An Honour as A Mother

The gaze from his blue eyes sent a chill through Elara, like a child caught sneaking out by their father.

Reynand crossed his arms in front of his chest, leaned against the archway wall of his quarters, and then walked toward Elara, who still held his gaze.

Despite the flicker of fear in her wavering pupils, she didn't avert her eyes, unlike four years ago when she would've shrunk away from him.

"I asked you, where—"

"I came from the kitchen, Your Grace, to get milk for Agatha," she replied, lifting the pitcher slightly.

He took a few steps closer, stretching his hand out to touch the side of the pitcher with the back of his fingers.

"Cold milk? For Agatha?" His forehead creased in irritation at her answer.

Elara flinched, swallowing nervously, but forced herself to appear relaxed, even though her heart was hammering in her chest.

"Yes. Agatha has sensitive skin, so I need to wash it with milk infused with herbs to moisturise it, Your Grace."

"This late at night?" Reynand asked, disbelief thick in his voice.

She only nodded, her breath catching as she saw his hand lifting the lid of the pitcher.

The scent of citrus mixed with a heady, honey-like sweetness wafted through the air, with lemon slices and jasmine petals floating inside.

Though her palms were sweaty from the tension, Elara exhaled a deep sigh of relief.

Before climbing the stairs, she had quickly thought to slip dried lemon slices and jasmine petals from her small fragrance pouch into the milk.

"It's a good time to moisturise her skin while she sleeps. The fresh scent will help her sleep better, as she's had trouble sleeping lately," Elara lied, though not entirely.

She would have hated to waste the milk, so she did intend to use it for her own skin.

Agatha followed the same skincare routine, as they both had sensitive skin, though Agatha usually used rose petals, not jasmine.

"So you missed your bedtime just to make this remedy yourself in the middle of the night? Do these castle servants hope to lose their heads?"

The clink of the ceramic lid as Reynand closed it accompanied his annoyed tone.

"Wh—what? Wait, Your Grace, this is just a simple matter and I…" Elara paused, unable to continue her words.

Sometimes she didn't rely too much on the castle servants, forgetting that Reynand would be irate about it.

"And you what? Are you still afraid to ask for help? Didn't I tell you when we got married that you should exploit all this castle's resources to your heart's content and live comfortably?"

Elara furrowed her brow and gripped the handle of the pitcher more firmly.

'How could I live comfortably when the man who offered his hand in marriage, suddenly left me alone in this strange castle with all these odd duties, after that passionate night he called a mistake?' That was the thought Elara wished she could speak aloud.

She took a deep breath and met his blue eyes firmly yet calmly.

"Worry not, Your Grace… I exploited and enjoyed my time here in this castle as much as my heart desired over the past four years." She paused. "I did this not because I was afraid to ask for help, but because I wanted to. This is for my daughter, and I shall gladly wake the cows in the dead of night, even if I have to milk them myself. It is an honour as a mother, Your Grace."

Elara explained in a calm, measured tone. She simply wished to return to her chamber faster and sink her tired body into her bed.

"Is that so?" Reynand snorted with a smirk, his gaze falling to the floor. "Perhaps it is me who makes you feel uncomfortable."

"No… please, don't trouble your mind too much, Your Grace. You must go back to sleep, we have a long day ahead once the sun rises. I shall take my leave, Your Grace."

Elara dipped her head slightly and turned, striding back to her quarters.

Reynand stared at her back as she retreated in haste. A bitter smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he chuckled.

"You didn't even ask why I still woke up and stood in my archway, startling you," he remarked.

Elara halted mid-step—but this time she did not immediately turn to face him.

Instead, she stood frozen, eyes fixed blankly on her quarters' archway, as the tap-tap-tap of his boots drew ever closer behind her.

Her mind raced with countless things she might say, yet nothing suitable came to her. Elara hesitated.

From what she knew of Reynand four years ago, he wouldn't take kindly to being questioned. She never dared to ask first, not wanting to seem nosy.

But truthfully, the thought of questioning him hadn't even crossed her mind earlier—how could she, when she was still reeling from the shock of being caught?

"An honour as a mother? How is it that, a mother did not know her daughter already had her rose-petal milk skincare?" Reynand asked, coming to a stop.

"Wh—what, Your Grace… How…" Elara stuttered in surprise, her eyes wide as Reynand's large hands firmly held her shoulders, preventing her from turning away.

She could feel the hairs on her nape rise at the touch of his breath.

"And how does a mother put the used herbs from her fragrance pouch in her daughter's skincare? Hmm?" Reynand's right hand trailed down her arm, a slow caress before coming to rest at her elbow.

Elara's heart pounded as Reynand's touch slipped between her elbow and then down to her waist.

A ticklish sensation surged as his hand slid down to her stomach, grasping her fragrance pouch and tugging it hard enough to dislodge it from her belt.

She gasped, her gaze following his hand as he flipped the now-empty pouch in the air, as though searching for its contents.

The thud of the pouch hitting the floor echoed through the passage hall. Elara bent down to retrieve it.

She pulled away from Reynand and turned to face him, biting her lower lip with a nervous gaze.