Page 67 of Duke of Fyre

"I cannot give you that," he said, his tone stripped of warmth. He turned away, as if to end the conversation, his posture rigid, resolute. "This is not a topic we will revisit, Lydia."

The words stung, and a hot, bitter anger surged within her, fed by months of quiet hopes, silent questions, and now, an answer that felt as final as it was cruel.

"So I am to be a failure," she said, her voice trembling with the weight of the admission. "To be nothing more than an empty title, an adornment to your name. A wife in name only, a woman without purpose."

A flicker of something, perhaps regret, perhaps pain, passed over his face, but it vanished so quickly that she could not be certain it had ever been there.

"Lydia," he said, his tone colder, harder. "You may leave."

But she did not move. Her hands clenched at her sides, the ache in her chest tightening as she fought the wave of anger that surged within her.

"No," she said, her voice sharper than she intended. "I will not leave. I will not stand here and accept this... this sentence you've decided for me. I am your wife, Elias, not some piece of furniture to be pushed aside whenever it suits you."

"Then perhaps," he replied, his voice low and edged with a warning, "you should reconsider what it means to be my wife."

The words struck her like a blow, the cold finality of them chilling her to the bone. She took a step back, her heartpounding, her anger giving way to a sorrow that felt too vast to contain.

"You speak of duty and of loyalty," she said, her voice a fragile whisper. "But what loyalty is this, Elias? What duty is there in denying me the very thing that would make me whole as a woman?"

She turned after this, her hands shaking - perhaps, she thought, from the vulnerability she had dared show him. As she turned away, however, Elias's voice broke the silence, laced with a chill she had come to recognize but not accept.

"Why must you press this, Lydia?" he asked quietly, though the edge in his tone hinted at something less calm, more troubled.

She stopped, her hand stilling on the doorframe, her voice low and steady, but trembling at the edges. "Because I am tired, Elias. Tired of pretending that this life, this empty pretense of a marriage, is enough. I am tired of wondering if I will spend the rest of my days merely watching you from across a table, never truly knowing you or sharing in your life."

Elias's gaze grew colder, yet she sensed something flickering beneath the surface—a tension, a warning. "I have given you a life of comfort, of stability," he replied. "I have fulfilled every obligation required of me as a husband."

"Obligations," she repeated, a bitter laugh escaping her. "You speak of duty and vows as if they are mere obligations. Is that what you want, Elias? A wife who does not challenge you, whoremains silent and grateful for the privilege of being in your shadow? Tell me, do you find such a woman satisfying? Is there nothing more you want from life, from our marriage?"

For a moment, silence stretched between them, taut and heavy. His expression did not change, but she saw a flicker of something in his eyes—a cold fire, as though he were weighing her words, assessing how deeply to let them cut.

"Do you even want a child, Lydia?" he asked finally, his voice soft but cutting. "Or are you simply trying to complete some notion of what a marriage should be?"

Her throat tightened, but she held his gaze, refusing to falter. "I want a child, Elias," she answered, her voice firm. "I want a life, a future. I want something more than this hollow existence you've deemed acceptable for us both. Can you not understand that?"

He crossed his arms, his posture growing even colder, his expression sharpening as if to distance himself further from her words. "I understand that bringing a child into this life—into my life—is a risk I am unwilling to take."

"A risk?" she repeated, her voice rising despite herself. "You live as if we are haunted by shadows, Elias, as if some terrible fate will befall us at any moment. I have no fear of your past—only of the walls you've built around yourself to keep it hidden."

For a fleeting moment, she thought he might respond, that he might reach for her, or at least soften the resolve in his eyes.But instead, his expression grew stonier, his voice even quieter, colder.

"You may leave," he said, each word deliberate, final.

She took a step forward instead, the anger in her rising, defying his command. "No, Elias. I am not a child to be sent away because the truth is uncomfortable for you."

"Enough, Lydia." His voice was low but sharp, holding a warning she did not heed.

"What are you so afraid of, Elias?" she demanded. "Why do you keep me at such a distance? If you would only tell me, if you would only let me in, perhaps…"

"Leave," he repeated, his tone darker, harsher. "This conversation ends here."

The cold finality in his voice stole the air from her lungs, silencing the words that burned within her. She searched his face, hoping for some glimpse of regret, some hint of the man she had glimpsed in rare, unguarded moments. But his expression remained impassive, as unyielding as stone.

"I only wanted a life with you, Elias," she whispered, more to herself than to him, her voice fading as she turned once more toward the door.

But he did not answer, and as the door closed behind her, the silence swallowed her words whole, leaving nothing but the emptiness she had feared all along.

Without another word, she turned and left, her steps heavy, the darkness of the corridor swallowing her as she made her way back to her empty, silent room.

---