Chapter 286: The Weak Link
That day, Sandoz had pleaded with his father, voice trembling but eyes resolute, to let him spend the night at Lara’s estate. After a tense pause, Duke Connor—burdened by a mix of guilt and obligation—reluctantly gave his consent. Perhaps, he reasoned, it was a small recompense for the hardships his son had endured under the guise of "training." As always, Linnea accompanied her son, her presence non-negotiable. No other servants were allowed to follow.
On the return journey to the Norse manor, the carriage rolled gently through the dusky countryside. Inside, Lara sat across from Sandoz, her posture poised but her gaze thoughtful.
"Madam Linnea," she said softly, her words precise but not unkind, "I know how difficult it must be to live under the same roof as the duchess. You’ve done what you can to shield Sandoz, in your own quiet way. But if you don’t grow stronger—if you don’t learn to defend him with more than just silence—he will continue to suffer the moment his father turns his back."
Linnea flushed, her cheeks blooming with the sting of shame. Though Lara’s voice held no malice, the meaning was clear: her passivity was endangering her son.
Before Linnea could respond, Lara gently pulled back the sleeve of her dress. Linnea froze. A series of dark, purpling marks lined Lara’s upper arm—pinch marks, unmistakably cruel and deliberate.
Sandoz drew in a sharp breath.
With panic flaring in her eyes, Linnea hurriedly reached across to cover her arm, as if she could undo the moment. Her hand trembled. Then, as though something inside her snapped, she turned a glare toward Lara—reflexive, defensive, and full of raw emotion. But as quickly as it came, she caught herself, and her expression crumpled into guilt.
"I’m sorry," she whispered, eyes downcast.
At just seven years old, Sandoz was unusually perceptive. He watched the exchange in silence, a strange mix of rage and helplessness swelling in his chest. His mother looked healthier now than she had when he first returned—less gaunt, more alive. Her bones no longer jutted from beneath her skin, and when he hugged her now, it no longer felt like embracing a skeleton. Yet those bruises on her arm looked jarring.