Chapter 4: The River Betrayal

Night had already fallen. After my meal, I went alone to the east wing.

All around was silent, with only some sounds coming from within the room.

The staff on duty were absent, so I pressed myself against the wall, heart racing, and leaned in to listen.

Only Harrison’s voice could be heard, with occasional muffled groans.

“Haven’t I told you, you’re not allowed to get close to her?”

“Today you even touched her hand?”

“If you want your hands and feet broken and to be thrown out, keep defying me.”

“Stop dawdling—use that clever mouth of yours and serve me well.”

“If I’m pleased, I’ll let you see her sooner.”

After that, I couldn’t make out the rest, my breath coming in shallow bursts as I pressed my back to the cool plaster.

“Consort.”

I tensed and turned to see who it was—it was the chief of staff, Mr. Douglas.

“Consort, the governor isn’t receiving guests today. Please return.”

“Very well.”

I lowered my eyes and left quietly.

But unexpectedly, after only a few steps, I encountered Savannah, whom I had only seen at the welcome banquet.

She was being wheeled in by two attendants and didn’t even glance at me.

Mr. Douglas stepped forward and repeated the same words to her.

Savannah slapped the old man, the sound echoing in the corridor, and sent Mr. Douglas’s glasses flying off his face as he tumbled to the ground.

“How dare you block me?”

Mr. Douglas shrank back and went inside to report.

After a moment, the doors opened.

Savannah stepped out of her chair, and before entering, glanced at me.

She asked Mr. Douglas, “Is this the washed-up First Lady?”

First Lady?

The position had always been vacant—where would a First Lady come from?

I looked at her in confusion, my cheeks burning with shame.

But Mr. Douglas said, “Noble Consort, the governor is waiting for you.”

He sent Savannah inside and handed me a lantern.

“Consort, return early.”

I wandered with the lantern in hand.

In the back garden, I ran into Miles, who was also carrying a lantern.

He was limping more severely than usual.

“Miles!”

I ran over to him happily, lantern in hand, the smell of cut grass and the flicker of fireflies brightening the darkness.

He saw me and immediately covered his face, trying to hide.

Only then did I notice his clothes were disheveled, and those unspeakable marks had appeared on his neck again.

“Well, aren’t you something.”

I handed him the lantern.

“Sneaking food while on duty in the kitchen—who’s your bold accomplice?”

Miles didn’t speak, but followed closely behind me, lighting the way and watching the road.

“Miles...”

I stopped and called his name, my voice softening.

He slowly turned around, looking at me obediently.

I opened my arms to him.

“Carry me. I don’t even have a wheelchair. If I keep walking back and forth, I’ll be worn out.”

Miles hesitated only a moment, then dragged his lame leg and walked slowly toward me, turning his back and crouching down.

I immediately jumped lightly onto his back.

Miles staggered under my weight, nearly falling, the shock of his bony shoulders and the warmth of his back making me laugh out loud.

“You, if you drop me, you’ll pay for it!”

Miles couldn’t answer, but steadied himself, then carried the lantern in one hand and supported my legs with the other, step by step, toward the main house under the moonlight.

I lay on Miles’s warm back, humming a little tune—softly, the melody of "America the Beautiful" drifting in the night air, mingling with the chirp of crickets.

That night, I dreamed again of the gallant soldier in stern silver dress blues, riding a tall horse.

Since waking from my coma, I had dreamed this every night.

In the dream, the soldier’s face was blurred, but I knew he was smiling.

He always knelt on one knee, yet never uttered a word of respect.

“Begging you for mercy, let me...”