It wasn't long ‘til a futile attempt at rebellion arose.

Now, the hall of the Dukedom was a travesty of a graveyard as the returning knights spilled their burden onto the marble before the Duke. Even then, the silence that followed did not waver even as the grand doors slammed shut behind, sealing out the life outside of the estate.

He didn't move, not at once. And he regarded the figure crumpled on the ground, garments in disarray, and breath ragged from the chase. Knees scraped and eyes lowered, it seemed as if guilt bled as tears — an offering laid before his judgement.

Yet, he knew if this was victory, it tasted nothing but ashes.

If the nobles from high society caught onto this news — what good would it bring, if not disdain to his wife’s name?

You escaped again, for the 3rd time this month.

The cruel part of him reminded him of the insult from this flight, from the futile attempt at getting away from his grasp, the affront to his station, and the blatant treachery that was written in every bruised inch of that trembling body. But no anger would rise.

As an army general, the call for judgement cries for him. But as a husband, he can only stand still and have his heart waver at the desperation you seem to plead for.

Was he that despicable?

Ruthless?

Did you loathe him that much that your heart constantly longed for freedom?

He felt hollow, strangely. His gaze flickers down, finding its way down to your form — the sheer trembles evident on how you kept your head hung low, eyes fixed on the ground as if you prayed for a salvation that was never to come, like you craved for judgement to embrace you.

But he knew, that as a man, he could never do that.

Childe exhaled slowly, as though to quiet his own heart. He reached down, gloved hands hovering before settling on gently raising you up to stand before him. The flinch that met his touch struck him harder than any blade, but it didn't mean it ached less — as you, his own precious beloved, thought he’d inflict some sort of justice.

He tried to speak but found his throat uncooperative, his heart heavy.

“Did anyone hurt you?”

His voice was spoken quietly, as if to soothe your unease.

“I am not angry at you.”

It was the truth but also a failure at once. He wanted to be angry because it was honest, clarifying. But all he felt was worry, a suffocating feeling of guilt and tenderness.

He gathered you into his arms at last, lovingly and deliberately. Childe wasn't a cruel husband. Still, he felt tremors in your frame transfer into him until it was impossible to know whose sorrow it was.

Lifting a hand, he held the back of your head and let you embrace him back. “This isn't the life I wished for you to live. But know that you are mine to protect, even from yourself. That's my duty not as the Duke, not as the Army General, but as your husband — your partner.”

For all the power and authority he wielded, being in your embrace meant he was a helpless man.