Chapter 196

Chapter 196
Lina's POV

When people faced overwhelming tragedy that rendered human strength meaningless, I reflected, turning to divine prayer became our only solace—acknowledging both our limitations and our desperate need for heavenly intervention.

During one session, urgent knocking shattered the atmosphere. Silas stood disheveled in my doorway, soaked by torrential rain, his weathered face showing deep worry lines.

"Your Grace," he said without preamble, voice rough with exhaustion, "His Majesty hasn't slept in three full days and barely eaten since the news arrived. Council members whisper concerns he's pushing toward complete collapse. Please, you must come speak with him."

The news struck like a physical blow. "How can he neglect his body so completely!" I exclaimed, heart clenching with alarm. "He can't help anyone if he destroys his own health!"

Without waiting for response, I pushed up from the prayer cushion, hand automatically supporting my growing belly. "Go prepare my warmest cloak and thick shawl, and have the kitchens ready substantial hot food—something nourishing that will restore his strength."

I found Augustus exactly as Silas described—hunched over maps and reports, broad shoulders curved inward as he scribbled urgent notes. His golden hair hung disheveled, exhaustion lining his features like premature aging. Setting down the food basket, I unpacked steaming beef stew, warm black bread, and fresh butter.

"Take it away," Augustus said hoarsely without looking up. "I don't have time for interruptions, and I specifically ordered no one should bother me—"

Thunder crashed, shaking the keep's foundations and making him jerk his head up sharply. His bloodshot golden eyes widened in complete shock when they focused on my face.

"Your Majesty, please eat while it's hot," I said simply, unconsciously touching my left ear. "Cold soup doesn't taste nearly as good, and the kitchen staff take such pride in serving food at proper temperature."

Augustus swallowed hard, throat working visibly. "You... how did you come here? It's so late, and this storm—you should be resting safely in your chambers."

Instead of answering, I moved beside his chair and gently guided his hand to rest against my belly's curve. The effect was immediate—his body went rigid as a firm kick landed against his palm, our child's movement strong enough to make his eyes widen with wonder.

"That's your son or daughter," I said quietly, watching tears gather in his exhausted eyes. "Right now, they're protesting that their father is neglecting his health so badly." I covered his hand with mine as another kick made us both smile. "This little one needs you strong and healthy. They need you to take care of yourself so you can care for them."

I paused, letting my next words settle between us. "I know I won't be here forever—we've both understood that reality. But this child will need their father for years to come, and they deserve better than a man who works himself into an early grave because he's too stubborn to accept his limitations."

The raw pain flashing across his features was almost unbearable, but I held his gaze steadily. This was too important for gentle lies.

Slowly, Augustus withdrew his hand and reached for the silver spoon with obvious reluctance. I settled across from him, watching as he took his first tentative sip, eyes closing as if savoring both taste and the simple act of nourishment after stubborn neglect.

As he continued eating, I could see terrible tension beginning to ease from his shoulders, though grief and exhaustion remained etched in his features. The stew was thick with tender beef and vegetables, prepared with loving care by servants genuinely worried for their master.

When the bowl was nearly empty with only meat pieces remaining at the bottom, Augustus paused with the spoon halfway to his lips, staring down with an unreadable expression. The silence stretched, broken only by storm sounds and his labored breathing.

"I remember you mentioning beef stew was a particular favorite," I said softly, voice carefully neutral but warm. "I asked the kitchen to include plenty of meat, the way you prefer it."

"Thank you," he whispered, voice barely audible over rain. He carefully ate each remaining piece of beef with deliberate slowness, then broke bread into pieces and soaked up every drop of broth until the bowl was clean. By the time he finished, tears tracked silently down his cheeks.

I reached across to take his hands in mine, feeling calluses and exhaustion's tremor. "Promise me you'll eat regular meals and get proper rest," I said with quiet authority. "Not just for me and the baby, but for yourself. You're no good to anyone—not flood victims, not the kingdom, not your family—if you collapse from exhaustion."

He turned my hands over with infinite gentleness, pressing my knuckles against his cheek in a gesture so tender it made my heart ache. "I promise you, Lina," he said, eyes closed and voice thick with emotion. "I'll take better care of myself. For all of us."