CHAPTER 117: UNTIL YOU CARRY MY CHILD

[Rynthall Estate—Lucein and Silas’s Chamber—The Next Day—Evening]

Lucien lay sprawled across the bed like a corpse freshly delivered from the battlefield, black hair sticking in wild tufts, his lips puffed red, his throat raw, and his poor, abused hole... let’s not speak of that. His body twitched every so often, like the ghost of last night was still rattling his bones.

If anyone walked in right now, they’d probably light candles and call a priest.

"...I’m dead. Toootally dead," Lucien croaked, his voice hoarse and tragic, one trembling hand dangling dramatically off the bed. "Silas killed me. I have ascended. I see the light... Goodbye, cruel world."

He rolled his head back to the ceiling, blinking glassily as if awaiting angels.

"Will I ever walk again?" he asked himself.

Then...he replied to himself.

"...No, I’ll never walk again. This is it. I shall live the rest of my days as a bedridden invalid... slain in my prime by my beastly husband."

For added emphasis, he clutched his chest and groaned like an opera singer on his fiftieth encore. "How will I ever face my dearest daughter with this swollen face? How will I kiss her beautiful, chubby cheeks with swollen lips of mine? What shall I tell her? That I was murdered? Murdered in cold blood... by Silas’s giant—" he choked theatrically, "—cock."

At that exact moment, the door creaked open.

In walked Silas. And not just walked—he glided, shirtless, skin golden, his long silver hair maddeningly perfect, aura radiant like he had just stepped straight out of the morning sun. In his hands: a tray stacked high with pancakes, syrup dripping like holy nectar.

Lucien cracked one eye open and he almost went blind from Sila’s overflowing radiant aura.

"Gahhhhh!!! Sun god attacked me!!"

Then he stared at silas saying, "...Oh! It’s my husband, a monster husband."

Then he rasped, "How... how are you...shining? You destroyed me. You unholy demon. And yet you have the audacity... the audacity... to glow?"

Silas chuckled lowly, setting the tray down with maddening calm. "Good evening, my love."

"Good evening?!" Lucien’s voice broke like a tragic violin string. He attempted to sit up, only to flop back instantly with a wail. "Do you not see my suffering?! My body is ruined! Destroyed! Obliterated! I am but a carcass! A husk! A ghost of the man you once knew! I’ll never recover!"

Silas leaned over, brushing a damp strand of hair from Lucien’s forehead, his voice soft and infuriatingly steady. "You’re beautiful."

Lucien slapped his hand weakly away. "Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare use that word. Beautiful corpses go in coffins!"

Silas sighed, picked up a fork, twirled a piece of pancake onto it, and held it near Lucien’s lips. "Eat."

"I cannot." Lucien turned his head with slow, tragic dignity. "I am paralyzed from the waist down. If I attempt to eat, I’ll surely choke and die. You’ll be a widower before sundown. And it will be your fault."

"You’re not paralyzed," Silas muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Then explain this!" Lucien flung one leg out from under the blanket. It dangled pitifully, twitching like a fish out of water. "Look at it! Look! A limp noodle! That is your legacy, Silas! You’ve cursed me with noodle legs!"

Silas’s shoulders shook as he stifled a laugh. "You’re overreacting."

"Overreacting?!" Lucien clutched his pearls—well, the bedsheets—with scandal. "I can’t even clench my ass cheeks!"

Silas blinked. Then smirked. "Hm. I should take a look, then."

Lucien let out a guttural groan, rolling dramatically to cover himself with the blanket. "Just feed me, you bastard. I need energy to rise again and smite you down."

Silas, the picture of innocence, tilted his head. "But my love, it was you who said—’Silas, put it in.’ ’Silas, higher, more.’"

Lucien froze. His ears turned crimson. "I... I never said to go until the afternoon!"

Silas chuckled and pressed the fork to his lips. "Say ’ahh,’ my love."

Lucien opened his mouth with the air of a man accepting poison. "Ahhh. ...Please make sure Elysia doesn’t come near me today. I cannot let my daughter witness her father’s... post-mortem state."

Silas smiled, feeding him with gentle patience. "Don’t worry, Seraphina and Callen took her to the market."

Lucien chewed miserably, then exhaled a long, trembling sigh. "Thank God. She must never know what horrors her father endured. History will call me a martyr."

Silas leaned close, voice warm, eyes amused. "Or perhaps... a very satisfied man."

Lucien glared at him with the strength of a dying saint. "Bastard."

Silas only chuckled, unbothered as always, and popped another piece of pancake against Lucien’s reluctant lips. "Eat."

Lucien chewed like a martyr at the stake, glaring daggers between bites. "What about the Emperor?"

"They found his uncle," Silas replied smoothly, eyes glinting with amusement at his lover’s wrecked state. He carefully wiped a smear of syrup from Lucien’s swollen lips, thumb lingering far too long. "By tomorrow we’ll know everything."

Lucien gave a small nod, but his relief was short-lived when he caught Silas’s gaze drifting... downward. Specifically, to his chest.

Silas tilted his head, lips quirking. "Can I suck it again?"

Lucien choked on his pancake, immediately grabbing the nearest pillow and yeeting it straight at Silas’s smug face. "Horny bastard!"

The pillow hit with a soft thump, but Silas only laughed, tossing it aside as if it weighed nothing. He crawled back into bed like a predator returning to his prey, sliding an arm around Lucien’s waist and pulling him against his chest.

"Silas!" Lucien hissed, wriggling uselessly. "I can’t even sit, and you—ugh—!"

"Shhh," Silas whispered against his ear, hugging him tighter. His voice dropped into something quieter, almost vulnerable. "Thank you for yesterday, my love... but..."

"But?" Lucien’s eyes narrowed. He did not like that tone.

Silas nuzzled against the curve of his neck, his lips brushing over a fresh mark. "...I want more."

Lucien went stiff, then flopped dramatically into the mattress like a worm surrendering to gravity. "You will kill me for real, I swear."

Silas chuckled, burying his laughter in Lucien’s hair. "Don’t be so dramatic. I just..." He paused, voice softening again. "I just want you to get pregnant, my love."

Lucien froze. "...What?"

Silas’s hand stroked down his side, his expression now entirely serious, almost sad. "I couldn’t watch our daughter’s first walk. I didn’t hear her first word. I didn’t see her growing up. I missed three years of her life." His chest tightened, arms squeezing Lucien closer. "I don’t want to miss anything again. I want to... fulfill all that with our second child."

Lucien blinked up at him, stunned. He wanted to scold him, to call him insane for even thinking about more children when he could barely move his hips without wincing... but when he saw the quiet ache in Silas’s eyes, the words melted away.

For a moment, Lucien just stared at him, lips parted. Then—without speaking—he wrapped his arms around Silas, hugging him back with all the strength he had left.

"...Idiot," Lucien whispered against his shoulder, voice muffled. "You’re such an idiot."

Silas smiled faintly, resting his chin on Lucien’s head. "Maybe. But I’ll be the idiot who makes sure you never have to raise another child alone again."

Lucien’s throat tightened. He wanted to be angry, he wanted to laugh, but all he could feel was the weight of Silas’s sincerity.

"...If you kill me with your so-called ’more,’" Lucien muttered, his voice weak but teasing, "you’ll be raising them alone anyway."

Silas chuckled lowly, kissing the forehead. "Then I’ll just have to be gentle."

Lucien snorted, rolling his eyes even as his cheeks flushed red. "Liar."

Silas only smiled, tilting his chin up and kissing him slow—deep and possessive, the kind of kiss that felt like a vow carved into his very soul.

Lucien’s breath hitched; his lips were left tingling when Silas finally drew back. "W-wait..." he whispered, glaring weakly, though the heat in his eyes betrayed him.

Another chuckle rumbled from Silas’s chest as he moved in one fluid motion, lowering Lucien onto the mattress and tucking the blanket around him like something far too precious to ever be let go. His hand brushed through Lucien’s messy hair, lingering at his cheek.

"Let’s do it again... my love," Silas murmured, voice low and dangerous with want.

Lucien groaned like a man heading to the gallows, burying his face into the pillow. "You’ll kill me for real one day..."

But even as his words trembled, his body betrayed him—burning, aching, yet melting into Silas’s warmth. And there, in the cradle of his arms, Lucien’s heart pounded too loud, too full, caught between dread and desire... knowing that with Silas, escape was never truly an option.

And so, they started again... slowly, hungrily, tangled in warmth and whispered sighs.Because this time, Silas wasn’t simply making love—he was claiming, vowing, and engraving his desire into every kiss and every touch.

Because this time, Silas would make sure Lucien got pregnant—no excuses, no chances, no escape.