That morning, Duke Connor Arces was pacing inside the drawing room while waiting for his concubine to arrive. Last night, he received word from General Norse’s mansion that they had his son and that they would send him back the following afternoon, or he could co in the morning to pick him up.
A son. His son.
Connor almost laughed when the ssenger delivered the news the night before. He’d half a mind to accuse the man of mockery. Who would dare prank him like this? But the ssage was from General Odin’s son. Would he dare toy with him?
For twenty years, he had tried—oh, how he had tried—to produce an heir. His wife, Eloisa, had borne him two daughters. After seven long years of waiting, she conceived once more. He had celebrated for days, certain that the gods had finally smiled upon him. But fate was cruel. The child, a son, was stillborn, and his wife’s body was ravaged beyond repair. The midwife’s grim expression haunted him still. She will not bear you another, the woman had whispered, as though afraid the words themselves might bring bad fortune.
His two concubines also bore him daughters. In his desperation to father a son, he kept impregnating them, so that he now has six daughters from the two of them in four years.
And then there was the beautiful and gentle Linnea, the one who used to be his favorite, who gave birth to a daughter seven years ago but was kidnapped two years ago. Their daughter, who was called Sandara, was their only daughter. Her abduction had caused severe ntal stress to Linnea that she fabricated a story, telling him that the child was a boy and she only hid his identity because his wife had not given birth to a boy yet, and she was scared that her child would be hard.
Then Linnea had beco a shadow of her forr self. She could not eat or sleep, and she aged ten years. She was the youngest of the Duke’s concubines, but she stopped caring about herself when she lost her son, the only child she could have, because the first wife made sure that she could not have another one.
Connor sat down on the chair, but then he stood again. He was craning his neck toward the back door that led to her concubines’ houses.
"Is she not coming yet?" He asked the butler.
The butler bowed deeply. "I will fetch her at once, My Lord."
Monts later, the door opened, and Linnea stepped inside. Connor’s breath caught in his throat. The woman before him was scarcely recognizable. Her once radiant beauty had shriveled to pale skin stretched over fragile bones. Her hair, once silken and gleaming, hung limp and brittle around her shoulders. Her eyes—those enchanting bright eyes that had once captivated him—were dull and lifeless.
"Linnea... you..." he began, words failing him.
She did not et his gaze. Her head remained bowed, hands clasped tightly before her, knuckles white from pressure.
"Why are you not taking care of your Madam?" Connor snapped, turning his glare to the maids hovering nervously at the door.
"My Lord," one of the maids replied hesitantly, "Madam would not eat. It took... considerable effort to force so food into her. She ate very little."
Force so food. The words cut through him, sharp and jagged. He rembered when Linnea had been the light of his manor—the one who laughed the loudest at feasts, who danced with wild abandon under the moonlight. Now, she stood before him, a shell. He swallowed hard, unwilling to let the emotion show.
Force so food. The words cut through him, sharp like a knife. Once upon a ti, he was so in love with Linnea. She had been the light of his manor—the one who laughed the loudest at feasts, who danced with wild abandon under the moonlight. She was young, full of life, and beautiful. But now she was just an empty shell.
When she miscarried after their daughter was born, she seed to have beco averse to sex. He coaxed her a few tis, but nothing changed, so he stopped trying.
He had other wives to serve him, so he let Linnea be.
Looking at her pitiful appearance, he felt a pang of guilt. She was still his concubine after all.
Then he rembered why he had called for her. He had waited until morning because he did not want to cause a stir the night before, but he regretted it because he had been restless all throughout the night.
He was already forty-five with nine daughters and not a single son. His friends had teased him that heaven must have been getting back at him for his philandering ways in the past.
"If the heavens are getting back at . Shouldn’t you be punished more than I? Compared to you, my philandering days amount to a year while yours is a decade." The other duke was silenced by his retort.
"My Lord, what do you want to tell us now that we are all here?" Eloisa asked with full curiosity. "Why are we going to the Odin Norse manor so early in the morning?"
"A ssenger sent by Bener Norse yesterday told that they have my son, but they could not bring him yesterday because it was too late.
"What did you say?" Eloisa’s expression darkened, her eyes narrowing. "Your son? Have you kept a mistress outside these walls, Connor? Are you that desperate?"
The room seed to vibrate with the sharpness of his voice. "Watch your word, Eloisa," he growled, eyes flaring with warning. "I will not have you slandering in my own ho."
"Rember that General Odin’s daughter was also abducted two years ago and they thought she died. Fortunately it was not her body they grieved and buried. She escaped from the human traffickers and incidentally saved my son in the process."
Eloisa lifted her chin, unyielding. "How could it be yours? Linnea never had a son—she had Sandara. Soone is scamming you, My Lord."
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