of this fortress," Soren commanded sharply.

Orion bowed his head. "Understood, my lord. Shall I initiate a discreet inquiry into foreign archives regarding such symptoms?"

Soren nodded grimly. "Do so with the utmost secrecy. If our enemies in the capital learn of her sudden physical vulnerabilities, they will not hesitate to strike while she is defenseless—and that shall be when I depart for war."

"At once, Your Grace," Orion replied, stepping toward the door. He paused, looking back at his master with deep concern. "Pray, be cautious, my lord. You have drawn upon your personal influence twice this week; you cannot afford to expose your own hand."

Soren did not turn around, his baritone steady as iron. "Do not concern yourself with my affairs. See to your tasks." Orion bowed once more and quietly slipped out, closing the heavy oak doors behind him.

Left alone in the quiet sanctuary of the bedchamber, Soren sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled the cloth from the basin, wringing it out once more. As he pressed the damp fabric against her temples, he could feel the unnatural heat slowly receding from her skin, her breathing growing deeper and more rhythmic as her body stabilized under his care. He looked down at her serene, sleeping face, a dark scowl forming on his features as the wind outside began to howl against the glass.

Lightning flashed across the northern sky, followed by the heavy, rhythmic thundering of downpour slamming against the stone fortress walls.

​"What truly troubles you, Duchess?" Soren murmured into the empty room, his deep baritone barely audible over the roaring storm. "Why did you speak to me on the stairs as though you were tormenting my life? I chose to marry you of my own free hand." He reached out, his large, calloused hand gently wrapping around her cold, sleek fingers, playing absently with her delicate knuckles as he watched her chest rise and fall. His scowl deepened as the thunder rattled the windowpanes, his heart aching with an unfamiliar, heavy weight. "I despise this," he muttered bitterly into the dark, his voice thick with pain. "I despise how, even while you lie here sleeping, I can feel just how deeply you are suffering alone." How the more alike we are.