1705. Luck had never been on Eleanora Finley's side. After her father died in a tragic fire, she was left at the mercy of her domineering and abusive mother, being deprived of all love and affection.
Truly, who would have thought that the simple red...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
1712, LavilliaPerra, Kestramore City
Three hours. That was how long it had been since Eleanora was wheeled into that room, and for three hours, Nicholas helplessly watched as physicians rushed in and out of the room, carrying in rolls of linen and coming out with basins of bloodied water.
The sight of it alone made him sick to the stomach, and fear began to sprout in his chest, taking root in his heart. He had just gotten her back, was he to lose her again, and this time, for good?
It would take some time before the head physician, Madame Claude, finally stepped out of the room, and the sight of her appearance alone made Nicholas's heart drop. The sleeves of her white coat were smeared red, as were the front of the coat. He knew, without a doubt, that it was Eleanora's blood, and Nicholas immediately began to fear for the worst.
"How is she?" he asked exasperatedly.
"Your Grace," Madame Claude began, bowing her head slightly, her expression grim yet relieved. "Lady Finley is very lucky to have gotten here in time. If she had gone without treatment for another half an hour, she would have bled to death."
Half an hour. Had he taken one more stop on the road, had he succumbed to his exhaustion and slept, had he been just a bit late, he would have lost her forever.
"Is... Is she alright now? Can I see her?" Nicholas said, his voice brittle.
Madame Claude did not answer immediately, and she looked down at the floor, a conflicted look in her gaze. "Perhaps, it is best if you see the extent of her injuries yourself."
She moved towards the door, gesturing for Nicholas to come inside. The room was permeated with the sickening scent of medicine and rubbing alcohol mingling with blood, assaulting his senses. There, he saw Eleanora laying on the bed, her head carefully bandaged. Her face was ghostly pale, as if all her blood was drained from her body. But she was still breathing, and that was all that mattered to Nicholas.
He knelt beside her, taking her cold hand in his warm ones, kissing it incessantly and pressing it against his cheek. And that was when noticed that her abdomen was flat, as if she had never been pregnant.
"She lost the child, Your Grace," Madame Claude said softly from behind him. "It was a girl."
Nicholas's heart sank to the pit of his stomach. Even though the child was not his, he mourned over it as if it had been. Had the circumstances been different, he would have taken in the child as his own daughter. But fate had been unkind, and it had snuffed out that little life, and it has almost taken Eleanora away too.
"It was an abomination, truly, the way they treated her," Madame Claude continued. She then lifted Eleanora's arm, and pushed back her long sleeves, revealing countless burn marks, dotting her pale skin. "Look, Your Grace. These marks were made using burning hot coals."
