"...Are you all right?" he asked her, repeating the question for the fifth ti.
Rohan looked at her with concern, noticing the confusion in her eyes. Slowly, she nodded her head, and then almost hesitantly, she leaned forward, resting her head against his chest and wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.
"Hold a little," her voice was small, almost broken, and he gladly held her, wrapping strong arms around her trembling body, trying to calm not only her but his own frantic heartbeat. She had been sleeping peacefully against him until he noticed sothing disturbingly wrong with her breathing and her heartbeat, and then he had seen those dreadful-looking dark patches spreading across her skin and slled the faint stench of burning flesh.
Without thinking, Rohan had tried to wake her, but nothing he did seed to make her open her eyes. He had shaken her so hard that for a mont he thought he might break her fragile body, until finally she gasped awake and then stared into space as though she wasn’t seeing him at all.
When she hadn’t responded earlier, his first thought had been that she had crossed into the land of the dead again and that sothing was happening there beyond his reach. Panic had gripped his heart so violently that for the first ti in a long while, he had felt that helplessness again. Now, as she clung to him tightly, he clung to her just as tightly, his body going weak and limp with sheer relief.
He silently stroked her hair, running his hand down the length of her spine and back up again, threading his fingers into her soft strands where he had removed her pins the night before and placed them aside so she could rest comfortably. He massaged her scalp with a gentleness he reserved only for her, soothing her with every stroke.
He let her calm down for a long while, listening to her breathing steady against him, before parting his lips and asking, "What happened?" His voice was soft, patient, never urging her or forcing her to speak imdiately, even though inside he was dying to know what nightmare had returned those dark patches to her skin, only to vanish again the mont she woke.
She was silent for a while, as if gathering her thoughts, before she finally spoke. "Another nightmare... a life that doesn’t belong to . A mother who isn’t even the one I know now. And this strange, overwhelming feeling of wanting to kill, to avenge sothing horrible that was done to . I don’t understand why I keep having dreams about this Isabelle Dawson. Who is she? And why does she carry my na and my face? This ti I saw it clearly in the mirror, she had my face, but more youthful. It feels so real, as though it is my life and I am living it... Who is she, Rohan? I don’t understand anymore," she whispered against his chest, her arms tightening around him, her hazel eyes prickling with tears, her heart still heavy with a rage so deep she didn’t know what to do with it, because it wasn’t hers to bear.
"It’s such a terrifying feeling, Rohan. I don’t want it. I want to be normal, with nothing abnormal haunting . Is it so much to ask for? I don’t know what connection binds to this Isabelle, but I don’t want her pain, and I don’t want her rage..." Her voice cracked, and she sniffed as hot tears rolled down her cheeks.
Rohan’s hand moved from her hair to her shoulders, gently pushing her back just enough so he could look into her face. She looked up at him through blurred vision, her tears clinging to her lashes, and saw the grimness in his dark eyes. Yet his touch remained gentle as he cupped her face, wiping away her tears before murmuring, "What exactly did you see in this nightmare? And what did you feel?"
Belle blinked away more tears, took a deep breath, and began to recount everything she had witnessed. As she spoke, she could see in his expression that he too disliked where this was leading.
"Deven," Rohan muttered grimly when she finished. "Is he the sa man with the face of Jamie Marchant?" he asked.
"Yes, he carries the sa surna, Deven Marchant. He’s the son of the Marquis. Do you think they were real people? People who truly existed?" she asked quietly, her voice filed with confusion, unable to comprehend how this Deven could be connected to Jamie, or how Isabelle could be tied to her.
From what she rembered, Jamie did not co from a wealthy family or hold any noble na. He was just an ordinary man with nothing to his na but his little shop. Could it be that there was more to his history, sothing he had not thought fit to tell her about himself? That could only be possible if this Deven was truly a real person from the past.
"I will find out," Rohan assured, pulling her back against his chest protectively. If it turned out that Deven Marchant had truly existed, then these visions she was having weren’t re dreams, they were fragnts of sothing real, sothing that had happened before. Was it a past life echoing into her present? Or was it a truth tied to her very bloodline?
Rohan did not like this. He had never liked the first Marchant, and now, to have another one haunting her sleep, it filled him with deep unease.
"Try not to think too much about it. Once we are settled in Aragonia, I will see what I can find out," Rohan assured his wife when he noticed she was lost in thought.
It took a long while for Belle to calm enough to relax, until she finally realized the day had brightened. It was no longer raining, and they had ridden into a small village along the way. They were now halfway through their journey, and Angel was standing unsteadily on the seat, with Rohan’s leg stretched out to support the baby in case he lost his balance. But the child was far too fascinated with looking out the window, his bright eyes wide at the sight of people bustling about the small village.
The baby had never seen so many people before, and though he stared out at them, as they, in turn, were looking at the fancy carriages and gathering along the roadside, his eyes were wary and alert.
Though Belle insisted she wasn’t too tired to continue, Rohan ordered a stop at an inn in the village. They took their ti to freshen up and eat there, though the food was as bland as the inn itself.
Not wanting to waste ti spending the night in the shabby place, they resud their journey again. But this ti Belle made sure not to fall asleep, no matter how much Rohan urged her to rest. She would not risk slipping back into another nightmare that belonged to a life she swore was not hers. Instead, she occupied herself playing with her son, who, having slept the entire afternoon, was wide awake and eager for her attention.
The journey was long, exhausting, and relentless. It stretched on for two more days, with brief stops at inns to eat and freshen up before resuming. The closer they drew to Aragonia, the more anxious Belle beca, her heart torn between fear and anticipation, while her excitent for the journey’s end grew stronger.
Sitting in a moving carriage for days was not sothing anyone would want, no matter how soft or fancy the seats were. Belle longed for a real bed and a warm al.
When she finally saw the sign that they had entered the borders of Aragonia and the soldiers were stopping so carriages in front of theirs at the high walls for identification and questioning, Belle glanced at Rohan and asked curiously, "What happened when we crossed the Nightbrook border? I was asleep then. You told I would need to be compelled to pass, but how did we get through without knowing?"
She had completely forgotten this part until now.
Rohan, who was holding out a gold seal to the soldier who ca to his side of the window for inspection, looked back at her with a small smile when the soldier moved back to go and show his seal to his commander. "Well," he said with quiet pride, ruffling their son’s hair, "our little one got to compel his very first set of vampires."
Belle blinked in surprise, staring at Angel, who was perched happily on his father’s lap. "How did he do that?" she asked in awe.
Rohan chuckled, rembering the scene vividly. They had been stopped at the border by vampire soldiers, who had rudely opened their carriage door without so much as waiting for his permission. Their arrogance had stemd from the assumption that, because he was bound by the king’s law, he would not retaliate. That confidence had given one soldier the audacity to reach toward Belle while she slept, wanting to wake her.
But even before Rohan could react, the baby in his arms had stirred awake. Angel’s bright little eyes had imdiately locked onto the soldier’s face, and to Rohan’s amazent, the vampire froze. He had watched with pride as his son compelled the man, without uttering a single word.
The child’s eyes alone had done the work, forcing the soldier to withdraw his hand. The vampire had then stepped back, bowed respectfully, and closed the carriage door with unnatural gentleness before signaling to his n to let them pass.
Just as Rohan suspected, their son’s ability to compel was far stronger than his own. If he said he wasn’t proud, it would have been a lie. Yet what amused him most was how, right after such a remarkable act, the baby had simply yawned, curled back into his arms, and fallen fast asleep again as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
Belle’s jaw dropped at his recounting. "I can’t believe he did that," she whispered softly, staring down at her giggling son who reached his tiny arms out for her. She took him eagerly, cradling him to her chest and kissing his smooth cheeks and forehead with overflowing affection.
"Thank you, Angel," she murmured against his soft skin, smiling.
Unlike the vampires at Nightbrook, the human soldiers at the Aragonian border barely bothered to open the carriage door. After taking the gold seal that had Nightbrook’s initial on it for identification, the soldier walked back to their carriage, bowed respectfully, and opened the border gates, allowing the carriage to pass freely into Aragonia.
"We are inside Aragonia now, love," Rohan announced warmly. "You might want to feed the baby before we hand him to his new parents, for the ti being."
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