CHAPTER 193: YOU’RE STILL MY WIFE

Callen was about to respond, but immediately closed his mouth again once he remembered that the Lycan King didn’t want to hear their voices.

Although the King hadn’t said it directly, all of them knew he was trying to suppress the anger and disappointment he felt toward his soldiers.

In the end, Callen simply lowered his head. Without a word, he signaled the others to begin clearing away the lifeless bodies scattered around them.

Meanwhile, Edmund walked toward Primrose, fastening his coat as he moved.

His eyes were still cold, just as frightening as before, but when he knelt in front of Primrose and gently touched her swollen cheek, his voice softened."I’m sorry. I should have come sooner."

"You should be," Primrose murmured. "But ... it’s understandable."

She wanted to throw her arms around him, to find comfort in his warmth, but she hesitated. Her clothes were torn. Her body felt exposed, so she didn’t want him to see her like this.

When Edmund reached out to hold her hand, she instinctively pulled back a little.

She felt so dirty that she didn’t want her husband to touch any part of her body.

But Edmund wasn’t blind. He had already seen the bruises, the exposed shoulder, the haunted look in her eyes.

Anyone who saw her in this state would know something terrible had happened.

Edmund slowly retracted his hand. He clenched his jaw and fought hard to hold back the rage building inside his chest.

"Where is he?" he asked. "Where is the man who did this to you?"

Primrose raised her trembling hand and pointed toward the man—Thevan, if she remembered his name correctly—who was lying on the ground with a shattered skull.

The stone he had used to bash his own head was still in his hand, now soaked in blood that had begun to turn brown.

Even in such a ruined state, Primrose could still see his chest rising faintly. His healing ability must have been strong, strong enough that he wouldn’t die unless someone cut his head clean off.

The only reason he had stopped trying to kill himself was because he had lost consciousness.

"Did you do this to him?" Edmund asked, his eyes flicking back to her.

The killing intent was still there, burning beneath the surface, but the moment his gaze landed on Primrose, it softened. He couldn’t look at her with anything but tenderness.

Primrose slowly shook her head. "I don’t know," she whispered. "He suddenly tried to kill himself, but ... I think I had something to do with it. I don’t know. I’m not sure."

She swallowed, her voice shaking as her mind drifted back to the moment everything happened.

"When he was about to rip off all my clothes ... he suddenly stopped and picked up a stone instead."

Her eyes widened the moment she said it aloud. Realizing how terrible it must have sounded, she quickly looked at Edmund, panic rising in her voice. "But—but he didn’t! He didn’t take them off! I fought back, I swear! I tried to push him away and run, and then ... then he just—"

She couldn’t finish her sentence because in the next second, Edmund pulled her into his arms.

He didn’t say a word. He just pulled her close, held her tightly, as if that alone could take away everything she had just endured.

Then, at last, the tears came.

She had been holding them back since the beginning. She didn’t want to cry. She had told herself she wouldn’t.

But the moment her husband held her so gently, she broke.

"I’m sorry," Primrose sobbed, her voice shaking. "I’m so, so sorry ... I let another man touch me. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t want it—"

The words tumbled out, broken and breathless, like she was drowning in guilt and shame.

"I tried to fight him off... but I couldn’t." Her voice trembled as she spoke, her chest tightening with every word. "Please ... don’t be mad at me. I really tried as hard as I could but ... but I—"

She couldn’t go on. The words got stuck in her throat, too heavy with pain.

Edmund didn’t let her go. He didn’t flinch or pull away.

He just held her closer, gently pressing her head against his chest, as if he could shield her from the world with his embrace alone.

"It’s not your fault," he whispered. His voice sounded calm, but his eyes betrayed the fear he felt. He looked just as scared as she was.

He held his breath for a moment, as if he was struggling to keep his own emotions under control. His hand moved through her hair with trembling fingers.

"It’s not your fault, Primrose." He repeated the words again and again, as if saying it enough times might finally make her believe it. "It really wasn’t your fault."

Primrose slowly lifted her head to look at him, her eyes glassy with tears. "You’re ... not mad at me?"

Edmund cupped her cheek gently, wiping the tears from her face with his thumb. "I’m not angry," he said softly. "Why would I be angry at you?"

He leaned closer, his voice full of tenderness. "You didn’t do anything wrong, my wife."

Primrose stared at him, her lower lip trembling. "But ... someone else touched me ... and I—"

"And you fought," he cut in firmly, his voice calm but full of emotion. "You fought as hard as you could. That’s what I see. That’s what I’ll always remember."

He brought his forehead to hers, letting them rest there together. "You are my wife. Mine to protect, mine to love. What happened today doesn’t make you any less of the woman I married."

More tears spilled from her eyes, but this time, she didn’t try to hide them. "I thought you’d hate me," she whispered.

"I love you," he whispered back. "More than my own life. Nothing, not even this, could ever change that."

"And what if ..." Primrose paused, swallowing hard. "What if I hadn’t fought back? What if I let him touch me, and didn’t do anything ... then—"

"I would still love you," Edmund said firmly, cutting her off before she could finish.

Her eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by how quickly and surely he answered.

"I would still love you," he repeated, softer now. "Because love isn’t conditional, Primrose. It doesn’t vanish when something terrible happens. It doesn’t disappear because of pain ... or shame ... or fear."

He gently brushed her hair back, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. "You are not what he tried to do to you. That doesn’t define you. You are not broken. You are not ruined. You’re still you."

He kissed her forehead, whispering softly. "You’re still my beautiful wife. My sweet wife. The woman I’ll spend the rest of my life with."