Chapter 146: Revelation
Altair knelt before the unconscious Rosalie, tenderly enveloping her in his protective embrace, drawing her nearer to his chest. With gentle urgency, he brushed his bare hand across her perspiring forehead, delicately erasing the glistening droplets of sweat. His searching gaze traversed her form, every inch of her, as he sought to decipher the cause of her distress.
Then, as his pale platinum eyes settled on her stomach, an abrupt stillness seized his being. His heart quickened its pace within his chest, echoing the frantic rhythm of a galloping horse as he finally whispered,
"She... She is with child."
All at once, it was as if the very fabric of the world unraveled before Altair’s eyes. Bewildernt and anguish intertwined within him, leaving him grappling for understanding. What precisely had shattered his world so profoundly? Was it the realization that Rosalie carried the child of another man? Or was it the stark truth that she now belonged entirely to soone else, leaving him bereft?
The answers eluded him, yet the pain cut deeper than he had anticipated. With a hesitant, trembling motion, Altair laid his frigid palm upon the woman’s stomach, intending to channel his powers into her. But to his greater dismay, nothing stirred within him, leaving him engulfed in a tempest of bewildernt.
A perplexed furrow creased his brow as he grappled with the inexplicable situation. Attempting once more to harness his abilities, he found, to his surprise, that they remained impotent in the face of her ailnt.
"Why is this happening? Why do my powers fail ?" he lanted, a mix of frustration and confusion tainting his voice. For a fleeting mont, it seed as though the man had relinquished control over his own faculties, only to regain his composure and reluctantly turn to the last resort he abhorred employing.
"Arise, phisto," he commanded, his voice ringing out into the stillness.
Initially, his summons echoed into silence.
Altair’s brows knitted together, a surge of irritation coursing through him at the audacity of the demon. With a sharp exhale, he hissed once more, emphasizing his command,
"I said, reveal yourself. Imdiately."
"Ugh, I should not have been so lenient with you from the very beginning. Now look at you, ordering a demon around. How impudent!"
In the tranquility of the terrace, phisto’s low voice finally materialized from the shroud of darkness in the farthest corner. A pair of bright crimson eyes hung suspended in the air, seemingly woven into the very fabric of the shadows. Fixing its intense gaze upon Rosalie’s prone form, the demon’s voice broke the silence once more,
"Hmmm... I see now. This is it, Altair. Her contract is now being fulfilled from her side as well. Other demonic powers will no longer work on her."
The revelation only served to further bewilder Altair, as if the demon’s cryptic ssage held no coherence or aning in the mont.
"What do you an, her side of the contract? Wasn’t she—"
Then, in a sudden rush of recollection, it dawned upon him. Rosalie’s pact had entailed only a partial surrender of her soul for Asmodeus’ powers. Now, with the revelation of her pregnancy, the gravity of the situation lood larger; the impending sacrifice of her own child to fulfill her end of the bargain beca a stark, chilling reality.
’phisto is right. With the advent of new life within her, Asmodeus has claid dominion over her being, safeguarding what he deems his rightful possession. No outside force can intervene now until the birth, and her offering of the child will mark the culmination of their pact.’
Altair lowered his sad eyes and fixed them on the lady’s calm, pale, yet still unbelievably beautiful face and could not help but feel his insides shrinking.
It pained him to realize that he was utterly helpless, utterly useless; he could not stand the idea of not being able to do at least sothing to help the woman he loved.
His yearning to be her protector, to offer her solace in her ti of need, surged through him. What purpose did his formidable powers serve if not to aid her now, in this mont of vulnerability?
"Fool," phisto’s rasping voice interjected, reverberating in Altair’s mind, a stark reminder of the imminent ti constraints. "Have you forgotten the ticking of your own clock? Is this truly the path you wish to tread, Altair? You must choose a side, and choose wisely."
The echo of phisto’s warning dissipated into the stillness, leaving the terrace draped in silence once more, the weight of the decision settling heavily upon Altair’s shoulders.
Yet the tranquility was short-lived, shattered by the intrusion of abrupt footsteps as Damien swept back the heavy purple curtain, his face etched with urgency and concern.
"Rosalie!"
The mont his golden eyes fell upon his wife lying still in Altair’s arms, the duke rushed toward them, and fell on his knees before them, his face turning pale with fear.
"Your Holiness, what has happened to her? Is she unhard?"
Altair felt a pang of empathy at the genuine concern etched upon Damien’s face. Despite the knowledge that it was not his place, that he might be steering onto a treacherous path, he chose to veil the truth, if only to offer a mont of respite from the imminent despair. eting Damien’s gaze with his own, Altair mustered a faint smile, shaking his head in a gesture ant to convey reassurance.
"It seems Her Ladyship may have overexerted herself. However, there is no cause for undue worry, Your Grace. A few days of rest are all she requires. I assure you, she will recover fully."
Despite Altair’s attempt to reassure him, Damien could not shake off the twinge of doubt that gnawed at him. Nonetheless, there was no ti to dwell on suspicions. His wife needed imdiate care, and that was his paramount concern.
With a tender yet firm movent, the duke gently took Rosalie from Altair’s cradling arms, drawing her close as he rose to his feet. Casting a fleeting glance at the man beside him, he acknowledged him with a terse nod.
"Thank you, Your Holiness. I will attend to her from here."
Departing the terrace, Damien navigated the corridor extending from the banquet hall, encountering Felix, who had patiently lingered there, anticipating his lord’s return.
"Felix."
"Yes, Your Grace? What happened to Lady Rosalie?" Felix inquired, his eyes widening with concern.
In response, Damien simply issued his instructions,
"Inform the guests that Lady Rosalie, regrettably, has grown fatigued and must retire to her chamber for the evening. They are welco to continue reveling for as long as they please. Please ensure their needs are attended to once the festivities conclude."
"Yes, I understand."
Although still overco with worry, Felix did exactly as he was instructed by the duke. His ssage indeed caused a slight commotion among the guests, mainly because they were worried about the duchess.
Angelica, who was enjoying another pleasant conversation with Roksolana, had to excuse herself and promptly left the hall, hoping to see for herself that Rosalie was indeed alright. And as she disappeared behind the entrance doors, the Crown Prince set a half-empty glass of wine on the table behind him, cast a quick look at Damien’s personal aide, and left the hall as well.
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