The guest suite was steeped in the soft, golden glow of the late afternoon, sunlight filtering through the heavy velvet curtains in muted streams that painted the chamber in warm amber hues.

Beyond the thick stone walls, the distant murmur of court life lingered faintly, dulled into near silence.

Penelope paced just outside their chamber with a restless sort of grace, the hem of her violet skirt swishing against the polished floor with every hurried step.

She had refused to leave Vincent’s side while the royal physician tended to his injuries, just in case he needed assistance with anything. Though the worst of the treatment had ended, she remained close enough to be called for should the physician seek her presence.

When the maid assigned to the guest suite approached, bearing a silver tray with a delicate porcelain bowl of steaming, pungent medicine, Penelope did not wait for the maid to announce herself. She accepted the tray with trembling hands, offering the servant a brief glance filled with distracted gratitude before motioning for the servant to leave.

The maid lowered her head obediently.

Though inwardly, disappointment prickled sharply within her chest.

After all, opportunities to see the infamous Marquis of House Devereux this closely were almost non-existent within the palace. Among the ladies and servants alike, Vincent’s reputation had grown into something nearly mythic.Think of a war hero wrapped in cold beauty with a terrifying authority and personality.

Countless noblewomen admired him from afar despite fearing him.

And admittedly, the young maid had hoped to steal at least a brief glimpse of the infamous Marquis while delivering the medicine. But it seemed that would no longer be possible.

Penelope watched the servant retreat before stepping back into the inner chamber. The air inside grew thick with the scent of iron, herbs and medicinal salt, and as it settled around her, Penelope caught the sight of Vincent.

He stood near the tall window with his back turned toward her, the pale afternoon light spilling across his broad frame. The physician had finished the grueling work of cleaning and binding the wounds left behind by the lash. Fresh white bandages wrapped tightly around his torso, stark against his skin, though they did little to conceal the powerful lines of his body beneath.

As Vincent reached for the clean silk shirt draped over a nearby chair, the muscles along his back shifted and flexed beneath his skin in a way that made Penelope’s breath catch unexpectedly.

Her eyes widened slightly. Then, almost immediately, she lowered her gaze in embarrassment. What in Heaven’s name was she becoming flustered for?

Perhaps it was because only now was Penelope truly realizing just how dangerously handsome her husband was. Not even that bastard William, who gets praised by the court for his usually refined appearance, could compare to Vincent.

William possessed the polished charm of a nobleman sculpted carefully for admiration. Vincent, however, possessed something far more ruinous. There was a harshness to his beauty that felt impossible to ignore.

Even pale from his injuries, Vincent still looked devastatingly handsome.

Penelope tightened her hold upon the medicine tray, forcing her thoughts elsewhere before approaching the Physician instead.

"Is he..." Her voice remained soft as she spoke up. "Will he be capable of traveling tomorrow?"

The physician, a silver-haired man weathered by decades spent tending to nobles and witnessing the ruin born from court politics, began carefully rolling his instruments into a leather case.

His gaze shifted briefly toward Vincent, who was calmly fastening the buttons of his shirt without allowing so much as a flicker of pain to cross his face.

"The wounds are deep, My Lady," the physician answered honestly. "However, I have made a poultice of comfrey and honey to draw out infection and lessen the risk of fever. The stitches should hold, provided His Lordship does not strain himself excessively."

At that, the physician’s expression turned pointedly dry, as though he had already doubted the Marquis’s willingness to obey such advice.

"Once he takes the medicine, it should dull the worst of the pain in his nerves. If he rests properly tonight..." the old man exhaled softly. "Then for someone of the Marquis’s constitution, he ought to survive the journey back to the estate without difficulty."

The choice of wording did little to soothe Penelope’s nerves. But she nodded anyway.

"Thank you."

After the physician left, the chamber fell into a quieter stillness. Penelope finally turned fully toward Vincent, the porcelain bowl still warm between her hands.Moving closer, she offered it to him with a soft but unmistakably firm insistence.

"Here," she said gently. "You heard the physician. If you wish to leave this place sooner, then you must finish everything in this bowl."

Vincent searched her face for a long, unreadable second before taking the bowl. He drank the bitter concoction without hesitation, his throat working as he drained every drop.

When he lowered the bowl, his gaze lingered upon the visible relief softening her expression. His gaze softened momentarily before something in those stormy eyes shifted.

He didn’t return the bowl to the tray. Instead, he let it clatter onto the side table and reached for her hand. His grip was firm, yet careful of her wrist as he led her to the edge of the high bed. Before she could offer a word of protest, he guided her to sit, then pulled a low stool forward so he could sit at her feet.

"What are you doing?" she asked quietly, her pulse beginning to hammer against her ribs.

Vincent tilted his head slightly upward, his stormy-gray eyes fixed wholly upon her.

"What happened, Penelope?"

The bluntness of his question caught her off guard.

She blinked in confusion. "...I do not understand."

"I mean William."

His voice lowered, deep enough that the very air in the room seemed to tighten.

"What did he do to you?" Vincent asked. "What did he say?"

Penelope stiffened immediately. Her fingers curled tightly into the silk gathered across her lap.

"Why are you asking this now?"

A soft exhale left him.

"Because I wish to understand."

There was no anger in his tone then. Only something quieter. More dangerous.

"It is not possible to hate someone overnight, Penny," he murmured. "And I know you far better than you realize."

His eyes searched hers carefully.

"There is a ghost in your expression that was not there four days ago."

Penelope’s breath caught faintly.

"You are hiding something from me," Vincent continued softly. "I am relieved if William finally revealed himself to be the fool I always believed him to be. But.. your change..." His gaze darkened with thought. "It is too sudden."

Then, after a brief pause, he asked the question that made her heart stop entirely.

"You could not possibly have fallen for me out of nowhere... could you?"

Penelope blinked.

After awakening on the morning of her nuptials, she had wondered why she alone remembered what had happened.

After all, they had both died.

The unbearable ending was something she could never bring herself to forget.

Yet somehow, she alone carried the memories of a future that no longer existed. No sane person would believe her. Truthfully, even Penelope would have dismissed it as lunacy had she not lived through it herself.

"Well..."

She hesitated beneath Vincent’s unwavering gaze. She felt cornered by his scrutiny. Of course, even if William had done something wrong, that alone did not explain the sudden shift in her feelings towards Vincent.

She understood why he was suspicious.

But understanding it did not make the truth any easier to confess.

Because she could not tell him the truth.

"I... you want to know what changed?" she stammered, her face beginning to heat up.

She needed something so absurd, so shocking, that he would stop digging. She took a deep breath, looked him dead in the eye, and blurted out the first thing that came to her desperate mind.

"It was the sex, Vincent."

The silence that followed was so absolute you could have heard a pin drop in the next province.