Chapter 411: The Broken Leg

"Do not move!" Grayson commanded dramatically, his deep voice rising in sheer panic. "Morrison!"

"Grayson, do not call Soren!" Mailah cried out, her face burning with embarrassment as she clutched her throbbing leg. "It is eight o’clock at night! He is at his own home resting!"

"I do not care if he is sleeping across town!" Grayson declared frantically. He scrambled across the floor on his hands and knees, his hands hovering over her foot like he was handling a piece of thin glass. "Your physical integrity has been damaged! Your human bones are far too soft! I knew it! I knew we should have reinforced your skeleton with ancient magic!"

Before Mailah could stop him, Grayson whipped out his phone, pressed speed dial, and jammed it onto speakerphone.

Ring... ring... click.

"Grayson?" Dr. Soren Morrison’s tired, bewildered voice echoed loudly into the quiet bedroom. "Is there a medical emergency?"

Grayson pointed a trembling, dramatic finger at Mailah’s foot as if the doctor could see through the phone. "Her leg, Morrison! She moved it at an unnatural angle! Prepare the operating room! Charter a medical helicopter! Call a top orthopedic specialist if you must—human legs are built as fragile as bird wings!"

Silence stretched over the line for three full seconds.

Mailah covered her face with a silk pillow, groaning in total humiliation.

Dr. Soren Morrison let out a long, weary sigh over the speaker. "Grayson... did Mailah actually break a bone, or did she just pull a muscle because you were being dramatic?"

"You dare question my medical assessment?!" Grayson barked, sitting up straight on his knees with supreme, offended dignity. "I have lived for hundreds of years! I know when a bone is in peril!"

"Grayson, please," Mailah wheezed from under her pillow, her voice muffled. "Soren, I just turned my foot the wrong way. Please go back to your dinner."

Grayson froze.

The frantic panic vanished from his handsome face in a single second. He slowly turned his head to look at Mailah. His sharp eyebrows lifted, and a slow, dangerously arrogant smirk began to curve his lips.

"You... twisted your leg out of pure, uncontrollable desire for me?" Grayson murmured, his deep voice dropping into a smooth, velvety purr.

Over the phone, Dr. Soren Morrison cleared his throat loudly. "If my presence on this phone call is no longer required for an actual emergency, I shall return to my evening. Goodnight, Grayson. Goodnight, Mailah. Please try not to injure any more limbs during your.....activities."

Click.

Mailah buried her face back in her pillow, groaning softly. "I am never looking Soren in the eye again. Ever."

Grayson chuckled—a low, deep sound that vibrated straight through the mattress. He crawled back onto the bed with smooth, elegant grace, moving as silently as a cat.

"There is no need to feel shame, my love," Grayson said smoothly, reaching out to gently pull the pillow away from her face. "It is entirely natural for a human woman to lose her composure in the presence of my overwhelming charm."

"You are insufferable," Mailah laughed, poking his hard chest. "Absolute worst."

"I am your husband," Grayson corrected haughtily, sitting up beside her.

His playful tone softened as he looked down at her foot. His large, warm hands reached out, gently lifting her ankle with incredible care. He closed his eyes, and a soft, soothing warmth radiated from his palms straight into her skin.

Mailah let out a soft sigh of relief as the throbbing pain dissolved into a gentle, relaxing numbness.

As the heat spread through her leg, Mailah suddenly stilled. She looked down at his large hands resting on her skin. Grayson’s magic used to be so hot it almost burned, like a fiery furnace whenever he used his power. But right now, it was soft, steady, and gentle. It was just warm—so remarkably like Ethan’s touch used to feel.

"Grayson?" Mailah asked softly, looking up into his sharp face.

He opened one dark eye. "Does it hurt, my queen?"

"No, not at all," she whispered, watching him closely. "It feels wonderful. But... it used to be so hot. Now it is just warm, just like Ethan’s touch. What did you do to learn how to control your warmth like this?"

Grayson paused. He adjusted his posture, holding his chin high to look completely calm and regal, though a faint pink dust touched his cheekbones.

"I am a creature of ancient dark magic, Mailah," Grayson declared haughtily. "I spent several hours practicing precise energy control while you were resting. It was a minor adjustment for someone of my supreme intellect."

Mailah smiled softly, her heart melting. She knew how much focus it took for a demon prince to tame his fiery nature, all just to keep her safe and comfortable.

"Better?" Grayson asked quietly, opening both dark eyes to look at her.

"Much better," Mailah whispered, resting her head against his knee. "Thank you, Grayson."

Grayson looked down at her, his expression turning deeply tender. He gently placed her foot onto a plush velvet cushion, then pulled the soft duvet up over her shoulders.

He leaned down, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss against her forehead.

"Sleep now, Mailah," Grayson whispered into her hair. "Tomorrow, I shall ensure your world is completely safe."

At seven o’clock the next morning, the estate was bustling with quiet, intense activity.

Mailah woke up to the soft smell of fresh coffee, cinnamon, and warm toasted bread. She blinked her eyes open, stretching her arms above her head, feeling surprisingly well-rested. Her ankle felt much better, though it was still a bit stiff.

She sat up on the bed and immediately stopped.

Sitting beside the bed was a shiny, brand-new, ultra-luxury wheelchair made of dark polished wood and soft black leather. It looked less like a medical device and more like a throne built for a royal ruler.

Attached to the handle was a small white card written in Grayson’s neat, sharp handwriting:

ROYAL TRANSPORT VEHICLE #1 Walking is strictly banned for the next seventy-two hours. Any attempt to use crutches will result in immediate confiscation of your footwear. — G.

Mailah shook her head in utter disbelief, a bright smile spreading across her face. "He is completely ridiculous."

Right on cue, the bedroom door opened.

Grayson walked in carrying a massive silver tray. He was wearing black trousers, a fitted grey turtleneck, and—of course—his bright yellow duck apron. He moved with the majestic grace of a king carrying a royal crown, holding his chin high.

"Good morning, my queen," Grayson announced smoothly. "I have prepared breakfast. It features organic eggs, whole grain toast, and fresh blueberry juice."

He set the tray down on the small table near the window, then turned to look at her with sharp, watchful eyes.

"How is the leg?" Grayson demanded, placing his hands on his hips. "State your pain level on a scale from one to ten. Do not lie to me, Mailah. I can read your facial expressions."

"It is a solid one, Grayson," Mailah smiled, holding her hands out. "I can walk just fine."

"Nonsense!" Grayson barked haughtily, striding over to the bed in two long steps. "You shall not take a single step today! I have designed a complete physical protection program."

Before she could argue, Grayson scooped her up into his broad arms as effortlessly as if she were a soft feather. Mailah laughed, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck, smelling the crisp scent of rain and cedar that always clung to his skin.

He carried her over to the window and placed her gently into the black leather wheelchair, adjusting her soft robe around her legs with extreme care.

"Grayson, I don’t need a wheelchair," Mailah teased gently, looking up at his sharp profile. "I have crutches!"

"Crutches are an unstable tool," Grayson stated flatly, sitting down on the small chair across from her and picking up a fork. "They rely on human balance. Human balance is deeply flawed. This chair possesses four wheels and dark leather padding. It is superior in every way."

He picked up a piece of toast and held it out toward her mouth.

Mailah looked at the toast, then at her husband’s serious, handsome face. "Grayson, my hands work!"

"Your hands require rest after the trauma of last night," Grayson declared without blinking. "Open your mouth, Mailah. Do not delay your morning nutrients."

Mailah rolled her eyes playfully, but she couldn’t fight the sweet warmth blooming in her chest. She ate the toast from his hand, watching how his dark eyes softened every time she took a bite.

He fed her breakfast with the focus of a man completing an important military mission. Every bite was carefully timed, every sip of juice measured to perfection.

Just as Mailah finished her last sip of blueberry juice, the sleek black tablet on the bedside table chimed with a low, quiet ring.

Grayson picked it up with a single fluid movement, tapping the screen to accept the secure call. Silas’s sharp, professional face appeared on the display, sitting in the back of his dark town car outside the estate gates.

"Good morning, My Lord," Silas greeted smoothly, adjusting his glasses. "Good morning, Mrs. Ashford. I trust your leg is feeling better today?"

"Much better, thank you Silas," Mailah called out with a bright smile, leaning toward the tablet. "And I am so sorry if Grayson harassed you over the phone last night—"

"Do not apologize for my dramatic behavior," Grayson interrupted smoothly, wiping Mailah’s chin with a soft napkin while holding the tablet aloft. "Silas is paid very well to handle my corporate affairs. State your status report, Silas."

Silas cleared his throat, tapping his own screen. "The international supply delivery for Project Winter Sun was completed at three o’clock this morning, My Lord. The Italian quarry director personally flew with the cargo."

Grayson gave a single, satisfied nod. "Good. Tell the installation crew to finish the work quietly. My wife is resting."

Mailah tilted her head, her dark eyes narrowing with curiosity. "Project Winter Sun? Italian quarry? Grayson, what are you buying now?"

Grayson’s hand paused over the napkin. He adjusted his sweater cuffs with supreme, aristocratic calm, holding his head high.

"It is merely a minor corporate investment," Grayson lied smoothly, looking out the window with an innocent expression. "A matter of business. You need not concern yourself with high-level financial logistics."

"Grayson," Mailah said suspiciously. "Are you hiding something from me?"

"I never hide things," Grayson declared haughtily. "I simply manage information with great wisdom. Now, drink your water."

Before Mailah could question him further, Silas’s voice spoke from the tablet speaker, his tone turning slightly uncomfortable.

"My Lord," Silas reported low. "I am currently parked outside the front gates, and your ten o’clock appointment has just pulled up behind my car."

Grayson’s dark eyes narrowed into cold, dangerous slits. The gentle, devoted husband vanished instantly, replaced by a brooding dark lord on high alert.

"The woodland creature?" Grayson asked, his deep voice dropping into an icy whisper.

"Yes, My Lord," Silas confirmed over the speaker. "Dr. Soren Morrison is here with the therapist for Mrs. Ashford’s morning physical therapy session."