Uncovered

"Sophie." Her husband's voice broke through the silence. Sophie's first instinct was to demand answers, interrogate her husband, ask where he was when she risked her life to prevent his demise.

He took one step towards her bed. Two. Stopped hesitating by his third step, taking long strides to reach where his wife was seated, body bandaged and bruised.

Upon seeing his face, Sophie's anger and despair only doubled in size. The sheer audacity of this man outgrew the room.

Nothing could reach the size of Sophie's skepticism and hurt, however. It was the size of a palace and more.

All she wanted was a peaceful night with her husband, one where they would finally reconcile. She wanted to better understand what Luke had accused her of nights ago. Instead, she ended up making a fool of herself, chasing illusions into a life-threatening scenario.

When her husband kneeled beside her bed, placing the back of her hand to his forehead, the grip she had on her emotions loosened. A shameful show of weakness.

His eyes looked so tired, so dreary.

It was a pathetic sight, forest green hazed over with regret. The hollowness of his soul was harrowing. His exhaustion evident from his paling face and the black circles under his eyes was dreadful.

Frankly, Luke looked pathetic. And yet he was the truest Sophie had seen him in a while.

As for her questions, her demanding, her asking where he had run off to—all that was thrown out the window the moment he pressed a gentle kiss to the palm of her hand.

"My dear wife, I heard everything. I am so, so sorry. I hadn't known that you were preparing supper for us. I hadn't known. If I knew—" The duke rambled on, his tone somber but desperate.

She couldn't bring herself to comprehend most of it.

"Where were you?" The question didn't contain as much spite as she wanted it to. Her voice was melancholic, full of the pain Sophie felt all over her body.

Luke flinched, eyes wide and frown deeper than it had been. His look of shock and remorse satisfied her. Somehow, making her husband realize that she was more than just a demure, obedient wife brought pleasant feelings to her chest—a direct contradiction of what she thought she wanted.

"I was summoned to the palace at the last minute. Something urgent came up. I had no choice but to comply." He explained.

"And you did not care to tell me?" The fire in her gut reignited. The more people tried to explain her husband's whereabouts, the less she believed their stories.

The excuse was too easy, too unspecific. It explained too much too perfectly, like everyone was in on an elaborate lie but her.

Sophie was exhausted, she wanted to argue more, probe more, but her worn down mind forced her to outwardly accept whatever excuse others made for the duke.

However, hearing the excuse from Luke's own lips was a different thing entirely. Sophie prided herself for having long-lasting patience, but she was ceaselessly frustrated with him.

"I sent messengers. No one expected you to run off to the woods so late at night." His brows creased, remorse shifting into slight aggression. "Speaking of Sophie, why would you do that?"

"For you! I was worried about you, believing you were being strangled to death by a foul beast! And you accuse me of not loving my husband when I risked my life to retrieve him for supper." Using her voice that early on during recovery might've been a bad idea because she sounded much too hoarse to be ladylike, too irked to be proper.

She was no longer Duchess Sophie of Rogethen, just the woman who ran into and survived the deepest parts of the woods.

Expecting her husband to be disgusted by her unrestrained display of emotions, Sophie pried her gaze away, laser focused on the paintings decorating the wall. She failed her duties as a wife, acted recklessly, and lost sight of her place as a woman.

Unexpectedly, Luke remained quiet, no arguments or retorts reaching Sophie's ears. Maybe he had grown tired of arguing with her. Maybe he had grown tired of her.

The mere thought made tears well up in her eyes. But in a way, she could not fault him.

"My love." Luke's gentle voice had her stall her sniffling, her body frozen in surprise.

He moved to where she was looking, gentle fingers directing her face to meet his lovely green eyes. They were so full of affection. It was overwhelming, more breathtaking than any painting could dream to be. Her lungs constricted. The pain accumulating all those months barred her from breathing properly.

What was going on? Had she woken up in the wrong world?