The cloth was damp and cool, water still dripping slightly as Typhon knelt beside her, bowl in hand. He had fetched it himself from the kitchen, something no lord should ever do, yet here he was. Sapphire sat silently, cheeks still faintly red from the slap, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely steady.
Typhon didn't respond right away. He gently dabbed the soaked cloth against her cheek, his touch uncharacteristically tender. Then he spoke, voice low, almost gruff, "No woman is meant to go through that."
She nodded once, stiffly. But his next words cut deeper than any slap.
"You are weak."
Her shoulders sank, eyes falling to her lap. Shame spread across her features like ink in water. It wasn't just the slap. It was everything, being accused, losing her child, abandoned by the very people she gave her loyalty to.
"I… I was accused. I don't sleep around. Especially not with guards." Her voice cracked.
Typhon stilled. He looked at her then, really looked, before lifting her chin with two fingers so their eyes met. His gaze didn't waver, and his voice was calm.
"I know."
Sapphire blinked, startled. Her heart skipped. "You knew?"
"I make it my business to know who works under my roof." He released her chin gently and took her arm next, inspecting the reddening skin. His tone changed again, dry, blunt, but oddly protective.
"Next time, don't be a pushover. Use your fist."
Sapphire gasped, half in disbelief, half in amusement. "You want me to hit my ex-husband?"
Typhon smirked faintly. "No. I want you to stop letting people hit you first."
And for the first time in a long while, Sapphire smiled. It was small, but it was there.
Sapphire stared at him, the corners of her lips still curled in that soft, hesitant smile. It felt foreign, smiling. But something about Typhon's presence steadied her. Not with warmth, but with strength. He didn't offer pity. Just... solidity.
"You didn't have to do this," she murmured, her eyes lowering to the bowl now resting beside them. "You could've ignored it."
"I almost did," Typhon admitted, not looking at her. "Thought you'd handle him yourself."
She chuckled dryly. "Clearly, I didn't."
His eyes shifted back to her. "You would have. Eventually. But not today."
Silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable, just thick with everything unsaid. Then, after a beat, she asked, "Why did you come?"
He stood, slowly, as if the weight of his thoughts dragged behind his movements. "I don't like filth in my halls. Or in my staff's past." He looked down at her, eyes unreadable. "Especially when it leaves bruises."
Her breath caught slightly.
Typhon turned, about to leave, but then stopped at the door. His voice was quiet but firm.
"You're not the only one with a past, Sapphire. The difference is, I no longer let mine define me."
***
Meanwhile, in House Hugh...
Lady Ixora had not left her room all day, a rare occurrence that stirred whispers among the servants. The spirited daughter of Lord Hugh was never one to linger indoors, if she wasn't in her garden, she was at the fabric shop arguing over silks. Many believed this sudden withdrawal was her silent protest against the king's arranged marriage. Even Lord Hugh had tried to reason with the crown, but the decision was sealed.
Now she stood before her mirror, draped in silence. Her brown hair framed a face too proud to show fear, yet her fingers trembled slightly as they brushed her skirts.
She couldn't stop thinking about him, that rude, unchivalrous stranger who had caught her hand with such ease and nerve. Her gaze drifted to her palm, the memory of his touch still oddly vivid.
"How dare he..." she whispered to herself, but her voice lacked conviction.
A soft knock didn't come, the door creaked open instead, and Lord Hugh strode in, his brows furrowed with concern.
"Ixora?" he called gently.
She turned quickly, startled, forcing a tight smile.
"I'm fine, Father," she said, smoothing her gown.
He didn't believe her. Crossing the room in quick strides, he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead.
"Are you unwell, sweetie?"
Unlike him, his daughter wasn't immune to many things, sickness, heartache, or the weight of being only half of what she should've been.
She shook her head. "Just tired."
Lord Hugh exhaled, his hand falling to her shoulder. "You've been locked in here all day. This isn't like you."
"I just… needed time," she murmured, her eyes flicking away.
"Is this about the marriage?"
She hesitated.
He already knew the answer.
With a tired sigh, he looked at her reflection in the mirror. "I tried, Ixora. The king's mind is set."
"I know," she said softly, her smile faltering.
Lord Hugh gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Then be strong, like your mother was. And if he dares mistreat you…"
"I'll break his nose," she muttered under her breath.
He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple. "That's my girl."