Chapter 78: Chapter 77. Stress & Pregnancy
The land in front of her is drenched in blood, thick, dark rivers of it soaking into the torn earth until the soil itself seems to bleed. The air was humid with the metallic tang of iron and the acrid stench of burning flesh, a suffocating mixture that clung to the back of the throat.
Smoke drifted across the battlefield in slow, lazy waves, veiling the horizon in gray and red haze. What once might have been a green field is now a graveyard, littered with broken blades, shattered armor, and the twisted remains of those who had fallen.
Vivianne stood alone amid the ruin, her shoes sinking slightly into the wet, blood-muddied ground. Around her lay the bodies of werewolves, demons, and beastkin of different races that had once roared, clawed, and fought with primal fury. Now, they were silent, their eyes glassy and lifeless, staring at nothing. The wind that swept through carried faint embers and the faint cries of dying fire, flickering weakly among the corpses.
Her hands trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the truth of what she saw: the cost of power, the echo of a war. In that moment, Vivianne realized that victory and ruin could look exactly the same.
"No, no, no!" Vivianne’s voice cracked as she tried to run, but her legs were heavy. Something cold and unseen coiled around her ankle, dragging her down into the blood-soaked mud.
She screamed, thrashing, tears spilling freely as she reached out into the smoke-filled air. "Roxanne!" Her voice tore from her throat, raw and desperate, but only silence answered her.
Her body jolted violently, and suddenly she was sitting upright on her own bed in Wyndham Estate, drenched in sweat. Her lungs burned as she gasped for breath, the echoes of the battlefield still pounding in her ears. The scent of blood and smoke lingered cruelly in her mind, fading only when she saw two startled maids hovering beside her bed.
"Your Grace, we heard you screaming!" one said, her hands trembling as she reached forward.
"My wife—where’s my wife?" Vivianne blurted, her voice trembling. She threw off the blanket, nearly stumbling as her bare feet hit the cold floor. Without a second thought, she bolted for the door, her hair disheveled, her nightgown clinging to her skin. "Roxanne! Roxanne!"
She knew it was only a dream, but it had felt real. Too real. The burnt flesh, the heavy stench of blood, and the wet soil that clung to her boots all lingered in her senses. Her heart pounded wildly as she ran through the quiet halls, praying, pleading, that when she found Roxanne, she would be safe and alive.
Meanwhile, in the grand reception room, the atmosphere was calm until the butler came bursting through the doors, his usually composed demeanor completely shattered. He was pale, his voice trembling as he bowed low before the Grand Duke.
"Your Grace—your wife! Her Grace woke in terror! I don’t know what—" His words cut, and by the way, Roxanne, drop everything.
Roxanne froze, the words sinking in like a dagger to her chest. For a heartbeat, the world fell silent around her, then her chair scraped sharply against the marble floor as she rose. She didn’t wait for details and didn’t ask questions. The next instant, she’s already running.
Her boots struck the corridor stones with heavy, echoing steps. Servants gasped and scattered out of her path as she sprinted through the long hallways, her heart hammering in her chest. The scent of her omega is faint and anxious, like she’s in danger.
At the far end of the hall, she saw her, Vivianne, still in her nightgown, her hair tangled, her bare feet slapping against the cold marble as she stumbled forward, tears streaking down her face.
"Vivian!" Roxanne shouted, her voice breaking.
Vivianne’s head snapped up, and the moment she saw her, she cried out, "Wife!" before running straight into Roxanne’s arms.
Roxanne caught her, holding her tight as if afraid she might disappear. Vivianne buried her face in Roxanne’s chest, her body trembling violently as she sobbed uncontrollably.
"What’s wrong? Vivian?" Roxanne whispered, her hand cradling the back of her head. Her tone is soft but edged with fear. She could feel her wife’s heart pounding wildly against her own, as if it might burst from her chest.
But Vivianne couldn’t form a single word. Her breaths came in broken gasps, her chest heaving as she clung to Roxanne as though she were her only lifeline. Her sobs were soft at first, then wracked her body with growing intensity, trembling from head to toe. Every time she tried to speak, only choked sounds escaped her lips.
Roxanne didn’t press her and no longer asked more questions. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her wife, cradled her, and held her close as if she could shield her from whatever nightmare still lingered in her mind. One arm slipped beneath Vivianne’s knees, the other supported her back, and she effortlessly lifted her into her arms.
The hallway is quiet except for Vivianne’s muffled cries against Roxanne’s shoulder. Servants stepped aside silently as the Grand Duchess passed, her expression calm yet shadowed with deep concern. As they turned the corner toward their room, Morwenna appeared, her golden hair glinting in the morning light. Her sharp eyes took in the scene, the tear-streaked face of Vivianne, and the horror in her daughter’s expression.
Morwenna gave a knowing nod, her lips curling into a faint, understanding smile. She leaned closer as Roxanne passed and murmured softly, "Pregnant hormones."
Roxanne blinked, momentarily thrown off. "Oh," she replied simply, her voice flat but laced with dawning realization.
Morwenna chuckled quietly, watching her daughter carry her distraught omega down the hall, whispering gentle words of comfort as Vivianne clung to her like the world might end if she let go.
Inside their chamber, the air is still thick with Vivianne’s shallow breaths and the faint rustle of the maids cleaning the room. Roxanne’s voice is calm but firm as she gives the orders. "Fetch the physician," she said. "And bring a bucket of warm water and clean cloths."
The maids hurried away, skirts rustling against the polished floor. Roxanne turned her attention back to Vivianne, who was still trembling in her arms, her face pressed into the curve of Roxanne’s neck.
"Sweetheart," Roxanne murmured gently, brushing her thumb across Vivianne’s tear-damp cheek. "Let’s get you into bed, hmm?" But Vivianne only tightened her grip, refusing to be set down. Her fingers clutched at Roxanne’s robe, desperate and unrelenting.
Roxanne sighed softly, a tender chuckle escaping her lips. "Alright then." She sat carefully on the edge of the bed, adjusting her position until Vivianne could rest comfortably on her lap. One of her arms stayed wrapped protectively around her wife, while the other reached up to stroke her hair, whispering words of reassurance.
Moments later, a maid returned with a bucket of warm water and a stack of soft linen cloths. Roxanne nodded in thanks, setting the bucket beside her feet. With careful movements, she lifted one of Vivianne’s legs and began to clean the dirt from her bare foot.
Vivianne blinked, startled as the warm cloth touched her skin. "Uh..." she breathed, trying to pull her foot back, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
But Roxanne held her gently but firmly, her touch both commanding and soft. "It’s dirty," she said simply, her voice low and affectionate. "Let me clean it for you, Vivian."
She pressed a small kiss to Vivianne’s cheek before continuing, her movements slow and deliberate. The warmth from the cloth, the scent of clean water, and the steady rhythm of Roxanne’s touch seemed to ground Vivianne, pulling her back from the storm that had haunted her moments before.
The once frantic sobs had softened into small, uneven hiccups. Vivianne’s body, once tense with fear and confusion, slowly began to loosen as she clung to Roxanne. The alpha doesn’t need to say anything; the steady beat of Roxanne’s heart beneath Vivianne’s ear, the warmth of her body, and the quiet, rhythmic motion of her hand tracing slow circles on Vivianne’s back all whisper safety more deeply than any promise could.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Only the faint crackle of the hearth and Vivianne’s uneven breaths filled the air. When her voice finally came, it trembled like glass. She told Roxanne everything about the dream, which felt too real to be just a dream—the smell of blood and smoke, the cries of the dying, and the unbearable emptiness that followed.
She confessed how she’d woken up certain she had lost her again, that Roxanne was gone. Roxanne listened in silence, her hold never loosening. Every time Vivianne’s voice faltered, the alpha’s hand moved up to cradle her head, her fingers slipping through strands of tangled hair in quiet comfort.
When the physician arrived, Roxanne still didn’t let go. She merely shifted Vivianne slightly, keeping her wife nestled in her arms while the physician performed his examination. The scent of herbs and camphor lingered faintly in the air as the physician checked Vivianne’s pulse, her eyes, and her breathing, all while casting sympathetic glances toward the protective Grand Duchess.
Finally, the physician straightened, his voice calm and reassuring. "There’s nothing physically wrong, Your Grace. It’s exhaustion... and stress."
Roxanne frowned slightly, her eyes flicking toward Vivianne’s pale face. The physician continued, "The body remembers strain, even when the battle has passed. The Black Covenant, the confrontation with the emperor, the upcoming talks of war. All these burdens have pressed on her. And now that she carries new life, her heart and body are feeling the weight of it all."
Roxanne exhaled softly, pressing her lips to Vivianne’s temple. "I see," she murmured. "Then what should I do next to make sure she’s fine and not stressed?" she continued, her voice quiet but strained, showing the helplessness behind her usually composed tone.
The physician offered a gentle smile. "Your Grace, what your wife needs most is rest, not only of the body but also of the heart. She’s carrying much more than the child; she’s carrying your blood. We all know that currently your blood is the strongest alpha in the continent. Keep her close. Let her feel safe, seen, and loved. Her strength will return with your care."
Roxanne nodded, though her jaw was tight. She looked down at Vivianne, now half-asleep against her chest, her lashes still damp from tears. The alpha’s fingers brushed gently through her hair, as if afraid to break her fragile calm. "I’ll do anything," she whispered.
After the physician left, Roxanne gave orders to the maids and everyone: no visitors for three days, soft food, herbal tea only, and fresh flowers in the room every morning. She even asked Maxim to handle all the war planning without consulting her unless absolutely necessary.
"We’ll go to beastmen territory after my wife feels better." She said to Maxim, and the head knight of Borgia nodded in understanding.