Chapter 181

While he lay unconscious, he became aware of a woman beside him, her hand gently caressing his face. An overwhelming sense of peace settled over him, so profound that he accepted it without question.

He could have sworn he saw his mother, looking exactly as he remembered her.

He had thought he was dying, and that death had finally granted him what he had longed for all these years: a chance to see the one person whose absence had left an irreplaceable void in his life.

Now the dream was gone, leaving him with the familiar ache of her absence.

Yet Octavia’s presence did not feel unwelcome. She was not the person he had hoped to see, but she was someone who cared for him, someone who had remained by his bedside while he lay helpless.

“Auntie?” His voice emerged as little more than a weak croak.

Octavia’s face was washed with relief. She reached for his hand and held it between both of hers.

“Oh, Simon. You gave me such a fright. I thought I was going to lose you.”

He closed his eyes again, overwhelmed by the barrage of sensations. Even that small movement seemed to worsen the ache in his head.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, reopening his eyes again to stare into her wide eyes.

“You needn’t apologise to me.” Her voice trembled despite all her efforts to seem put together. “But you must never put yourself through this again. Do you understand how frightened I was when I found you?”

Simon could not remember everything that had happened before he lost consciousness, but he knew enough to understand the state in which she must have found him.

He had wanted to be left alone. He had wanted the noise in his head to stop, the memories to loosen their hold. Drinking had seemed easier than confronting any of it. He had continued until his body could no longer handle it and now Octavia had been forced to witness the consequences of his actions.

“You shouldn’t have seen me like that,” he said, racked with guilt and shame.

She tightened her hold on his hand. “Simon—”

He turned his face away, avoiding her gaze. “It pains me that you had to find me in such a state.”

How would he face her after this?

He would rather have endured one of her stern reprimands than sit before her in this condition, stripped of his pride and dignity.

Roland no doubt brought her here.

Simon would see that the man got an earful for his meddling but for now, he would focus on getting better.

Octavia leaned even closer.

“You have been through so much, Simon. More than I can ever pretend to understand. But you do not have to keep hurting yourself.” She said gently. “I cannot change what happened to you. I cannot bring back the people you have lost or take away the pain. I wish I could. But you do not have to keep living like this. Let me help you. Please.”

Her words hung in the air between them, kind and sincere.

Simon wanted to believe her. A part of him, buried beneath years of resentment and distrust, longed to accept the comfort she offered. Yet accepting it would mean admitting how desperately he needed it.

He had no strength left to argue with her, but neither could he bring himself to answer.

Seeing that another response from him was forthcoming, she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “That is enough for now. You need rest. We can speak more when you are stronger.”

Simon nodded faintly.

For a while, neither spoke. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, and the lamp cast a warm pool of light over the bed. Simon’s eyes drifted towards the ceiling, though his attention was somewhere else entirely.

Then Octavia noticed the change in his face. The look in his eyes had grown distant, his fingers curling into the bedclothes.

“Simon?”

He looked at her reluctantly.

“You called out for your mother while you were unconscious.”

His fingers stilled.

Octavia had not meant to raise the subject so soon, but she could not forget the brief peace that had softened his features as he reached for someone who was not there. The sight had broken her heart.

“Were you dreaming of her?”

Simon looked down at their joined hands and he swallowed.

Octavia’s heart ached.

She joined him on the bed and carefully wrapped her arms around him. Simon stiffened at the unexpected embrace, but his resistance soon faded. Too exhausted to pull away, he rested against her as she held him, one hand resting against the back of his head.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I hate him for doing this to you.”

***

Draven spent an unreasonable portion of the night sitting in his private sitting room, unable to settle on anything that might occupy his attention for more than a few minutes.

The fire in the hearth had dwindled to a bed of glowing embers, and the book lying open on his knee remained unread beyond the page where he had abandoned it.

He could have gone to bed. He could have summoned a servant to replenish the fire or poured himself another drink. Instead, his attention kept returning to the door connecting his rooms to Cassandra’s.

It was a foolish preoccupation. She was likely asleep, and he had no intention of disturbing her at that ungodly hour.

Still, the knowledge that she lay on the other side of that door made the adjoining room feel less like a boundary and more like a temptation.

Draven closed the book and set it aside. His gaze lingered on the door before he forced himself to rise. Whatever absurd restlessness had seized him, he had to get it under control.

It was no doubt brought on by his latest argument with his mother and now it was driving him mad.

He retired to his bedchambers eventually, though his sleep was fitful.

By morning, the first sounds from Cassandra’s chambers reached him through the adjoining door: the movement of her maids as they went about their morning duties, and the occasional murmur of conversation.

Draven had already gotten dressed for his morning ride when he heard them. He considered waiting until breakfast to see her, then abandoned the idea in favour of something that offered a better excuse for seeking her company.