Difficult to Escape a Doting Wife

Chapter 1

Elowen Howard lay on her bed, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, still dazed from the whirlwind of the past twenty-four hours.

Just a day ago, she had burned the midnight oil to finish a novel titled *The High Council*, a sensational hit making waves across the literary world. It was a two-million-word saga overflowing with cliché triumphs and romantic escapades, and she’d devoured the majority of it in one go. Worn out from late-night reading, she had finally succumbed to sleep—only to awaken in a nightmare of her own making: she had somehow found herself trapped in the story, inhabiting the life of the male lead's wife.

Her situation didn't bode well. The original character, while stunning in appearance, had little depth and less luck. In just a handful of chapters, she had met a tragic end, being burned alive by her own husband, Alistair Edwards, while their son Cedric locked her in with the flames.

Elowen couldn’t shake the morbid thought that the original owner of this body had gotten exactly what was coming to her.

“Madam, it’s already mid-morning,” Maid Marian’s soft voice broke through her reverie, and the maid cautiously lowered her head, clearly anxious in Elowen’s presence.

She sighed heavily and cleared her throat. “You all can leave. I don’t need you hovering over me.”

The two maids practically bowed out of the room, relief washing over their faces like a fresh breeze.

Elowen understood their fear. The character she had replaced was truly deserving of her fate. The daughter of a favored official in King Leopold's court, she had been spoilt from birth, growing into a cruel princess with little regard for her servants. Her upbringing had fostered bad habits: she treated the staff poorly, was incredibly superficial in her friendships, and wielded her beauty as a weapon to insult others, especially the less fortunate girls in the household.

Yet, it was her striking beauty that had won her a marriage she initially desired but came to resent. After meeting Alistair when he was just a promising scholar visiting House Fairfax, the original character had been duped by her sister into a compromising situation, forcing the families to hastily arrange their marriage. Alistair, a mere son of a lesser house, had his own woes: he was often overlooked by his grandmother and father and lived a life marked by low status and minor adversities.

At first, the original wife had scoffed at their union, but over time, her disdain had only festered. After they were married, she treated the staff poorly and showed her husband nothing but contempt, yet she soon fell pregnant. However, in her eyes, the son was nothing more than a pawn in the power games of the court. While Alistair was away, her temper would flare, leading her to lash out at the child, even going so far as to physically chastise him in her rage.

Adding insult to injury, she boldly donned extravagant attire to flirt with nobility, believing herself untouchable in her repugnant behavior. With Alistair oblivious or indifferent to her antics, her audacity grew.

Memories of the original character’s plight twisted Elowen’s stomach. As a reader, she had felt a thrill of satisfaction at the character’s demise; now, facing her own fate, she felt far from victorious.

Alistair might still be a nameless, powerless figure, but Elowen had read between the lines and understood that he was more than meets the eye. Behind that gentle demeanor lurked a cunning mind, one that wouldn't hesitate to eliminate anyone who dared to cross him, all while maintaining the mask of a mild-mannered gentleman. His enemies found themselves suffering brutal consequences—something she had once thought entertaining but now felt chillingly real.

Just thinking about him stirred up a nagging fear. Alistair was a man who didn’t forget slights, not even from the age of five when he had been bullied by a servant.

Others would surely pay for the betrayal of a wife who had nearly painted him the fool. With aspirations of controlling the Kingdom of Barrowland, Alistair’s path was set.

Downstairs, the maids began laying out the table for lunch. As Elowen shifted her focus from her dark thoughts, her gaze fell on the dishes: simple but inviting, including a dazzlingly translucent pork belly, a bowl of clear beef broth, and a few side vegetables. Her stomach fluttered, reminding her she hadn’t eaten.

She settled into her chair and picked up her chopsticks, sampling the spring bamboo shoots. They were so delicious she found herself going back for seconds.

But Maid Marian stood awkwardly by, her legs trembling with pent-up anxiety. After a hesitative pause, she finally spoke, “Madam, the young master is weak; he shouldn’t be left hungry for another meal.”

Elowen blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

With a gulp, Maid Marian pressed on, “You... you didn’t forget, did you? Yesterday, you punished him by making him fast all day, and he missed dinner last night. He shouldn't go without breakfast today.”

Glancing toward the door that led to her son’s room, concern flickered through her. If Alistair got wind of this, he would fly off the handle.

Alistair adored their child—something Elowen had barely considered until this moment.

The weight of reality settled in. She was in deep, and her past decisions could come back to haunt her in unimaginable ways.

Chapter 2

Elowen Howard was only just settling into her new reality when thoughts of the past came rushing back, unexpected and unwelcome. Before finding herself in this peculiar predicament, she had been a woman dedicated to doing good deeds—even her own child had felt the sting of her misguided kindness.

The child in question was Cedric Edwards, just four years old. Most of the time, he lived with his father, Alistair Edwards, at Stonegate Courtyard. It was only when Alistair had to travel for work that Cedric found himself brought to Shadowgrove Court, the place Elowen now called home.

As Elowen sat at the dinner table, her appetite vanished. She laid down her chopsticks, turning to Maid Marian with an earnest gaze. “Please, bring Cedric here.”

Maid Marian’s eyes widened in both surprise and delight. She feared the woman might change her mind. “Yes, my lady! I’ll fetch him at once.”

Alistair had left for a business trip a couple of weeks ago and was due back any day now. Thoughts of his return sent a flutter through Elowen’s chest, a mix of hope and apprehension about how to court his favor. After all, he was likely on his way to becoming a very important man.

Even if not outright trying to win him over, the least she could do was avoid offense.

Moments later, Maid Marian returned, holding the small, delicate hand of Cedric. Outside, the chill of early spring had yet to fully lift, but his attire was light—a red, collared shirt and matching boots. His pale skin was as white as snow, and his large, dark eyes held a depth that suggested an old soul. Upon entering the room, he released Maid Marian’s hand and stood resolutely in front of Elowen.

“Mother, I hope you are well,” he said, bowing his head slightly, the boy’s voice a soft melody.

Cedric was a copy of his parents, with striking features that were unblemished, his beauty almost ethereal. Elowen had never seen a child more captivating, and despite his age, a hint of baby fat still lingered on his cheeks, making him appear simultaneously beautiful and utterly adorable. Yet, his frame seemed more fragile compared to his peers—a wave of instinct rose within her to pull him into a comforting embrace.

Elowen met his gaze, imagining reaching out, but hesitated, fearful of startling him. Instead, she summoned her most tender smile. “Are you hungry, sweetheart? Would you like to have something to eat with me?”

For a moment, Cedric merely stared, his lips pursed in a tight line, brow furrowed as if contemplating a serious matter. Finally, he nodded politely. “Yes.”

Though a single woman with no experience in parenting, Elowen still understood the importance of taking small steps. She picked up a pair of chopsticks and placed a piece of delicious pork in front of Cedric. “You’ll like this,” she said, her eyes shining with enthusiasm.

But Cedric only looked confused, as if he sensed something about his mother had shifted. Lowering his gaze, he said softly, “Thank you, Mother.”

They sat together in silence, two strangers at a table meant for connection. Elowen quietly observed him, and her heart sank when she noticed the untouched pork in his bowl.

It seemed their relationship was far worse than she had anticipated.

Once their meal ended, the servants began clearing the table. Cedric remained seated, still and silent, a picture of stoicism. Elowen couldn’t help but sigh quietly. Just as she built enough courage to reach out, Cedric flinched at her sudden motion, nearly tumbling over in his surprise.

Fortunately, she caught him in time, pulling him close. “It’s okay,” she murmured, gently stroking his back. “You don’t have to be scared.”

His brow furrowed slightly, brows knitting in serious contemplation. She half-expected him to recoil, to resent her touch, yet instead, he seemed to be taking comfort in her warmth, as surprising as that was. The scent of her presence was different from what he’d experienced, more inviting.

But as she took stock of him again, she caught sight of a bruise on his arm and a thin cut on his forehead—evidence of all the neglect she couldn’t wrap her head around. How could anyone hurt such a beautiful child? It baffled her to think of the original Elowen, capable of such cruelty while denying him even basic sustenance.

Just as she opened her mouth to speak, a voice called from outside. “Madam, the young master’s tutor is here. It’s time for his lessons.”

Cedric blinked, returning to the present. “Mother, I must go to my uncle now,” he said, stepping back slightly.

Elowen couldn’t very well stop him. She crouched down, unable to resist poking his cheek playfully. “Go ahead.”

His pale cheeks flushed a soft pink, and he composed himself as he slipped out of the room.

Outside, he found his tutor waiting. The young man, full of energy, lifted Cedric effortlessly, ruffling his hair. “Hey there, little buddy! Your mother didn’t give you trouble today, did she?”

Cedric nestled into his uncle’s shoulder, shaking his head. “No.” His former coldness melted as he added shyly, “Uncle, I think she’s acting different today.”

“She smiled at me, and she even fed me.”

The tutor snorted, “Probably scheming again, that one.”

At those words, Cedric’s hopeful expression dimmed, and he clutched tighter around his uncle’s neck. “I miss my dad.”

“Don’t worry. He’ll be home tonight.”

At Edwards Manor, it wasn’t only Cedric who longed for Alistair. As Elowen lay back on the couch, where she had settled after dinner, thoughts of her husband filled her mind, a sudden jolt of realization striking her like lightning. “Oh no, oh no, oh no…”

She couldn’t shake the feeling. The original Elowen hadn’t just met an unfortunate end; no, her death was orchestrated—a slow poison began years ago.

Counting the days on her fingers, she realized the poison seeped through her veins for three long years. What remained uncertain was whether she could still escape the fate that awaited her.

Chapter 3

Elowen Howard couldn’t quite recall the details of the story she had been devouring, but it was the thrill that had drawn her in. She had skimmed through much of it, lost in the whirlwind of excitement without a second thought to the finer points.

The book painted a bleak picture of its protagonist. It described a woman who was cruel, sycophantic, and reckless—all traits that Elowen now wore like a borrowed skin. According to the pages, the original character’s health would decline severely in a year, and it seemed the poison delivered by the male lead had something to do with it.

Years spent bedridden, while the male lead climbed the ranks of power, ruthlessly eliminating all who opposed him. For many, death was a mercy; for her, being burned alive might as well have been a gift.

Maid Marian had told Elowen that one moment she had blacked out; the next, she was waking up as this misguided soul.

Now, as she leaned against the plush couch, slivers of afternoon sunshine streamed through the tall windows, kissing her cheek with warmth. Her porcelain skin glowed, long lashes fluttering slightly, and her bright red lips were temptingly full—a beauty, indeed.

She possessed a figure that turned heads, a tiny waist, long legs, and curves that demanded attention. Dressed in a crimson corset, her waist could be encircled with just a hand, and her eyes gleamed like rippling waters, filled with an allure that could ensnare many.

Yet, the male lead was unimpressed; he ended her life all the same.

After hours of pondering her options, she succumbed to a quiet slumber, warmed by the golden rays that wrapped around her like a tender embrace. If only it could last.

Instead, her dreams morphed into a nightmare—a man clad in black approached her. His presence was chilling, eyes sharp as knives, with a hauntingly beautiful face painted with a faint, cruel smile. The slant of his almond-shaped eyes narrowed as he advanced, a gleaming dagger gripped tightly in his gloved hand.

His fingers—long and precise—dug into her shoulder, pinning her as if against a wall. As he raised the dagger with unyielding resolve, he plunged it into her chest. Twisting the blade once, she could almost hear the grotesque sound of flesh giving way, pain washing over her like a tidal wave. The agony suffocated her, turning her world black.

Then she woke up, drenched in a cold sweat. Nightfall was approaching, and as her heart raced, she clutched her chest, still feeling the ghostly ache. It hit her—her nightmare mirrored a critical scene from "The High Council," where the male lead had delivered the fatal blow. Oh, how tragic her fate would be.

Before his ascent, the original character had resorted to flattery with him, only to unleash a tirade of ugly insults when spurned. "You’re nothing but a pathetic outsider—you’re riding a wave of fortune but dare show me disdain."

That was where she had crossed a line. The male lead’s mother had come from humble beginnings, dying tragically outside the grand Edwards Manor without ever stepping through its doors. To speak of her origins was to invoke his wrath.

The same dagger that stabbed her heart had cast her into the flames.

Elowen vowed to tread carefully, knowing better than to provoke the male lead. She wouldn’t utter words of insult or even think of seducing others to slip a metaphorical knife into his back.

After all, he had burned her alive because he found her filthy. A domineering male lead in a romance novel, his possessiveness was coupled with an unyielding obsession with purity—his belongings, especially women, could never be sullied by outside influence.

She was lost in thought when Marian’s voice cut through the silence. "Ma’am, shall we set the table for dinner?"

Elowen’s complexion paled, suddenly aware of her frailty. She was starving. She nodded, "Yes, please."

Then, she hesitated, calling for two of the maids. "Has the young master mentioned when he would return?"

She needed to brace herself for the male lead’s arrival.

One maid’s eyes widened in shock before she stammered, "I—I don’t know." As if to soothe her worries, she added, "But Butler Geoffrey said he should arrive in Kingston tonight."

Elowen inhaled deeply, her temples throbbing.

It looked like she would have to face Alistair Edwards tonight. No other choice.

"Understood," she decided to take things one step at a time. Alistair wouldn’t be easy, but she figured a four-year-old like Cedric Edwards would be much more manageable. "Can you fetch the young master from Stonegate Courtyard? Let’s have him join us for dinner."

"Yes, ma’am."

"Actually, I’ll go myself."

After all, she needed to familiarize herself with the layout.

Alistair’s residence was relatively small, but it exuded taste and sensibility. A narrow path and an archway led her to the Stonegate Courtyard.

Inside the Hawthorne Library, she found four-year-old Cedric diligently practicing his calligraphy, standing on a chair. Though his strokes weren’t exceptional, they bore tidiness, each character forming from careful attention.

His father adored him, but he also had high expectations—daily studies and writing were non-negotiable. Cedric had no playmates in the household; his cousins didn’t find him entertaining.

Neither did his mother, who had always been quick to hit or berate him. He’d long given up hope for her approval, realizing that love would never come.

Elowen gently pushed the door open. The scent of ink greeted her, and she tiptoed closer. "Cedric Edwards, still practicing, I see?"

The boy fumbled, his brush slipping as ink splattered across the crisp paper. His expression faltered, "Mother?"

Elowen mustered her bravado and leaned down to inspect his work. "Cedric, your writing is wonderful."

Nerves twisted in him like a coil, his little hands gripped tightly in his sleeves. This was the first compliment he’d ever received from her, and it sparked an odd mixture of sweetness and bitterness within him.

Her gaze fixed on him, softening with each passing moment. The boy felt warmth creeping into his cheeks. "Why are you here, Mother?"

Cedric captivated her more with each noticeable detail; his skin was delicate and soft, even the frown on his lips couldn’t dim his cuteness. She instinctively wrapped him in her arms. "Time for dinner. Let's go."

The boy stiffened, unsure where to place his hands. The soft fragrance and warmth of her embrace felt foreign to him. He bore the advice from his uncle in mind—she was up to something.

Cedric squirmed a bit, stating, "I can walk myself."

But Elowen tightened her hold, beaming as she patted the top of his head. "Stay put, okay? You need to listen to your mother."

Reluctantly, he pressed his cheek into her chest, fingers gripping the front of her gown as desire battled his training to resist.

Even as he feigned indifference, his little ears flushed pink.

Cradling him against her, Elowen strode back to Silverbrook Cottage, hastening to cover him with a blanket, richly adorned with soft fox fur. His face barely peeking out, those dark, bright eyes twinkled like stars.

It felt surreal to him—his mother was treating him as if she genuinely cared, her glare of contempt having vanished. It felt like a dream, one he hoped would linger.

Seated together for dinner, uncertainty loomed between them. Not quite knowing what he enjoyed, Elowen asked, "What do you like to eat, Cedric? I’ll have something made tomorrow."

Still tense, he lowered his head, murmuring, "I can eat anything."

Elowen noticed his unwavering caution, so she refrained from pushing him for answers. With a gentle smile, she replied, "Alright, then. We’ll figure it out."

She had originally planned to whip up some pastries for him, but this being just her second day in this body, she feared dropping the facade too soon; revealing her stranger status could bring irreparable harm.

That night, once she had bathed and put on a simple white shift, her long black hair cascading down her back, she felt unadorned yet exquisitely beautiful.

In the adjoining room, Cedric was fast asleep, curled up in the corner of his bed. Elowen tucked him in snugly, careful not to disturb him as she slipped out.

Exhausted, she nearly nodded off by the time she extinguished the lantern, ready to crawl into bed. However, just as she was about to lay down, Marian rushed into the room, breathless. "Mrs. Edwards! The young master has returned and is heading this way!"

Elowen’s drowsiness vanished, clarity replacing it with sheer alarm.

Chapter 4

Elowen Howard never imagined that Alistair Edwards would come home and head straight for her. Honestly, her heart raced with a mix of anxiety and apprehension.

Alistair returned to the sprawling Edwards estate, the weight of fatigue hanging off him like a shroud. After a quick sip of water to clear his throat, he strode purposefully toward the room of his son, Cedric, his eyes steely as he scanned the empty parlor. “Where is he?” he demanded, his voice like ice.

The young servant, visibly trembling, stammered a reply, “Madam carried him off to her chamber this evening.”

Alistair’s face darkened further, and his strides lengthened as he marched toward Silverbrook Cottage, a swirl of fury simmering beneath his calm facade. That woman better tread lightly.

Elowen was still formulating her plan for this unexpected encounter when the door burst open. She jumped, leaping up from the bed, her heart racing as she looked up. Alistair stood before her, draped in white, a jade pendant swinging at his waist, a delicate cloud-patterned belt cinching his robe.

His face was striking, with features seemingly sculpted by an artist’s hand, like something out of a dream. Those eyes—dark and blooming like spring blossoms—held a depth that drew her in, sparkling with an alluring sheen, and hinting at unspoken mischief.

Elowen swallowed hard. It was absurd how handsome he was.

Alistair surveyed the room slowly, a smile teasing his lips as he leaned against the doorframe. “Where's Cedric?”

His voice dripped with an easy charm—disarming and pleasant.

Elowen’s nerves danced as she fumbled with her words, “He’s… he’s in the adjoining room.”

Alistair’s gaze sharpened, a flicker of realization passing through his eyes. Something about her demeanor was off tonight; she seemed softer, quieter, almost vulnerable, like a deer caught in headlights.

He raised an eyebrow, making a mental note to ask the staff tomorrow about what had happened during his absence.

As the seconds stretched thin in the tense silence, Elowen’s anxiety deepened. Alistair’s smile, though warm, felt more threatening than comforting. She couldn’t shake off the memory of a haunting dream where he smiled a wicked smile, twisting a dagger into her heart. The echo of that memory twisted something deep within her.

Terrifying.

Alistair continued to regard her with intense curiosity, as if she were a puzzle worth solving. The timid woman before him—jaw clenched, lip bleeding under her own teeth, wide-eyed with fear—was a curious sight.

“Cedric is fast asleep in the next room. You don't need to worry,” he reassured, though his eyes betrayed an amusement that sent chills down her spine.

“Right…” he hummed, pulling his gaze from her and taking a seat. “Make sure she gets some calming tea, Marian,” he commanded to the maid waiting outside.

“Yes, sir,” the maid replied, scuttling off.

Elowen opened her mouth to protest, words bubbling up to challenge his authority, but he cut her off, his tone softening again. “You never sleep well at night. A little calming tea would do you good.” He lifted his cup, taking a sip, unfazed by the cool tea in the cup. “You’ve been under the weather. We'll drink some restorative herbs together before bed.”

The words lodged in her throat, leaving her no room to argue.

Frustration brewed within her. She’d read enough of this world’s story—the one penned in **The High Council**. But the passages detailing her character were sparse, painted vaguely as the villainess with an unhappy ending, without delving into the intricate strands of her relationship with Alistair or the grim reality of life in Edwards Manor.

Moments later, Maid Marian returned with a steaming bowl of dark concoction. The thick liquid released a pungent odor that made Elowen wrinkle her nose in disgust.

“Seriously? No way,” she thought.

Alistair, catching her hesitation, took the bowl from Marian’s hands with a deft grace. He dipped a spoon into the murky depths, stirring it with a gentle smile, before presenting it to her. “Here, just one spoonful.”

His smile—a blindingly beautiful curve—seduced her into compliance.

With her heart racing, she reluctantly parted her lips, letting him feed her one bitter spoonful. As the repulsive liquid slid down her throat, an insistent thought jabbed at her mind.

*He once held my chin, forcing me to swallow something just as vile, his eyes filled with malice, whispering 'you can die now.'*

But this time, it was different. He wasn’t the monster she had dreamed of.

Alistair simply watched her, the shadows in his eyes deepening as he noted the flicker of resistance in her. The candlelight danced upon his features, intensifying the charm of a man who hid a complex darkness beneath his elegant exterior.

“Drink your medicine, Elowen. You need it,” he stated softly, but the weight behind those words lingered like a borrowed promise—shifting, foundational.

And in that moment, she realized the stakes had changed. The tides had begun to shift, and so had the fragility of their twisted fate.

Chapter 5

This was the only mention of poison in *The High Council*, and even if she had read the original, Elowen Howard wouldn’t have known when Alistair Edwards had started using it, where he had poisoned her, or what exactly he had used.

As Alistair offered her the concoction, he noticed the woman in front of him trembling. Her shoulders shook subtly, fear unmistakable in her eyes. Still, she obediently drank the bitter medicine he had given her.

Elowen’s heart sank further as she shivered, though she tried to reassure herself. The potion had been brewed by her maid, Marian, and she doubted it was truly toxic. With that thought, she managed to quell her tremors.

She looked up at him with her large, moist eyes, pleading with an innocence that belied her desperate desire to survive. “I’m being good,” she murmured softly. “I’m being obedient.”

So could her brother let her off the hook this time?

Alistair froze for a moment, glancing at the empty bowl. A faint smile crossed his lips, cool and detached. “Yes, you are indeed obedient.”

That medicine was so bitter she had swallowed every drop without a fuss, behaving more docilely than he could have imagined.

Elowen’s mouth tasted of the potent herbs, and she cursed herself for feeling remorseful over simple sweets. She was terrified that asking Alistair for something trivial would remind him of past mistakes, prompting him to despise her all the more.

She had it all figured out in her mind: she had no intention of being the heroine in this story, nor did she wish to win Alistair’s affection. In fact, having a man like him—fastidious and possessive—fall in love with her would be a nightmare.

All she wanted was for Alistair to see that she was compliant, sensible, and no threat to his peace. She desperately wished to stay alive, certainly not keen on the idea of being burned alive, thank you very much.

She resolved to keep a low profile from now on, aim for little acts of kindness. As long as the original Elowen hadn’t betrayed him yet, and had not disregarded her feverish child just to meet her lover, she still had time for redemption.

She recalled a detail about Cedric Edwards, Alistair’s brother, whose leg had been injured in a rather unfortunate incident. It was a result of Elowen’s clumsiness—she had pushed him aside to run messages to her lover, causing him to tumble down the stairs, spraining his leg.

Alistair had surely wanted to tear her to pieces at that point.

Lucky for her, those events had yet to unfold before she arrived. Otherwise, she might as well have hanged herself in despair.

After watching her drink the last of the potion, Alistair stood. “I’ll check on Cedric,” he said evenly.

Elowen dared not stop him; in fact, she wished he would hurry. Once he vanished behind the curtain, the anxiety that had gripped her heart began to loosen.

Cedric was fast asleep, looking peaceful, his small body curled comfortably in the sheets. Alistair examined him closely, finding no injuries. The coldness in his expression began to fade.

He exited the room silently, only to find Elowen still seated at the edge of the bed, her thin nightgown hanging loosely off her frame, exposing a delicate expanse of skin from her collarbone down.

Alistair’s gaze lingered for a moment before he turned to the servants, commanding, “Get me water. I want to bathe.”

“Yes, sir.”

Elowen was feeling drowsy, but she couldn’t dare close her eyes while Alistair was still awake. She was taken aback by the realization that he intended to spend the night.

As Alistair bathed behind the screen, Elowen fidgeted by the bedside, the rhythmic sound of water only heightening her unease. She wished she could leave without a second thought, terrified of what the night might hold.

The more she thought about it, the worse it got, so she pushed the thoughts away and instead revisited the year’s significant knot of events surrounding Alistair. His life had been a nightmare lately; the emperor’s blatant disdain made his political career treacherous, while other members of the Edwards family treated him coldly, often taunting him.

House Fairfax had little regard for him as a son-in-law of little merit. On the day of the Dragon Boat Festival, the original Elowen had returned home, at which point her mother began influencing her to seize Gareth Edwards’ wealth.

During the Harvest Moon Festival, Alistair had been dispatched to Huangzhou for a month, where he was ambushed and nearly killed by a group in black cloaks. But as the protagonist, he wouldn’t meet an end there, even if he was injured. Luckily, someone had saved him—rumor had it, it was the very heroine of the tale. Elowen had no intention of stealing the credit; instead, she planned to warn Alistair as they neared the date, pointing out dangers he might encounter on the road. A small act of kindness, she thought.

Lost in her thoughts, she barely noticed when the man emerged from behind the screen, glistening slightly from his shower, soft hair damp and radiating an otherworldly allure. The moonlight glowed around him, casting an ethereal glow.

“Why aren’t you asleep yet?” he asked casually.

Alistair, ever observant, had detected her unease the moment he stepped into the room. Elowen had never waited for him to sleep before.

In a flash, she slipped off her shoes and hopped into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin, trying to maintain her composure. “I’m going to sleep now.”

Alistair laughed softly, a chuckle that rolled low in his throat as he stared down at her feet peeking out from beneath the blanket. He approached and, with his icy fingers, grasped her ankle. Elowen’s body went rigid, icy sweat prickling her skin. Despite his outward gentleness, she could sense the penetrating chilly essence he exuded.

“Why are your feet so cold?” he remarked lightly, tucking her feet snugly under the blanket.

Elowen’s gaze faltered as she whispered her thanks, “Thank you.”

He extinguished the lamp, and the room was engulfed in darkness, illuminated only by the dim, silvery light filtering through the window. He laid down beside her.

Elowen’s hands clutched the covers tightly, her entire body tense.

Alistair let out another quiet laugh, and his long, delicate fingers brushed against her cheek, leaving a lingering chill. “Sleep now,” he murmured.

Oh boy, the male lead sleeping beside her was exhilarating.

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