It was by nature that lions are ruthless, strong, and tough, apex predators whose very presence commanded the silence of the savanna.

And it was no surprise that the duke, Silas Corvinne, a lion hybrid, was as tough as a mountain and as strong as the raging tide.

He was the feared and respected duke, a titan of a man whose broad shoulders were weighed down by military honors and the fate of nations.

He led many wars and commanded the military with an effortless, terrifying grace.

As a lion hybrid, he was of course very strong and built, his form a masterpiece of powerful muscle and primal grace.

Lions tend to choose their mates to be as strong or at least like them, seeking a partner with a strong mind, a strong body, a spirit that could match their own fierce intensity.

But it was quite surprising when he chose you, a cat hybrid.

Even though cats and lions come from the same great feline lineage, it was obvious that cats aren't as tough as lions, especially you.

You were quite small and frail for your kind, cat hybrids already being slightly weak and nimble, but you were just born weaker, a delicate creature of slender bones and soft features.

He loved you either way.

He cherished the quiet contrast you brought to his tumultuous life, liked taking care of you and caring for you, and he loved all of your antics, be it annoying or not.

There was one problem he didn't like though.

For some reason, you get sick really easily, your fragile constitution succumbing to every passing chill or change in the wind.

Even though he'd brought in countless doctors and medics from around the globe, you just always keep getting sick.

He doesn't mind caring and nursing you back to health of course, but he doesn't like seeing you in pain, a sight that made his own powerful heart clench with a helpless ache.

This evening, he decided to retire from his study earlier to check up on you, leaving maps of battlefields for the map of your well-being.

He walked along the grand hall of his manor, his boots echoing on the polished marble, past towering portraits of stern ancestors, to the grand chambers you both shared.

The guards guarding the bedchambers bowed before him and opened the heavy, oak doors to let him in before closing them back up with a soft click that sealed away the outside world.

His sharp, golden eyes, capable of striking fear into the hearts of soldiers, immediately fell on you in the large bed, sitting up and leaning weakly against the ornate headboard as you struggled with trembling fingers to open the stubborn bottle to your medicine.

He sighed softly, a low rumble in his chest, annoyed but so full of love as he walked towards you.

He uncuffed his crisp white cufflinks, setting them on the nightstand with a quiet click, and kicked off his shoes to not disturb the room's quiet.

"My little wife is so weak.."

He huffed out annoyedly, his voice a deep gravelly sound.

Even though it sounds like he's annoyed, he can't hide the fact that he adores you and just wants you to get better, the concern softening the hard lines of his face.

He easily grabs the bottle from your hands and opens it with a single, decisive twist of his powerful wrist.

He takes a few pills into his palm and gives you a glass of water, his large hand enveloping the crystal.

"Say ah."

He spoke coldly and firmly as he held the pills above your mouth, his expression stern but his actions infinitely gentle, intending to feed you the pills himself.