His Majesty’s Devious Sins - Chapter 243

Once Lydia was too exhausted to leave a finger, her body covered with marks, a slight bite mark on her shoulder, Weston finally allowed her to rest. He had drawn a bath for her, helped her clean up, and brought her to a new bedroom where the sheets were fresh. Tomorrow, he’d have their master bedroom cleaned up for her.

“Hng… where are you going?” Lydia tiredly mumbled, rolling in bed to see he was walking outside.

Weston didn’t respond and returned a moment later with a glass of orange juice and a pill. He put everything on the nightstand, helped her sit up, and c.a.r.e.s.sed the back of her hair.

Wherever he touched, her skin grew warm with yearning. Remembering what his fingers had done to her, Lydia suppressed a deep blush. A century of not doing anything, and he was still skillful.

“I hear the sooner you take the morning-after pill, the better,” Weston curtly said, placing the pill into her hand. “Although it’s called the morning-after pill, it’s actually best to take it the night you do it.”

Lydia paused. She wrapped her fingers around the pills, knowing they didn’t use protection this time.

“I’ve prepared orange juice, in case the pill is bitter,” Weston explained, wondering why she was just staring at her enclosed palm.

Lydia had initially started birth control the year they began dating, but stopped when she got symptoms, and was too lazy to try out different prescriptions until one finally worked for her. They’ve always relied on c.o.n.d.o.ms, but rarely morning-after pills, since taking more than two a year could render a woman infertile.

“It wouldn’t hurt to try for a kid,” Lydia suddenly said, catching Weston by surprise. He glanced at her n.a.k.e.d shoulders and c.h.e.s.t, the rest covered by his comforters. Was she tired and speaking nonsense?

“You told me weeks before the wedding about what’s inside of Dorothy’s book about Golden Roses and I’ve been thinking…” Lydia trailed off, placing the pill back onto the nightstand before her palm heat melted it.

Weston paused. He took her in his arms and hugged her to his side. “It’ll be dangerous, for we don’t know how the factor of a Golden Rose will play out at birth. You’ve seen what it has done to our Queen.”

Lydia stiffened. She remembered seeing Adeline fatigued shortly after the vows were exchanged.

The Queen was nowhere seen on the dance floor, and Lydia knew, deep down, Adeline would never be able to dance with Elias again. It was why Lydia didn’t play Adeline’s wedding song. It’d only bring Adeline pain.

“I can’t risk you going through the same pain,” Weston said, his large hand stroking the side of her face, smooth and eager for his touch. “Let’s not rush anything—”

“In the book Dorothy had translated that a Golden Rose must die in order for another to be born,” Lydia muttered. “If I am to die at childbirth, then wait for my reincarnation and come find me.”

“Don’t tell me you’re as suicidal as the Queen,” Weston growled, grabbing her hand. “The Queen had no choice but to keep her child, for she was already with it, and too kind-hearted to kill the heirs.”

Weston tightened his grip. “But you, my fireball, are not with child and not forced to make a decision to keep the child.”

Weston gritted his teeth and looked at her. “What would be wrong with adopting? I am traditional, but not enough to want to sire heirs at the cost of my wife. House Fitzcharles can die with me for all I care if you’ll stay by my side.”

Lydia had a frightening realization that this man was obsessed with her more than she thought. She peered up at him, at the storm in his eyes, and the heat in the room. His anger was hot and cruel, unlike his cold touch and kind gestures. She opened and closed her mouth, realizing it would be foolish.

“If I die and our love was meant to be, you’d find me even after I reincarnate?” Lydia suddenly asked, even though death was far, far away, but she was suddenly insecure that the details of the book could be inaccurate.

Weston’s gaze softened, only a bit. “It seems you know you could die at childbirth as well, so you’re speaking of reincarnations. Of course, I will search for you and claim you as mine again.”

Lydia softly smiled. He was a Pure-Blood, and she had been worried he’d stop loving her eventually. She thought a child sired between them could keep him with her forever. Just now, she realized, he was smitten by her.

Lydia took the pill and grabbed the orange juice. Somehow, she was beginning to dislike orange juice. Weston had her drink it with the pill, as if her favorite drink could mask the taste of the bitter medicine.

“Let us spend eternity together, and if that can’t happen, then I’d give all of my energy, time, and effort to seek for your reincarnation, my little fireball,” Weston promised, carefully watching her stare into the orange juice.

“You better, or I’m going to haunt you,” Lydia said, earning a laugh from him.

Lydia placed the pill into her mouth and swallowed it down with the orange juice, feeling as if she had given up something precious.

Lydia laid in Weston’s arms, watching the black sky turn a light hue of grey, then a dusky blue. She leaned against his c.h.e.s.t and stared at the horizon. They had done it all night, didn’t they?

“Where should we adopt?” Lydia finally asked, her back against his c.h.e.s.t as her attention wandered over the soft marshmallow clouds that reminded her of a baby’s cheek, now that they were on the subject of kids.

“Perhaps someone that resonances within us,” Lydia remarked. “I hear during adoptions, sometimes you’ll immediately know which child is yours.”

Weston’s lips tilted into a softened smile. “As if you were finding that missing hole in your c.h.e.s.t.” He tightened his arms around her even more, and finally, she looked up at him.

“Yes, I like to think I’d be able to know,” Lydia stated, rubbing her c.h.e.s.t that suddenly ached.

“I love you, my little fireball,” Weston suddenly said, pressing his lips to the top of her head, his grip endearing, her hands sliding to rest on top of his.

Lydia smiled. “I love you as well, my crazy bookworm.”

Weston laughed and she followed after him, until the somber room finally lightened, not from the sunlight, but from their synchronous heartbeats.

They knew, the more he watered her with love, the more the Golden Rose would flourish in the hands of its lover, until eternity didn’t seem like an impossible dream anymore.

Even when their bones withered away, and they’d never grow wrinkles, they’d appear forever young in each other’s eyes. These two were bound to spend the rest of their lives together, and nothing could change that.

The End: Of Weston & Lydia’s Side Stories.