South Coast Town—BloodBloom Villa....
Leila strolled through the garden, her steps light yet deliberate as she passed the rows of vivid red roses. Their intoxicating fragrance, sweet and heavy, filled the air, but instead of comfort, it brought her unease. The capital was likely in ruins by now, she thought grimly, its splendor reduced to ash.
Two guards and a small entourage of maids trailed behind her, murmuring amongst themselves in hushed tones. She paid them no mind, quickening her pace until their voices faded. Startled by her sudden speed, the guards cast sharp glares at the gossiping maids, silently urging them to keep up.
Leila stopped when she reached the riverbank, exhaustion weighing heavily upon her. Her body protested with every step, her swollen belly a constant reminder of the child she carried. She tread carefully, mindful of the family physician's stern warnings.
Her hand instinctively went to her abdomen as she stared at the rippling water. The strain of carrying life was not her only burden—fear gripped her heart. Fear for herself, for her unborn child, and for the uncertain future in a world crumbling under the weight of war.
"Draco," she whispered bitterly, the name falling from her lips like a curse. "You're so unfortunate."
Her husband would not be at her side when their child was born; she was certain of it. Part of her was relieved. He was a man of violence and cruelty, proud and vain, who had discarded his first wife with ruthless efficiency to claim her. At their wedding, the nobles had recoiled at how he paraded her as though she were a prize won through sheer force.
"What will he do if I bear him a daughter?" The thought sent shivers down her spine. Draco's temper was legendary, and his wrath could consume anyone, even his own kin.
She hugged herself tightly, her lilac eyes darting nervously at the sudden, frantic chirping of birds. Their distress seemed unnatural, a warning of something amiss. The sound grew louder as she approached the eastern bank, each step filling her with dread.
There, among the tall grass and muddy embankment, lay a body. It was covered in dirt, washed ashore by the river's current. Her breath caught in her throat, and she screamed.
The sound was sharp and piercing, summoning her attendants, who rushed to her side.
"Milady!" they cried, crowding around her, their faces painted with concern.
She trembled violently, her hands shaking as she covered her mouth, her wide lilac eyes still fixed on the spot. She raised a trembling finger, pointing toward the motionless figure.
The guards sprang into action, combing the area where she had directed them. They soon uncovered the source of her distress.
"He's alive!" one guard exclaimed, crouching near the body. "Wait... golden hair? He's an enemy!" His tone turned sharp, his hand instinctively reaching for his blade.
"What should we do? Kill him?" another guard suggested grimly, his gaze hard as he surveyed the unconscious figure.
"No," a third interjected. "He's unarmed and without armor. We should take him captive and inform the lord. He'll know what to do."
Leila's stomach churned. She could already imagine Draco's reaction—he would execute the man without hesitation, innocent or not. Her lips pressed into a thin line as resolve overtook her trembling frame.
"Don't you dare!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the air like a whip.
The attendants froze, stunned. Leila, usually so composed and reserved, now stood with authority that left no room for argument.
"Take him to the villa and tend to his wounds," she commanded. "No one is to speak of this, and under no circumstances will you inform my husband."
"But, milady—he's an enemy!" one guard protested, his voice tinged with disbelief.
"Do you have proof?" Leila shot back, her tone icy. "Will you burden my husband, who risks his life on the battlefield, with unsubstantiated claims? Look at him—unarmed, defenseless, and barely alive. How is this man a threat?"
The guards exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing.
"If my husband is absent, I am the head of this household," she continued, her voice steady and commanding. "Disobey me, and you'll regret it."
Her words carried the weight of authority—and a veiled threat. They understood the consequences of defiance and reluctantly obeyed.
The stranger was brought into the villa, cleaned, and his wounds tended to under her orders. For an entire day, he remained unconscious, his condition uncertain. It was not until the following evening that Leila found herself standing by his bedside as his eyelids fluttered open.
The guards stood vigilant, their hands resting on their weapons as the man stirred. His eyes, a striking shade of soft pink like the dawn sky, fixed on her. For a moment, confusion clouded his gaze.
"Luciana?" he murmured weakly, his voice hoarse.
Leila flinched at the unexpected sound of her hand being grasped. She turned sharply, her guards immediately raising their muskets in alarm.
"Princess?" he whispered again, his voice trembling with emotion. His grip was gentle, devoid of malice.
Leila's heart softened. This man, so frail and lost, seemed far removed from the savagery of war.
"Rest assured, good sir," she said quietly, offering him a soothing smile. "You will find her soon."
Her words were a comforting lie.
"Your name?" she asked after a moment of silence.
"Octavius," he breathed before slipping back into unconsciousness.
Leila stared at him for a moment longer, her thoughts tangled. His eyes, though unique, held none of the cruelty she had come to associate with men like Draco. There was something in them—something human, something vulnerable—that unsettled her.
For now, she could only hope she had made the right choice.