31. A Brief Respite
D orian drifted between waking and sleep, caught in that hazy space where dreams blurred into reality. The fever had wrung him dry, hollowed him out, left his body weak and aching. But for the first time in what felt like eternity, the crushing heat was gone. The air was light. He could breathe.
And Selene was there.
Warmth curled against his side, her body tucked close to his. He barely had the strength to lift his head, but he didn’t need to. He just watched her—the steady rise and fall of her breathing, the way a pale strand of hair had fallen across her cheek.
Through the fever and the dreams and the pain had been her. Her warmth, her softness, her words. It was hard to separate real from imaginary, but he was almost certain of some of the things she said. They were branded onto his bones .
I want to be your wife, she had told him. Truly and completely. I want to share my bed and my life with you. I want to grow old beside you… So if your heart is too weak to bear this all alone, take mine. It’s only ever been yours.
His heart smiled in recollection.
Selene stirred, a slow, reluctant shift as she blinked herself awake. Dorian said nothing, only watched as her gaze sharpened, as she realised where she was.
Her breath hitched.
“Dorian,” she breathed, his name like something fragile, something desperate.
His lips quirked, the closest thing to a smile he could manage. “Good morning.” His voice was rough, hoarse from disuse, but real.
Selene trembled. She lifted a hand, hesitating—like she thought he might vanish if she touched him. But when she finally did, when her fingertips ghosted over his cheek, he leaned into her touch.
Tears welled in her eyes. She let out a breathless laugh, something broken at the edges. “You—” Her voice failed her, so she tried again. “You absolute bastard.”
Dorian huffed a quiet laugh, though the movement sent a dull ache through his chest. “I take it… I worried you?”
Selene exhaled sharply and buried her face in the sheets beside him. “I hate you,” she whispered, voice muffled but thick with emotion.
He let his eyes fall shut for a moment, exhaustion pulling at him, but he smiled anyway. “No, you don’t.”
“No, I don’t,” she admitted, already shifting, propping herself up.
His hand found her hair, fingers threading through the strands. “You stayed,” he murmured.
Selene let out a soft, trembling breath. “Of course I did.”
His chest ached at that. Not with pain, but with something deeper. Something he didn’t have the words for. He would have stayed for her, of course, but that was different.
Unless, of course, it wasn’t. Unless it was exactly the same.
She lifted a hand towards his hair, brushing it over his shoulder. It was the first time he recalled it being down in her presence. He usually fell asleep with it in, too tired to deal with it. “I like your hair,” she told him.
He liked the feeling of her hands on him, liked all of her, loved all of her. He’d love her until he died, and wondered if, when they finally placed him in the ground, his bones would ache for hers to join them.
“I like…” she continued, but then her voice fell short.
He memorised the way her eyes searched his, the way her lips parted like she wanted to say something but couldn’t.
He reached for her, just slightly. Just enough that she met him halfway, pressing her lips softly to his.
She was hesitant at first, like she didn’t fully believe this moment was real.
But when she deepened the kiss, when her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, Dorian exhaled against her, sinking into the feeling like it was the first real thing he had touched in days.
She pulled away just enough to whisper, “You scared me.”
His forehead rested against hers, his breath warm between them. “I know.”
Her fingers tightened in his shirt. “Don’t do it again.”
Dorian let out a breath—half a laugh, half something else. “I’ll try.”
Soren woke with a jolt on the settee by the window. Dorian barely had time to register the sound of it, barely had time to brace before a force slammed into him.
The impact had Selene half-wincing, but Soren didn’t seem to care.
“You fucking idiot,” Soren choked out, his hands gripping Dorian’s shoulders in a way that was half a shake, half something far more desperate. “You absolute, stubborn bastard, you nearly died.”
Dorian wheezed. “Good morning to you too.”
Soren ignored him, pressing his forehead against Dorian’s. “Don’t do that again,” he muttered .
“You too?” Dorian said, voice dry.
Selene pushed herself up from the bed. “I’ll let the others know.”
Dorian wanted to pull her back, to simply yell or to ask Soren to go instead, but he found his voice ill-suited for yelling at present, and Selene had already slipped out of the door.
Aunt Elizabeth arrived within moments, shuffling in from the shared receiving room where she must have been sleeping.
She took one look at Dorian—pale, exhausted, but awake—and let out a slow breath.
She stepped closer, smoothing a hand over his sweat-damp hair before settling into the chair beside the bed.
“Glad to see you’re back with us, boy. I don’t think Selene would have taken to widowhood quite as well as I have.”
Dorian swallowed, his throat still raw. He wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that.
Soren had finally relinquished his death grip on Dorian’s shoulders, though he stayed close, his sharp eyes flickering over him like he expected him to keel over any second. Dorian sighed.
Then the door burst open again, and Ariella stormed in, Rookwood trailing behind her, tucking in his shirt.
“Oh, thank the gods, ” she gasped, crossing the room in an instant.
She threw herself at him, hands everywhere—checking his forehead, pressing against his pulse, lifting the blanket like she was about to inspect the rest of him for damage.
“Ariella—”
“I don’t even want to think about how close it was.” She turned her head sharply, eyes narrowing. “And you, Soren! Be gentle with him! Gods. ”
Soren raised his hands. “I panicked.”
Dorian winced as Ariella prodded at his ribs. “Stop fussing.”
“Of course I’m fussing! You almost died! ”
“Ariella,” he said as gently as he could manage, reaching up to still her hands. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” she argued, her voice cracking at the edges.
Dorian softened. “But I’m here.”
Ariella exhaled sharply, her fingers curling in the blanket. “Yes. You are. ”
A beat of silence stretched between them before Rookwood cleared his throat from the doorway. “Glad you’re awake,” he said simply. “I’m making breakfast.”
Ariella turned on him. “You—”
He was already gone.
Selene still hadn’t come back.
Dorian glanced toward the door, expecting her to return any moment, but the minutes stretched on, and she didn’t.
Something curled in his chest.
“Where’s Selene?” he asked after a beat.
“Oh, give her a moment, Dorian!” Ariella snapped. “The poor girl has barely slept or eaten or washed in days—”
All that was certainly true, but she could rest beside him. Eat with him. The bathing thing probably wasn’t entirely appropriate with his audience and his current state but—
“Could you just check where she is?”
Ariella tutted, but Soren slunk off to find her. Elizabeth and Ariella continued to fuss over him and snip at each other.
A short while later, Rookwood returned with the breakfast tray.
Dorian ate in slow, careful bites, his stomach still uneasy. He kept his ears trained on the hallway, listening for Selene’s footsteps, waiting for the door to creak open, for her to finally return. But the longer he waited, the less he could shake the unease pressing into his ribs.
Soren should have been back by now.
Dorian frowned, setting his fork down. “How long does it take to find one woman in a house this size?”
Ariella waved a hand. “I’ll go and search too, since it’s causing you so much distress,” she muttered, in such a way that he knew that she thought he was causing a lot of fuss over nothing.
Maybe he was. But something about it felt… wrong.
“Patience, boy,” Rookwood said, patting him on the leg.
But Dorian felt he had been patient for decades and he really wanted to enjoy any period of time he had with Selene when they could actually be together. Particularly if she felt about him the way he felt about her .
“I can’t help it,” he said. “I just… I really like my wife.”
“No, you don’t,” said Rookwood knowingly. “You love her. There’s quite the difference, I assure you.”
Dorian smiled. “You should tell Ariella how you feel about her.”
“You have my support,” said Aunt Elizabeth, before he could object. “I’m getting grandchildren from one of you!”
“You’re both terrible,” Rookwood said. “And I hate you both dearly. Especially you, Dorian. I may never forgive you for the past few days.”
“Rookwood?” Ariella called him from the door. Dorian craned his neck, trying to get a better view of her. He didn’t like how her voice sounded.
She didn’t step inside. Soren stood beside her, looking equally solemn.
Dorian sat straighter. “Where is she?”
Soren didn’t answer right away. Something about the way he looked made the hairs on Dorian’s arms rise. He turned sharply toward Aunt Elizabeth, who was already narrowing her eyes.
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
Soren sighed through his nose. “We’re having some trouble locating Selene.”
The words shouldn’t have made Dorian’s blood turn cold—after all, it was a big house. She could be anywhere. But why would she be hiding somewhere now, of all times?
The simple answer was that she wouldn’t.
Dorian shoved the tray off his lap, pushing the blankets aside.
“Dorian—” Soren said.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
Ariella grabbed his shoulder as he tried to swing his legs off the bed. “You’re not in any state to—”
Dorian shook her off. “Then tell me where my wife is!”
“Lie down,” Soren said, voice sharp.
Dorian ignored him, trying to stand—only for his knees to buckle beneath him.
Soren caught him before he could collapse.
“If you don’t lie down , ” Soren said tightly, “I will sedate you. ”
Ariella straightened behind him. “We’re out of sedatives.”
Soren exhaled sharply through his nose.
Dorian seized the moment. “Then you’ll have to tell me.”
Soren’s jaw flexed. Then, finally, reluctantly, he said, “There are signs she was in the garden. And that there were other people with her, too. A… a group of people. There’s a lot of footprints.”
The words barely landed before Dorian understood.
His stomach turned.
The Duke.
It had always been the Duke. He knew it was the Duke who poisoned him, he just hadn’t realised what the Duke’s next move would be after he was dead. He’d quite forgotten why the Duke needed Dorian dead in the first place.
Because he needed Selene.
Dorian’s fingers curled into fists.
The bastard had taken her.