Chapter 478 --478
Heena collapsed, sinking heavily onto the cold marble floor of the dining hall.
Samuel didn’t hesitate for a single second. The stinging, bright red handprint on his cheek meant absolutely nothing to him. He threw himself onto his knees right beside her, his hands frantically hovering over her trembling frame.
"Wife?! Are you okay?!" Samuel’s voice cracked with raw, undisguised panic. He didn’t care that the most powerful warlords in the empire were watching them. He reached out, his hands shaking as he gently tried to support her shoulders. "What is wrong? Seera? Seera, look at me!"
Heena looked up at him. She saw his trembling hands. She saw the sheer, naked desperation in his dark eyes—a desperation that went far beyond normal worry.
And suddenly, a single, hot tear slipped from her eye, tracing a path down her pale cheek.
’He knows.’
The epiphany struck her with the force of a physical blow. Samuel was far too intelligent. Between her sudden two-day coma, the agonizing "headache," and her physical frailty... he had figured it out. He might not know the exact medical terminology of a tumor, but he knew her life was slipping through his fingers.
’That’ was why he had suddenly become so fiercely, unapologetically fixated on their marriage. That was why he had bypassed her entirely to register their names in the Imperial texts and win over her grandparents. He wasn’t just trying to secure a political position—he was desperately trying to anchor her to the world. He was trying to bind her to him, hoping that if she had a real family, a real husband, and a real wedding, she wouldn’t dare leave him behind.
It was the most foolish, heartbreakingly devoted strategy she had ever seen.
Heena closed her eyes, forcing her breathing to steady. She gathered every last ounce of her fading strength and slowly raised her trembling arms.
With a heartbreaking finality, she firmly pushed his hands away.
Samuel froze, his hands falling to his sides as he looked at her with an expression of pure devastation.
Using the edge of the heavy wooden table, Heena slowly dragged herself back to her feet. She refused to look at him. She straightened her spine, forcing her face back into a mask of perfectly cold, untouchable indifference.
She turned her gaze to her completely stunned grandparents, and then let her eyes drift back to Samuel, still kneeling on the floor.
"Do whatever you want," Heena whispered, her voice chillingly hollow. "But do not regret it later."
Without waiting for a single response, she turned on her heel and walked out of the grand hall, leaving them in absolute, suffocating silence.
The heavy oak doors clicked shut, leaving the grand dining hall in a tense, ringing silence.
The grandmother leaned back in her ornate chair, watching the empty doorway with a faint, complex smile. She let out a long, fond sigh. "This girl... what in the heavens should I do with her?"
Samuel remained perfectly still for a moment, his dark eyes fixed on the spot where Heena had just been standing. The stinging red handprint on his cheek was still stark against his pale skin, but his expression was entirely soft.
He slowly turned his attention back to the matriarch, a gentle smile touching his lips. "She must be exhausted. Let her rest."
The grandmother narrowed her eyes, leveling him with a sharp, piercing glare that had made Imperial ministers weep.
"Listen to me carefully, boy," the grandmother warned, her voice dropping into a dangerously calm register. "I may be angry at my granddaughter’s stubbornness right now, but do not mistake that for me taking your side. I am letting her marry you because you seem like a genuinely good man who can anchor her. But you remember this forever, Mr. Samuel—whatever your actual surname used to be—if you dare to mistreat her even a fraction of an inch, I will personally chop you up with my own two hands."
She took a slow, elegant sip of her tea.
"So," she continued, setting the porcelain cup down with a sharp ’clink’. "You just be a good little husband. Stay in the house, manage the inner affairs, and support her. The Marcuset family does not need some arrogant, strong-willed man with a toxic ego standing behind my granddaughter."
Samuel didn’t look offended in the slightest. In fact, his smile deepened. He gracefully lifted his own teacup, taking a sip before meeting the terrifying woman’s gaze with absolute, unshakeable confidence.
"You do not have to worry, Grandmother," Samuel said smoothly. "Except for your granddaughter, there is absolutely no one in this world who could ever make me fall so deeply. As for being her good husband? I am, and I always will be."
He gently set his cup down and smoothed the front of his magenta robes. "I can also assure you of one more thing: no matter how fiercely you love her... I love her even more."
With that flawless declaration, Samuel stood up, offered a perfect, aristocratic bow to both elders, and turned toward the door. "If you will excuse me, I need to go into the city. I have some gifts to buy for my wife."
The grandmother simply shooed him away with a wave of her hand. The moment Samuel crossed the threshold, the heavy doors sealed shut behind him.
.
.
At the head of the table, the old Marquis was entirely silent. He had completely stopped eating, his head bowed slightly over his bowl as he cautiously darted nervous glances at his wife.
The grandmother caught him staring. "If you want to say something, old man, just say it," she snapped. "Why are you looking at me like a kicked dog? You are making me anxious."
The grandfather cleared his throat, setting his chopsticks down carefully. "Do you not think... we should give our granddaughter a little more time? Rushing this marriage when she is so clearly opposed to it..."
"How much more time does she need?" the grandmother cut in sharply, her tone laced with genuine, heartbreaking worry. "Did you not see her condition just now? She collapsed on the floor! Do you honestly think the daughters of our family fall down so easily?"
The grandfather paused, his broad shoulders slumping slightly as he remained silent.
"She is taking far too much load onto her own shoulders," the grandmother sighed, rubbing her temples. "Think about it. Who can mentally handle the realization that their own flesh and blood—their biological mother—actively plotted to murder them? If we do not step in and give her an ironclad foundation of support right now, she might completely collapse. Or worse, she will go entirely dark."
The grandmother glared at her husband, crossing her arms.
"What is the alternative?" she demanded mockingly. "Do you want your precious granddaughter to become a mindless, bloodthirsty killer on the battlefield like you? Oh, wait! I forgot. There are no active wars right now because you already butchered everyone on the borders! So where should I send her to burn off her trauma? Should I send her to the capital’s brothels to become a completely useless, drunken degenerate like you used to be?!"