All Irene wanted to do was sleep, as if the ridiculous hope within her made her believe that she could sleep these moments away and she would wake up at the same time her father did.

Even when she woke up hours later in the evening to darkness settling in over the north central region, she felt groggy, knowing she could fall asleep again.

However, there was someone waiting for her. She knew that being beside him would be much better than being alone. She forced herself to get out of bed, and she found the mirror that she had gotten herself together in many times before in her life.

She couldn’t help thinking she looked particularly old. There was weight under her eyes. She looked sick.

What she wanted was to present her husband with the vibrant woman he had been promised, but she couldn’t offer him that for now—not since their bubble of happiness burst. She pressed on, knowing that he would love her all the same.

When she exited her room, her mother was passing by.

"Henry’s waiting for you," Rochelle quietly explained. "Said he wouldn’t eat until you wake up."

"Thank you," Irene responded.

Before she could leave, she felt her mother’s arms go around her.

"I feel so unbelievably sorry that this is happening to you just after your wedding," her mother uttered. "Henry is such a good man, befitting of my daughter."

While all this transpired, not once had Rochelle seen Henry feel slighted or upset by anything other than the horrible circumstances. He was so unbelievably understanding, which the noble lady found so rare in a man who held his title. If there was ever a man for Rochelle’s daughter, it was someone like that.

As horrible as this entire situation felt, Rochelle took solace in knowing that Irene was loved thoroughly.

"I wish I could offer him a better version of myself right now..." Irene admitted.

Rochelle pulled back and thoughtfully considered this for a moment as she held her daughter by her waist. For once, she spoke of the knighthood.

"Marriage is about trials," Rochelle explained in a whisper, her voice a bit hoarse from all she cried that day. "I’m sure that you and he have been through plenty together as knights, so you both know how to be there for the other already while going through difficult things. You have a head start compared to most newlyweds. And I don’t believe Henry is the sort of man who would shy away from this trial."

Irene responded by hugging her mother again.

"I know you’re right," the red-haired knight admitted. "You’re extremely right."

"Now, go," Rochelle insisted.

Irene nodded and walked away quickly.

Sure enough, in the sitting room towards the bottom of the stairs, she found her husband reading something. Or at least he had been. The book sat in his lap, and he held his chin in his hands as his elbow pressed into the arm of the chair. He was lost in thought, but he would recognize Irene’s footsteps anywhere, so it was enough to bring him back.

"I didn’t mean to fall asleep for so long," she admitted guiltily as she approached him.

He quickly stood up and met her more than halfway. He gently hugged her, one arm around her waist and the other on the back of her head.

"You needed rest," he responded, assuring her that he wasn’t upset.

"Mom said you haven’t eaten," she uttered into his shoulder.

"I couldn’t eat without you."

For a man with such a voracious appetite, Irene felt bad. She broke the hug only so she could grab his hand and bring him to the kitchen that smelled like the fires were still hot. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

It was a simple meal of meat and carrots with a brown sauce from the meat’s drippings poured over the top, but it was delicious. Even through her sadness, Irene was able to eat enough to fill her stomach.

Since it was only the two of them, they sat at the breakfast table rather than going to the dining hall. If their feet weren’t touching under the table, they held hands. If they couldn’t hold hands, Henry would manage his food with his right hand while resting his left over the back of Irene’s chair.

He was feeling protective of her. This was a new side of her he hadn’t witnessed where she seemed so fragile. He wanted to be the one who held her together.

Irene sat back in her chair and found her head against Henry’s shoulder while she quietly ate a small roll that had been covered in butter. Her head was so full it felt empty.

"I want to go back to sleep again," she admitted when she was completely finished with her food.

Henry reached for her cheek and gently ran his thumb over the freckles that resided there.

"I’m not tired, but I will lie with you until I am," he responded.

When they made it back to the guest house, there was nothing passionate or romantic that night as they got into sleeping clothes and cuddled up to one another. Even when Irene woke up the following morning, she was slow to get up until Henry suggested they should eat again or go on a walk.

Halfway to the house, Commander Lothian rushed out. The very people he was meant to summon were already arriving.

"Arthur has..." Callum’s large hand wiped over his face. "He’s passed away."

Rather than collapsing, Irene rushed forward and into the house. She fell on the stairs as she went up, but was quick to right herself and pressed on.

Entering the room where her father was meant to have been sleeping, she found everyone.

But most striking to the knight was her mother on the floor next to where her father lay with a sheet over his whole body. The only part of him revealed was his hand that Rochelle pressed to her lips as she bitterly cried.

"My Arthur..." she sobbed.

Celia sat behind her, placing a hand on Rochelle’s back. Callum took his place next to Celia and could only solemnly stand there as he witnessed his partner comfort another widow through something she had experienced. Siverly was at the window, witnessing the scene with tears in his eyes. Arne was in a chair on the other side of his father, his head in his hands.

It was a sight Irene would remember forever as she fell onto her already sore knees next to her mother. Henry stood at the door, useless. Entirely useless.