Chapter 52: Wobblebean, the Chosen One
[Rynthall Estate—Duke’s Private Bedchambers, Late Morning Madness]
Lucien lay in bed.
Swaddled in silk robes, hair a tragic opera of tangles, eyes glazed like a pastry left out too long. His legs were stretched awkwardly, one arm tossed over his forehead like a fainting widow, and the other gripping the bedsheet with righteous fury.
At the foot of the bed, Fredrick, the duke’s personal physician, sat on a velvet stool—stone-faced, professional, and very clearly trying not to look at the suspicious bite mark peeking out from Lucien’s collar.
Fredrick gently withdrew the stethoscope and sighed like a man who had seen too much.
"Thankfully," he said calmly, "the child is safe and well. No harm done. Strong heartbeat. Miraculously untouched."
Lucien collapsed backward onto the pillows like a dying duchess. "Oh, thank the gods. I was sure Wobblebean was going to file a domestic complaint from inside the womb."
Silas, lounging nearby with his arms crossed and a smug smirk stitched across his ridiculously perfect face, chimed in helpfully. "I told you, my love. Everything is fine."
Lucien’s head turned so fast it might’ve cracked. He glared at Silas like he was mentally measuring the weight of a bedside lamp. "Fine? I couldn’t FEEL MY SPINE FOR SEVEN HOURS."
Fredrick cleared his throat—loudly. "Yes, well..." He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze reluctantly sliding over to Silas. "My lord, with all due respect, you’ve... um... left bruises on him like some sort of—well—mad dog in heat. Any mother would be worried."
Silas blinked, unapologetic. "I am a husband. A passionate one."