Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 266 - Two Hundred And Sixty Five

The room remained heavy with silence after Marissa came back. Derek sat on the edge of the bed, his head hanging low. He had managed to pull on a pair of loose trousers, but his chest remained bare, exposing the map of violence written on his skin. Each breath he took was shallow, a cautious movement to avoid the stabbing pain in his ribs and back.

Marissa stood by the window, her eyes fixed on the door, her own palm stinged. She was terrified, but she forced her expression to remain calm. She had to be the anchor for both of them.

A soft, hurried knock broke the silence.

"Come in," Marissa said, her voice steady.

The door pushed open, and Lily entered. She was carrying a large laundry basket piled high with the supplies Marissa had requested. In her other hand, she carried a can of water. The young maid kept her eyes down, focused on her feet to ensure she didn’t trip over the heavy load. She walked straight to the wooden table near the hearth.

"I have everything, Your Grace," Lily murmured, her voice breathless from the rush.

She began to lift items out of the basket and arrange them neatly, pouring the water into the large bowl. "The warm water, the silk thread, the bandages... I even found the extra jar of marigold salve you like."

Lily worked quickly, her hands moving in a practiced rhythm. She still hadn’t looked up to see who else was in the room. She thought she was simply preparing to treat her mistress’s reopened wound.

"Are you feeling better now, Your Grace?" Lily asked, finally straightening her back. "All these things you requested are quite a lot for one person. I was worried that—"

Lily’s voice died in her throat. Her gaze had finally drifted toward the bed.

The color drained from her face instantly. Her mouth fell open, and her eyes grew wide with a primal, bone-chilling terror. There, sitting in the flickering candlelight, was a man she had mourned. A man the whole kingdom believed was rotting in the earth.

"Ghost," she whispered, her voice barely a squeak.

Her knees buckled, and she began to draw in a deep breath—the kind of breath that precedes a scream loud enough to wake the entire manor.

Marissa moved with lightning speed. She rushed across the room and clamped her hand firmly over Lily’s mouth before the sound could escape.

"Don’t," Marissa hissed, her eyes locking onto Lily’s. "Lily, look at me. It’s okay. Stay calm."

Lily’s eyes were darting back and forth between Marissa and the figure on the bed. Her body was shaking so violently that her teeth chattered against Marissa’s palm. She looked like she might faint at any moment.

"It’s okay, Lily," Marissa repeated, her voice softening into a soothing tone. "He is real. He is not a ghost. Feel the heat in this room. Ghosts aren’t warm. He is alive, but he is very badly hurt."

Marissa slowly lowered her hand, watching Lily’s face closely. The maid’s chest was heaving, but she didn’t scream. She just stared at Derek, who was watching her with a look of tired apology.

"Your... Your Grace?" Lily stammered.

As Marissa stepped away to the table to begin the final preparations for the stitching, Lily did something unexpected.

She sank to her knees on the floor in front of Derek. She looked up at him, her face a mask of shock and reverence.

"Forgive me, Your Grace," she stammered, her words tripping over each other. "I... I thought... you were... sorry. Forgive me for staring. I just... we all thought..."

Derek looked down at the young girl. Despite his immense pain, he managed a small, weak nod. He didn’t have the energy for a long explanation, and his voice was a mere rasp.

"It’s okay, Lily," Derek replied softly. " I apologize for scaring you."

Marissa watched the exchange from the table. She saw the way Lily’s hands trembled as she gripped her skirts. The girl was clearly overwhelmed, and having her in the room might make the next few hours more difficult.

Marissa needed absolute focus.

"Lily," She said, calling the maid’s attention back. "You have done a wonderful job. But I need you to do one more thing for me."

Lily scrambled to her feet, still looking shaken. "Anything, Your Grace."

"You may go now," Marissa told her. "Go to your room and have a good night’s sleep. But you must promise me one thing: don’t let anyone know what you saw here. Not the other servants, not even Mrs. Alma. This must remain our secret for now. Do you understand?"

Lily nodded her head so fast her hair came loose from her cap. "I understand, Your Grace. My lips are sealed. I won’t say a word. Not a single word."

She gave one last, lingering look at Derek—as if to convince herself he wouldn’t vanish into smoke—and then hurried out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

The room was quiet once again, save for the crackle of the fire and the sound of Derek’s labored breathing. Marissa turned her full attention to the table. The seriousness of the situation weighed heavily on her. She wasn’t just a wife anymore; she was a healer.

She picked up the silver scissors and a long, thin needle. She held them over the flame of a tall candle, watching the metal turn black and then glow a faint orange as the heat sterilized the tools. Her movements were precise, though her heart was still thumping hard against her ribs.

She took the silk thread and, with a steady hand, passed it through the eye of the needle. She set it down on a clean cloth.

I can do this, she told herself. I have to do this.

She moved to the basin of warm water, divided them into two empty bowls and thoroughly washed her hands in the first one. The water felt hot against her skin, helping to calm her nerves. Once she was clean, she took a fresh cloth and soaked it in the second bowl of water, adding a few drops of the healing herbs she had gathered.

She walked over to the bed and stood between Derek’s legs. She could see the pulse jumping in his neck. He was in so much pain, yet he sat there like a statue, waiting for her.

"I need to clean the surface first," she whispered.

She leaned in close. The smell of the war was still on him—metal, sweat, and old blood. Very gently, she began to dab away the dried blood and grime from the edges of the arrow wound on his chest.

Derek flinched, his muscles jumping under her touch, but he didn’t pull away. He gripped the edge of the mattress so hard his knuckles turned white.

"I’m sorry," she murmured, her eyes fixed on the task. "I know it hurts."

Once the skin was as clean as she could make it, she picked up the threaded needle. The moonlight caught the silk, making it shimmer.

She looked into Derek’s eyes one last time before she started. He looked back at her with total trust. It was that trust that gave her the strength to continue.

Marissa took a deep breath, positioned the needle at the edge of the torn flesh, and began the first stitch.