Page 66 of Duke of Fyre

The manor was blanketed in a thick silence, the night pressing in close, as Lydia made her way through the shadowed corridors toward the library. Her footsteps were muted against the carpet, but her pulse felt loud in her ears, beating out an uneasy rhythm as she approached. Her mind cycled back over the day's events, her parents' quiet disappointment, the financial strain weighing on her sisters—her sisters who bore their burdens with a resilience she had come to expect, yet could not easily accept.

She breathed deeply, her lips trembling as she thought of what she had to ask of Elias. It was something she had no right to request, and yet, she would. She had to.

The door creaked faintly as she entered. Elias sat at the far end, cloaked in shadows that sharpened the set of his jaw and the severity of his gaze as he looked up. For a moment, he appeared startled, though the expression softened almost immediately, his mouth settling into its usual unreadable line.

"Lydia." His voice was soft, steady. "What brings you here at this hour?"

He had not risen, nor had he set aside the heavy volume in his hands, yet his attention seemed to settle wholly upon her. His eyes followed her every movement. She took a step forward, her gaze flicking briefly to the dark windows behind him, the night a void of quiet beyond the glass.

"I needed to speak with you," she replied, her voice more measured than she felt. She moved further into the room, hands clasped tightly in front of her, waiting until the distance between them was no longer an excuse for hesitation.

He inclined his head, a gesture that might have been an invitation, though it held the quiet reserve that lingered perpetually about him, as if he wore it as a second skin.

"I..." Her voice faltered, and she swallowed, willing herself to keep going. "Elias, I came to ask—well, it is a rather large favor."

She thought she saw something shift in his gaze, though the movement was so fleeting that she could not be certain.

"Go on," he said simply, opening his hands on his lap.

She took a breath, quieting the tremor of anxiety that tightened her throat. "My sisters... they have been struggling financially. Father… well, he is struggling a little, and with the recent losses... it's become clear they will need help. Only a small sum,but something to tide them over for the season." She lowered her gaze, as if the words themselves had taken on a weight she could no longer bear to hold. "If... if you could spare something, Elias, it would mean a great deal."

For a moment, there was silence. When she looked up, she found his gaze steady upon her, his expression softened by something that lay just beyond her understanding.

"Is that all, Lydia?" His tone was low, almost bemused. "When will you realize that you never need to ask for such things?"

She opened her mouth, her words stilled by his faint smile. "Of course I will help them. They are as much yours to care for as they are mine. You need never doubt that."

The relief was unexpected, easing some inner knot she hadn't realized she was holding. She let out a quiet breath, her lips curving into a faint smile. "Thank you," she said softly, hoping the gratitude in her voice might convey what words could not. She had not anticipated such an immediate answer, nor had she expected his simple, reassuring certainty.

Yet there was more. She hadn't come here merely for her sisters, and she could feel the unspoken question forming just beyond the edge of her thoughts, lingering, insistently waiting to be asked.

She hesitated, her voice catching in her throat. "There... there was something else."

Elias set the book down, his gaze narrowing slightly, though he remained silent. She drew in a steadying breath, the vulnerability of her own request making her heart race.

"Would you consider... that is, perhaps we could... share the same room?" The words spilled out, softer than a whisper, carrying a weight that felt at once strange and utterly familiar. She saw the faint surprise in his eyes, a ripple that barely stirred his otherwise impassive expression.

Slowly, his face grew still, any warmth or familiarity slipping away, leaving only an impenetrable reserve. He was silent, his hands folding together as he held her gaze with a cold, almost detached composure.

"No," he said at last, his tone quiet, but unyielding. "Lydia, I have asked before that we not discuss this."

She felt her pulse quicken, a sharp breath catching in her chest. She had not expected rejection, nor the cold finality with which he delivered it.

"But, Elias…" Her voice wavered, the words catching on some raw edge of hurt. "I am your wife. When will I be... truly be your wife?"

He remained still, his silence stretching between them, filling the room with an unbearable tension. Finally, he drew a slow, deliberate breath, his gaze unwavering as he met her eyes.

"Never," he said, his voice calm, almost indifferent. "You will never bear a child, Lydia."

The words fell with a weight she hadn't anticipated, a finality that seemed to sever something inside her. She stared at him, feeling her own question reverberate back at her, hollow and unanswered. She wanted to ask him to take it back, to soften the words, but his gaze remained as cold and impenetrable as stone.

"I don't understand." Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "Then what... what does our marriage mean if I am not to be your wife in truth?"

He held her gaze, his expression unreadable. "It means precisely what it is, Lydia. Nothing more."

For a moment, she was silent, her mind racing to fill the silence with explanations, hopes, fragments of meaning. Yet nothing seemed to fit, and his refusal remained, cold and unmoving, a wall she could not breach.

"Elias," she tried again, her voice low and edged with a quiet, gathering anger. "I want a family. I want a life that is more than this... arrangement. I want something real."

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