[Next morning]
Aston sat beside his wife, gently rubbing a pain-relieving balm onto her arms.
Her skin, usually soft and smooth, was sore from holding their son through the night. Even now, she could barely lift her hands.
"As I said, I'm fine, dear." Virelle tried to assure him, her voice light but tired.
He was already working himself to exhaustion for the town, and now, after coming home, he was taking care of her.
It almost felt wrong to let him.
Like she was committing a sin.
Aston's hands didn't stop, his touch firm yet tender. "In pain and in happiness, I will always be by your side."
His voice was soft, unwavering.
"I remember every syllable I chanted when we were wed. So let me fulfill my promise, dear."
Virelle blinked, surprised.
"You remember?" A small, teasing smile played on her lips. "I thought you were too excited to pay attention to Father's words."
Aston chuckled.
"I got to marry the prettiest woman in the world. You can't blame me for being hasty. I was terrified the priest might change his mind and take you away from me."
That made her giggle, a soft, melodic sound that filled the quiet room.
"Aston… you—"
Their laughter faded into a comfortable silence as he continued massaging the balm into her moon-pale arms.
Virelle's lashes fluttered, exhaustion catching up to her.
And then, in a whisper barely louder than a breath—"Dear… he will recover, right?"
Aston paused for a moment before exhaling, long and steady.
"There is no chance he won't. Just trust the process… and our love. He'll be back on his feet in no time."
His certainty was soothing. Like an anchor in stormy waters.
Virelle let out a small, relieved sigh.
"How can you always remain so calm, Aston?"
Last night, she had broken down completely, sobbing until her chest ached.
It had been three days already.
Arthur wasn't responding. Not to them. Not to the healer.
Even Kevin—her eldest—had wept silently the other day, clutching the boomerang he and Arthur always played with.
Yet Aston, through it all, never wavered.
Even when their world felt like it was falling apart, he remained their steady light.
He didn't answer her question with words.
Instead, he pulled her into his arms, holding her close.
The truth was simple.
He was just as terrified.
But if he let go—if he broke now—then everything would truly fall apart.
It was then—
Knock.
The soft sound cut through the silence, making Virelle and Aston pull apart.
"The door is open, Kevin," Virelle called out, assuming it was her eldest son returning from the market.
She should have started preparing breakfast by now.
Click.
The doorknob twisted, the door slowly creaking open—revealing a black-haired boy standing in the doorway.
His skin was pale, his body slick with sweat.
Yet—
He stood.
On his feet.
Thud.
The bottle of balm slipped from Aston's fingers, rolling across the floor, forgotten.
His breath hitched.
The boy's eyes were open.
His gaze—piercing.
It felt unreal. Like a cruel trick of the light.
Virelle's hands trembled as she rose from the bed, approaching the fragile figure in front of her.
She should be careful. This might be a fevered illusion—her desperation playing tricks on her mind.
But what if—
What if it was real?
Her voice came out in a whisper. "Arthur..."
Step by step, she closed the distance, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
She reached out—her fingers brushing his skin.
Warm.
Real.
A sharp breath left her lips as she pulled him into her arms, clutching him close.
"Arthur..." she choked, her voice no longer uncertain—only filled with overwhelming relief.
And then—
His frail arms wrapped around her back, holding her just as tightly.
"I have recovered, Mother..."
That voice.
That voice.
It was all it took.
A cry tore from her lips—a wail that filled the house.
A sound that had echoed through these walls last night in grief—
But today, it resounded with joy.
Tears blurred Aston's vision, his heart swelling with an unbearable ache.
In the next moment, he stepped forward, gathering them both in his arms.
Holding them tight.
Holding them as if he would never let go.
...
Soon, their family was whole again.
Kevin returned from the market, and the moment he saw Arthur standing, he dropped everything and rushed to embrace his younger brother.
He held him tightly—longer than usual, as if afraid that letting go would make him disappear again.
Virelle and Aston stood nearby, the lady leaning into her husband's warmth, watching the heartfelt reunion with soft smiles.
Arthur chuckled, gently patting Kevin's back. "I'm okay now, brother. You don't have to cry this much."
Kevin sniffled, hastily wiping his nose, but his voice still wavered. "Once you recover, I'm going to train you so hard that you won't fall sick like a weakling again."
Arthur smiled. "Sure, I'll be waiting."
Aston stepped forward then, his gaze searching. "How do you feel right now, son?"
Arthur fought the urge to sigh. In truth, he was barely holding himself together. His limbs felt heavy, his body fragile—standing for this long was already testing his limits.
The only reason he forced himself out of bed today... was because of last night.
Instead of admitting that, he carefully lowered himself onto the couch. "I still feel weak, but with some food, I'll recover."
At the mention of food, Virelle jolted upright. "Oh! I'll prepare something right away—ah!"
The moment she tried to lift her arm, a sharp pain shot through her muscles, making her wince.
Aston was at her side in an instant, pulling out a chair and guiding her down.
"No work at the office today, and my patrol is in the evening," he reassured her. "So let me handle the housework for now."
Virelle hesitated. She wanted to protest—but one glance at her children, one still recovering and the other still shaken, made her pause.
Right now, she has to trust her husband.
With a sigh, she relented, her gaze softening. "Alright, dear. I'll leave it to you."
Arthur sat there and watched.
His brother was beside him, chattering endlessly about the last three days—how he had gone to the market, how he tried practicing with the boomerang alone, and how he had stubbornly refused to cry at first… only to fail miserably when no one was watching.
Arthur listened, nodding at times, offering small smiles. Kevin was doing his best to hide his emotions behind his words, but Arthur could see right through them.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, his mother sat by the table, verbally guiding her husband as he fumbled with the ingredients.
Aston Stronghart—head of the family, a noble by rank, and a soldier at heart—was struggling with a mere kitchen knife, awkwardly slicing vegetables with far too much force.
Yet, despite his clumsiness, the man had a smile that never left his face.
Arthur found himself staring at that smile.
This house was small… too small compared to the grand estate Clarsen had lived in after his promotion.
The walls weren't adorned with lavish paintings, the furniture was worn from years of use, and their clothes were simple—well-kept, but far from luxurious. They had limited resources, no grand feasts, no servants waiting on them.
And yet, despite all these lacking things…
Arthur felt something in his chest. A warmth that spread deep inside, melting away the cold emptiness he had carried for so long.
This happiness… He had never felt it before.
No, that wasn't true. Once. He had felt it once.
Back when he got engaged to Grace when he believed—just for a fleeting moment—that he had something worth protecting.
But in the end, he failed.
He failed to protect the reason for his happiness.
Not this time.
Clarsen—no, Arthur—inwardly took an oath.
'Whatever happens...I will protect their smile...'
*******
A/N:- I don't know man...a warm meal is enough to make me feel emotionally connected to someone.
I want to see my book in your library. Get it done now.