Rey's grip on Aluna's hand, though weakened by the high fever wracking his body, had an oddly possessive quality. The heat radiating from his skin into her palm sent a wave of uncomfortable warmth—intimate in a way that felt unexpected in the cold void of their contractual marriage. Aluna returned the grip, feeling the erratic, fast pulse throbbing beneath her fingers—a rhythm of life battling against the invasion of sickness. The silence in the spacious, luxurious bedroom felt heavy, filled with unspoken emotions, occasionally broken by Rey's labored breathing and faint groans escaping his dry, cracked lips. Patiently, Aluna continued wetting the cloth and pressing it to Rey's burning forehead, hoping her gentle touch could somehow ease the fire raging inside him.
Sitting on the edge of the wide bed, Aluna kept watch as Rey tossed restlessly in the grip of his fever. Suddenly, amidst his incoherent groans and murmurs, Rey began to talk in his sleep. His voice was hoarse and rough, almost like a stifled whisper, but the word that escaped his lips pierced Aluna's ears and left a trail of confusion and deepening curiosity.
"Mother…" Rey whispered, his usually cold and emotionless tone now laced with such profound sorrow it made Aluna's heart sink. There was also a trace of buried anger in that whisper—a cold, lingering fury as if an old wound had reopened. Rey's brow furrowed in his uneasy sleep, and Aluna saw tears gathering at the corners of his tightly shut eyes, a glimmer of wetness among his dark lashes. What nightmare was gripping his soul so fiercely that he appeared so vulnerable and hurt?
"Why… why did you leave me alone in this cruel world?"
Aluna froze, hit by an unexpected wave of empathy. She had never imagined Rey Adrasta—the man she had come to know as cold, ruthless, and calculating—harbored such deep, painful scars. The word "Mother" had been spoken with a grief so raw it felt as though the loss was still fresh, despite the passing years. The anger entwined with it felt powerful, triggering a series of questions in Aluna's mind about Rey's dark and mysterious past. What had happened to him that turned him into such a cold, vengeful man? Who was his mother, and why did her absence leave such a deep wound that it shaped every aspect of his life?
Aluna's curiosity about Rey's past began to burn brighter. She knew his hatred toward his family must have stemmed from a tragic event that shattered his life, but she had never known the details. That whispered dream seemed to peel back a thin curtain into his tightly closed soul, revealing the fragility and pain hidden within. Aluna felt a strong urge to learn more, to understand the man who had turned her life into a loveless marriage filled with strange tension.
She continued to hold Rey's hand, feeling the heat of his fevered body and the faint but steady pulse beneath her fingers. She didn't know why she felt so connected to him in this moment of weakness. Perhaps it was because she was seeing the human side of him—the side he never revealed when he was in control and unyielding. Or perhaps, amid this cold and fake marriage, confusing and complicated feelings were beginning to take root between them, like wildflowers trying to bloom in barren soil.
A few moments later, Rey began to stir more restlessly on the bed, another soft groan slipping from his dry lips. His eyelids fluttered, moving quickly beneath the thin skin, and slowly he began to open his eyes. His gaze was still blurry and dazed, as if he had just returned from a long and exhausting nightmare. But after a few slow blinks, he began to focus and realized Aluna was sitting anxiously at the edge of his bed.
Shock clearly registered on Rey's pale, sweat-drenched face. His eyes, once glazed and weak, sharpened, and he yanked his hand away from Aluna's grip in a sudden motion, as if her touch burned him—or reminded him of a vulnerability he didn't want to expose. He tried to sit up with a rough and hasty movement, but his body was still too weak, and he fell back down with a stifled groan, dizziness hitting him like a wave of darkness crashing over his awareness.
"What are you doing here, Aluna?" Rey asked, his voice cold and laced with suspicion, still hoarse and rough from the fever that hadn't yet subsided. The warmth and fragility he had shown in his sleep seemed to vanish like mist in the morning sun, replaced by the cold mask of suspicion that was his trademark—an armor he always wore to shield himself from the outside world.
Aluna swallowed, feeling a sting of disappointment and hurt at how quickly Rey's demeanor had shifted. "I… I was just taking care of you, Rey. Your fever was really high. The staff panicked and didn't know what to do."
Rey stared at Aluna with a probing gaze, his dark eyes trying to read every thought and emotion hidden behind her expression. "I don't need your help. I can take care of myself. Leave."
"But you're seriously ill," Aluna replied softly but with a firmness in her tone that surprised even herself. "The doctor hasn't arrived yet, and you need someone by your side right now. I'm not going to leave you like this."
Rey fell silent for a moment, his back turned to Aluna. The room fell into silence once more—thick, hot, and heavy—but this time it was laced with an unspoken tension. Aluna could feel Rey's cold aura even without seeing his face. After a stretch of silence that felt like eternity, Rey suddenly turned to face her again, his eyes sharp and probing, as though he had just realized something important or suspected something hidden.
"What did you hear?" Rey asked with a cold, cutting tone, his eyes locking onto hers with such intensity that Aluna felt like she was being interrogated under a harsh spotlight. There was a faint flicker of fear behind his sharp gaze—a clear worry that she had heard something she wasn't meant to, something that could unravel the dark secret he had kept buried deep within.