Shadow's Whisperer

Chapter 3

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.