Chapter 68

A trail of smeared mud marred his face, neck, and shirt. His once radiant silver eyes now appeared dulled as they scanned the surroundings, lingering briefly on my cloak before descending to my boots. Finally, his gaze settled on my face, then traveled down to my hand and the water nuts it held.

Curiosity piqued, he picked one up and raised an eyebrow, giving me a knowing look. I refused to admit that I had snuck out, correcting myself mentally. I had the freedom to go wherever I pleased.

"The chief's wife paid me a visit and offered them to me," I said, the statement not entirely false. His frown deepened.

"The chief's wife?"

I noticed a slight pallor beneath his weathered complexion. Concern gripped me as I stood up and examined him closely.

I nodded. "You didn't know? He's married."

"No, I did. I've just never met her. Everyone says she's reserved," he replied. This was the most he had spoken to me in the past few days.

"She didn't seem reserved to me," I murmured under my breath.

He silently moved away from me, dragging his feet. Was he tired? I had never seen him this fatigued; his shoulders were slumped and weary. He grasped the edge of the bed, bending his back and closing his eyes as if trying to steady himself.

"You look tired," I observed. He straightened up, shaking his head in response. I understood that he wasn't inclined to engage in more conversation than necessary. He stood and began untying the strings of his vest, but his hand started to tremble. He clutched the edge of the bed once again, trying to regain composure. What was happening? I had noticed these episodes a few times before, but he had always managed to conceal them during the short time I had known him. I had never seen him like this.

"Let me help you," I offered.

Approaching him, I touched his shoulder and guided him to stand upright, turning him to face me. Our tired eyes met, and a faint smile graced his lips unexpectedly, casting a glimmer of light on his face. My cheeks flushed slightly as his gaze remained fixed. I untied the strings of his vest, assisting him in removing it one arm at a time. His clothes today were more soiled than ever before, with scratch marks on his hands and neck. I took his hand in mine.

"Did you not tend to your wounds?" I inquired, studying him closely. He quickly averted his gaze from his hand, retracting it and clearing his throat.

"They will heal," he replied, his voice no longer carrying traces of exhaustion. He stepped back, distancing himself. "I'll get dressed and meet you downstairs for dinner." Whatever had momentarily gripped him seemed to dissipate too quickly. He walked behind a screen to change, but as he moved away, I caught a glimpse of something dark on his back when his shirt rode up slightly.

I took a step forward to stop him and see, but then hesitated.

"I don't feel like going downstairs. Let's have dinner served here," I suggested when he found me still seated on the bed, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Certainly," he nodded.

This was the only other time I had seen Xen like this—when the wolves from the Eclipse Pack had been injured. He had felt responsible; the dejection was evident in his eyes back then. Today, it manifested physically. It wasn't just his face; it was the way he walked and emerged dressed, his dishevelled hair, and the way he looked out the window. He seemed to strain to maintain his composed facade. If I hadn't practised the same thing countless times in my own life, I wouldn't have guessed.

The dinner passed in silence, but to my surprise, there was meatloaf on the table. However, I felt too full from the water nuts and the second lunch I had in the market. Once we finished and the servants cleared the table, I finally gathered the courage to ask him.

"You didn't find anything in the Oak Woods, did you?" I inquired. He met my gaze momentarily, his eyes devoid of emotion, then nodded.

"It must be frustrating," I commented, but he turned his back and settled on his side of the bed, slipping under the covers silently.

I sighed, lacking the energy to be annoyed with him in his current state. "You're really not going to tell me anything, are you?" I whispered under my breath. Turning, I extinguished the oil lamp on his side and made my way to mine, arranging the blanket over me. Glancing at his back, my heart ached. Was I being too stubborn? Too selfish? I had no one to consult but myself. Frowning as I looked at him, I heard his soft sigh. He shifted slightly, folding his arms in front of him, causing his sleep shirt to cling tightly to his defined form.

Even in his anger, he had never made me feel ignored. Today, he was crestfallen and weary. His figure appeared diminished, and the majestic aura that usually surrounded him now seemed diminished. There were fewer wolves with him as well. Some had departed for Witch Hollow to protect the Silver Ship from the witches, while others headed for Drogon Stone. He worked alongside the chief and his men, the resident wolves in this place. He was alone, with everyone looking to him for answers. I observed everything, attending the last two council meetings and speaking with the wolves who usually stood guard outside.

He truly was alone, and I wasn't helping the situation either. My heart ached once again.

Blowing out the light on my side, I silently slipped under the covers and wrapped my arms around his torso. He still radiated heat. I sighed against his shoulder, contemplating what to say.

"I know you're upset with me, and you can continue to be, but if there's something you wish to share, you can tell me anything," I whispered. For a moment, he seemed to hold his breath, unmoving, until he finally shifted his hand. His fingers interlaced with mine, pressing them against his chest. He let out a soft sigh. I squeezed his hand and felt the rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my touch. He didn't say anything more, but I felt him relax against me. The warmth enveloped me as I drifted off to sleep.