Chapter 9 - Nesta
A/N: Hello everyone! Long time no see. I'm gonna keep this short and sweet. Shout out to my beta for encouraging me to work on this!
Trigger warnings for the following in this chapter: mentions of suicidal thoughts, death during childbirth, miscarriage, starvation and physical abuse. As per usual, if there's anything you think I've missed that could be a trigger, please let me know!
Word count: 6119
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Nesta was at the point where she had reached a steady routine, which rarely deviated. The routine gave her structure, predictability and peace she had never had the comfort of knowing in her previous marriage unless Tomas locked her in their rooms. At first, when he would lock her in their rooms for days, he would beg him to let her out, which only made him angrier. Then, he would deny her food during her punishment. Once she got used to living in that house, she saw him locking her away for what it truly was: a blessing in disguise. She was safely locked away in the rooms, with nobody watching her or worse.
Of course, eventually, Tomas realised she actually enjoyed the time alone, so it stopped. He couldn't have his wife enjoy her punishment after all. Instead, he decided that the physical punishments were better suited since Nesta enjoyed her own company.
Her current husband had clearly decided that her punishment for misbehaving was to just continue like nothing happened. Her wrongdoings from the ball had not been mentioned, and he seemed to avoid the subject while simultaneously wanting to speak on it. Nesta was fine with the indecision and continued to spend her days in the library. She would do so happily if she could stay there all night, too, but she didn't want to push her luck. Her husband seemed reasonable, but you could never predict what would make a man snap. Still, she knew that in the library, she was safe.
Her husband seemed nervous when he entered the library and rarely seemed to do so. Nesta assumed the years of neglect his family's legacy had seen made him feel uncomfortable, or perhaps it was something else entirely. Still, either way, Nesta did not mind that he rarely entered.
She had thought she understood men very well up until her second marriage. There were men like Tomas, who wanted to show everyone how powerful they were, puffing their chests out like peacocks, just because he wanted to show the world something other than what he was. He seemed unable to move out of his brother's shadow and turned to anger.
Then, there were men like Philip, who would crush anything they could not control. They were as slippery as an eel and sly as a fox and rarely had anyone tell them no. Those types of men were worse because they were much more confident in themselves compared to the kind of man Tomas was. At least with Tomas, Nesta knew she could play to his ego, which would appease him.
Then there was the kind of man Robert Mandray was. He was so gentle he was almost like a woman. His brothers had no respect for him because of it, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make himself more like his brothers. His wife had once disrespected his brother at the dinner table, so he slapped her across the face. Philip had looked proud, but Robert had looked horrified. He had left the house the following day, taking his wife with him. Nesta understood why; it was unsafe for either of them in a house like that. Robert was too gentle, and Philip was known for wandering eyes, hands and penis, too, if he could help it. It didn't matter if the recipient of his advances were open to them.
Perhaps the Duke was more like Robert, but then she wasn't sure if she believed that. He could command a room, and nobody could say he wasn't powerful. Nesta didn't understand much about the running of estates, but she knew the Duke of Illyria was good at it and had many profitable estates up and down the country. That kind of money came to someone other than someone who would run like Robert. Her husband had also gifted her with so much; she knew other men would dislike her being given such freedom and power. She was sure Tomas was turning in his grave, yet the Duke did not care.
Perhaps this was the freedom someone with his status and power could expect. The Duke did not care that Nesta could run wild with all the freedoms he gave her. He was too rich and powerful to care. Even the talk of society didn't bother the Duke; it seemed not to reach his ears. Important people clearly didn't have the time for such things. The issue was that Nesta had never been around someone with such importance, so she had yet to learn how she should act.
As Nesta steadied herself at the top of a ladder to clean the top of yet another shelf, she thought about how easy it would be for her to fall from this height. She could injure herself pretty badly if she landed on her head in the right way. She could die, and nobody would realise until lunchtime. But as soon as the horrific thought popped into her head, she shook it away. She couldn't do that. The burden that would put on her sisters and, worse, the Duke was too much. Feyre was so heavily pregnant, and she didn't want to do anything to put the baby at risk. Elain couldn't stop mentioning her children and wanting them to meet their aunt Nesta. And then, of course, the Duke would be the subject of a lot of scandalous talk if she died. No, she couldn't do that to them. She had a responsibility to them all. Her mother had always said it was her burden to shoulder these responsibilities. Even after her mother's death, she had been unable to move past that feeling.
There was a knock at the door, one that startled Nesta out of her thoughts. Only Claude and the Duke came here, but neither knocked so timidly as this person did. There was another knock, this time a little louder at the lack of response. Nesta called for them to enter and started climbing down the ladder.
To her surprise, it was a little boy who entered. The awe was evident on his face as he walked in, scanning the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The boy was so entranced by all the books he tripped over his own two feet but managed to catch himself before he hit the ground. He quickly straightened himself out, but his face started to colour when he looked over and saw that Nesta had been watching him.
He cleared his throat awkwardly before finally speaking. "My Lady," he said and then paused. Then, he did the stiffest, most awkward bow known to man.
Nesta stifled a laugh at that but decided to put the clearly nervous boy out of his misery. "How can I help you this fine morning, good sir?" She said, matching the boy's formality and curtsying back to him.
The boy's eyes widened in horror. "Please, My Lady, you don't need to bow to me. My name's Arthur and I'm Eleanor's son; my mother said she's your maid?" The boy was clearly unsure if Nesta would even know who his mother was.
Now that the boy mentioned it, she could see their similarities. "Of course, it's nice to meet you, Arthur," Nesta said, putting on her best smile. It had been so long since she had smiled that she felt out of practice. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
"Oh, well, I was wondering if you needed any help, My Lady?" he said awkwardly while shifting around, avoiding eye contact.
Nesta tried to control her facial expression at that. Why would this boy want to help her? Well, her first thought instantly went to her husband. He must've wanted the boy to spy on her. But then, another part of her questioned this logic. Why would the Duke wish to spy on her when nothing else entered the library? It would only make sense if he was worried about Claude, which also didn't make any sense. Claude loved the Duke far too much to risk doing anything that would anger him.
"Why do you want to help me?" Nesta said, trying to keep her suspicions out of it. She didn't want the boy to feel like he was being backed into a corner. "This isn't where a young boy like yourself would want to spend his day. Surely, you'd rather go outside and play instead?" Nesta said, smiling so the boy didn't feel attacked by her words.
"Well, ma'am, I know I'm young, but I want to work to help my mother. We- well, we don't live with our father anymore, so my mother works really hard. I'm the eldest, so I want to help her. Maybe, if I help you, the Duke will see and give me other tasks to do, too," the boy was nervous about telling her his motivations, but Nesta couldn't help but smile at how sweet he was.
She had no idea Eleanor didn't have her husband with her, but her son was clearly nervous about mentioning him, so Nesta didn't delve into that anymore. "Well, as you can see, there's a lot to do around here, so I certainly wouldn't mind the help," Nesta said, gesturing around them.
That put a smile on the boy's face. He rolled his sleeves up, readying himself for some action. "What do you want me to do first, ma'am? Just so you know, I know I look small, but I'm very strong, so if you need me to carry things, I can do that too!"
Nesta wanted to avoid lumbering the poor boy by carrying books around for her, not when they were so heavy. The boy was skinny-looking, and although very eager to prove himself, she didn't know if his little body could take so much manual labour. Instead, Nesta looked for a kinder task that would allow him to help her without injuring him. She didn't know Eleanor very well, and while the woman was taciturn, she knew that there was a possibility that Eleanor could get angry if her son came back exhausted from a day in the library.
"Well, actually, there's a task I've been putting off because I've been finding it too daunting," Nesta said conspiratorially. The boy nodded eagerly, waiting for her to carry on. "You see those piles of books over there?" Nesta said, pointing at the piles of books practically covering the lone table in the room. "Well, I need to figure out an order for them; the shelves I took them off were a mess. If someone could put them alphabetically, we could put them back onto the shelves much tidier. What do you think?" Nesta asked.
The boy bit his lip anxiously before eventually replying to Nesta. "Well, ma'am, I think you could do that, and I could carry on cleaning. Wouldn't that be better?" Nesta was confused; clearly, the boy could see she wouldn't accept that without questioning him. "Ma'am, I can't read, so I can't organise your books. But I can clean for you," the boy said with a smile.
Nesta blushed at that, cursing herself for being so thoughtless. Of course, someone like Arthur couldn't read. Although schools were around, they weren't open to accepting people from a lower class. Some factory owners in the north were known to build schools for the children who worked with them, but this was rare. Nesta wondered how many children on the Duke's estate couldn't read while she spent her day in a library.
"Would you like to learn?" Nesta asked impulsively. It was too late to take the offer back, though, and now it lingered between the woman and child.
"Would you really teach me?" Arthur asked cautiously.
"If you want to learn, then yes. I've never taught anyone how to read before, but if that's alright with you, then-"
Before Nesta could continue, Arthur cut her off. "Yes! Please, I would love to learn how to read. I could get so many other jobs if I learned how to work. Please, ma'am, I'll work day and night if you teach me."
Nesta smiled at him. "I'm glad to hear you're so excited to learn. All I ask for is an eager student, so you don't need to work day and night."
As they both walked towards the table, Nesta finally felt that, for once in her life, she was doing something good.
***
Her day with Arthur had been one of her best days in a long time. Nesta had spent two hours writing out upper- and lower-case versions of the alphabet and saying the phonetic sounds for them. Then she let Arthur try to copy her letters to the best of his ability while he said the sounds. While Arthur repeated the process, Nesta cleaned, staying close in case he needed her help.
Claude had been delighted to see the boy with Nesta when he had come to serve lunch. Nesta had been glad that Arthur was a growing boy because he had eaten with such gusto that it had hidden how little she had eaten. The smell of the delicious food had made Nesta feel nauseous, so she had taken two bites and then left the rest while she listened to the energetic back and forth between Arthur and Claude.
Claude had such a brilliant way with children, and his personality was infectious. She couldn't help but smile as she watched Arthur and Claude laugh. Nesta usually felt like an outsider left in the cold; being an outsider while Arthur and Claude talked was like being doused in sunlight. The warmth seeped into her bones, and she felt something inside her thaw as their joy hit her.
When Claude had left, much later than he usually would, Nesta felt like she had been given a new burst of energy. She cleaned with renewed vigour, and Arthur decided to help her, which made the time go faster. Nesta also felt like she had gotten more done today, probably because there were two of them rather than her tackling things independently. Plus, when she was on her own, she tended to get distracted by the books she found, and before she knew it, the sun would be setting, and she had read a chunk of the most bizarre book ever. She wasn't sure which of the Duke's ancestors had been so obsessed with crocodiles, but she had found five copies of the same book.
Nesta assumed that her lack of distraction today was why her body ached so much. Arthur had thrown himself into cleaning the lower shelves, so Nesta had felt like she needed to match that energy, but now she was paying the price since the boy was over ten years younger than her. Sitting at the dinner table across from her husband, struggling to lift her spoon to her mouth, certainly put her in her place. She wasn't feeling hungry. That queasy feeling from earlier hadn't dissipated as she had hoped.
Claude had cooked a feast fit for kings, but she couldn't taste anything. Everything tasted like ash, so she kept her face passive. She didn't want anyone noticing, especially not her husband, who sat opposite her, talking about one of his tenants. Nesta never understood why her husband needed to tell her the ins and outs of his tenants; she couldn't imagine he wanted her opinion. Perhaps, like all great men, he wanted to talk about all the important things he did.
Still, it was better than when he decided to be polite and ask her about her day, which was inevitable.
"Claude told me that Arthur was helping you today," the Duke said. His tone was even; there were no accusations of anything, but she couldn't tell how her husband felt about Arthur spending time with her. Right now, he was just a boy, so there was no danger of him thinking Nesta could stray, but she wondered if that would come eventually as Arthur got older.
"I had never met him before today, my Lord. He walked in and asked me for work," Nesta explained, not wanting her husband to think she spent her days talking to strangers.
The Duke just laughed, startling Nesta. "Arthur is ambitious and most likely getting underfoot wherever he had been spending his day before. I think it will do him some good. The boy is responsible; he just needs some guidance. He's a smart boy, and I'm sure he'll do well for himself in the future."
Nesta paused. The talk of Arthur's future made Nesta hesitate. Clearly, the Duke wanted the boy to succeed, but Nesta wasn't sure how he would feel about her teaching the boy how to read. While she had been helping the boy, it had occurred to her that she should've asked her husband for permission before taking something like this on, and of course, she should've asked permission from Eleanor, too. Some people could be peculiar about who their children spend their time with.
"My Lord," Nesta said nervously. She could feel herself getting warm, the sweat gathering on her brow as she took a deep breath to calm her nerves before Nesta told her husband what she had offered without his permission. "Today, while in the library, Arthur mentioned that he could not read."
"Ah, well, I suppose that is to be expected," the Duke said with a sad smile.
"Well, I offered to teach him," Nesta said quickly, looking down at her hands. She interlocked her hands to try and stop them from trembling so much. She knew she had done something wrong, and now she would have to pay whatever price her husband felt necessary. She just hoped that Arthur wouldn't suffer because of her.
"Is that something you want to do with your free time?" the Duke asked Nesta as though her opinion mattered to him.
"If you're happy to allow it, my lord," Nesta admitted. It was risky to say she wanted to do something, especially since she had already gone behind his back. He could see that she wanted to do this and take it away as a punishment.
"Of course, I'm happy for you to teach the boy. He's ambitious, and I didn't know what to do with him. It seems like you've found the perfect solution for him. I'm sorry that I didn't think of something like that sooner," the Duke contemplated.
Nesta didn't reply; it felt like a trap to say she thought of something he didn't. Even suggesting such a thing would've gotten her the beating of a lifetime from Tomas. Despite knowing this act of the Duke was too good to be true, she wouldn't look the gift horse in the mouth.
"There is no school for the lower class in this area. Rhys's mother once campaigned for it, but as far as I'm aware, she was told that unless there was evidence of some interest within the community, the government wouldn't be willing to throw that kind of money at the lower classes. They believed they could build a school, and the lower classes wouldn't send their children because it was easier for them to send them to work. I'm not sure how much truth there is in that, but it's a shame these children can't learn to read and write."
The Duke sounded thoughtful as he spoke, which Nesta had not expected to hear. Nor had she expected to listen to thoughts about supporting the lower classes. The Duke's family was an ancient one which could be traced back to the founding of Prythian. Meanwhile, the Mandray family had only recently been given their current rank. Yet, despite being so new to the money and social standing they currently had, neither Philip nor Tomas had ever looked at the lower classes with anything other than contempt or disgust.
It was strange. Nesta had not expected her current husband to be so progressive. Then again, how he spoke of the issue made her feel like he had not thought about it in much detail before she had mentioned Arthur. But now that he knew it, he took the issue very seriously.
Nesta had heard whispers that her husband treated the issues of the tenants and people under his general management in such a way, too. He was unaware of all their problems, but if he was made aware of it, he would always try to help. He had apparently once helped a tenant whose ewe was birthing. The Duke had only been passing by, but the man had called out, needing some help, and the Duke had not faltered in rolling his sleeves up. The man had recounted the tale laughing one night, saying he had done little more than take instruction from the actual farmer, but Nesta couldn't help but think that he downplayed things a little.
Nesta took a sip of her water as the silence started to linger. Where she'd usually water down her wine, she had bypassed it all together today. Nesta knew it wouldn't sit well in her already queasy stomach. She had hoped the water would help settle her stomach or, at the very least, end the pounding in her head, but it had not helped.
"Are you alright, Nesta?" the Duke asked her, frowning.
Nesta straightened her back, hoping her posture would help her look better. She didn't want to admit she wasn't feeling well. Any sign of weakness could be used against her; she had learnt that the hard way. Men didn't want to hear that their wives were not well. They didn't care, and it was disgusting to have to hear about anything like sickness. Women were meant to suffer in silence.
"You look pale, and you've eaten less- I mean, you've not eaten very much," the Duke fumbled over his words. Nesta didn't have the energy to figure out what he really wanted to say; she was too tired, and her head felt full of cotton wool. She wondered how the Duke noticed she wasn't feeling well and why he would pay so much attention to her when he had better things to do.
"No, no, I'm fine, my Lord," Nesta said, shaking her head and plastering on a fake smile. The Duke didn't seem convinced, but he didn't comment. He still eyed her plate, so Nesta knew he wouldn't stay quiet for long. "The food isn't quite sitting well with me; it's quite strong flavours and stodgy. I'll go to the kitchen to speak to Claude and get something to settle my stomach; it's nothing to worry about."
Nesta was loathed to explain herself further, but she knew the Duke enough to realise she needed to give him some sort of explanation. She didn't wait for him to reply, as she quickly got up and rushed to the kitchen before he could stop her. Perhaps there was something Claude could give her that would help- or at least something she could eat without being sick.
There was chatter in the kitchen, but Nesta was past the point of processing it. The heat hit her as she rounded the corner and was met with various smells and sounds. She couldn't take it in; so much was going on, and her brain couldn't process it all in its overwhelming glory.
Nesta had been to the kitchen only a handful of times since she had married the Duke. She knew she was not well-liked in the household, which was fine. They were very protective of their master, and everyone else kept their distance apart from Claude, who seemed like he could be friendly with a bear. That was fine; the distance meant fewer chances of anyone spying on her to report back to her husband.
"My Lady, are you alright?" a younger man asked her. She didn't even notice when he came over to her. Claude had yet to notice her, but Nesta hadn't announced herself as she walked in. Her head felt so fuzzy that she had just ended up staring off into the distance at nothing.
"I apologise; I know you all must be busy," Nesta said, trying to wade through the treacle in her brain to remember what she had wanted to say.
"It's no problem, ma'am. We're not busy; it's just Claude's chaos," the man smiled. Nesta had been introduced to him but couldn't remember his name for the life of her.
At the sound of his name, Claude whipped around and beamed brightly as he saw Nesta. "Matthew, get back over there. You're not paid to chat with Lady Nesta," he said jovially.
"Of course, Claude," Matthew replied, a grin adorning his face, and mischief sparkling in his eyes. That's you who's paid to talk to the Duchess."
Matthew ran off before Claude could say anything, but Nesta could see the humour dancing on his face. "Now that Matthew is doing his real job, how can I help you, my lady. Is there something wrong with the food?" Claude said, looking anxious.
"No, Claude, definitely not. I just am not feeling too well. Is there anything you have that I can eat that will help?" Nesta said, blushing at her admission.
"Oh, of course. I make some wonderful soups, but some tea might be quicker. What seems to be the issue, my lady? Perhaps Cassian needs to call the doctor instead," Claude said kindly, leading Nesta to a nearby stool.
Nesta shook her head. "It's fine; I just feel a bit queasy," she lied.
Claude didn't look like he believed her but, thankfully, didn't say anything. To keep him from pressing the topic, she quickly spoke up, changing the subject. "Why do you call the Duke Cassian, but you're so formal with me?"
Claude smiled at that. "That idiot doesn't know how to treat a lady. He's the stupidest Duke I've ever seen," he laughed. "I jest. I've known him for a long time, and we've always been friends first, so it was natural to call him by his name. With you, well, I don't know you as well, so I wasn't sure if you would like me to be so forward and familiar with you. I wouldn't want to insult you."
"Well, I'm asking you to call me by my name. I would like to think we're friends," Nesta said softly. It was true. Claude was the closest thing she'd had to a friend for a long time. The last friend she'd had was long gone now.
"I'm honoured, Nesta," Claude said, testing out saying her name. Here, let me make you some tea. What about having some pastry with it? Really, you should eat something if you don't feel well; it might help to settle your stomach."
"Thank you, Claude, but the tea will be more than fine. If I can manage something else, I will let you know," Nesta said kindly but firmly. She knew her stomach wouldn't be able to handle all that liquid and then food on top of that.
Claude hesitated for a moment, weighing something up, before speaking. "Nesta, if we are friends, then I just want to say something as a friend. I hope you don't take offence, and I'm sorry if you do; it's just that I need you to know something. If you don't like something about my cooking or something specific you would like to eat, it would bring me great joy if you told me. I know you've said that you like my cooking in the past, but I can't help noticing you don't eat very much." Claude looked guilty like he had said something he shouldn't have.
Nesta was frozen. She didn't know what to do or say. She knew her eating habits hadn't gone unnoticed, but she hoped people would just leave her to it. She should've known that Claude would never leave a food-related matter alone. Food was too important to him, and she knew he had perceived it as an insult because she didn't eat much of it.
She could see no way around it. She had to tell him the truth. If she didn't, he would think she was rude, and in a house where he was one of the only people Nesta enjoyed the company of, she couldn't do that. She knew it was dangerous, becoming so attached to the man, but he was so soft and full of love and joy. Nesta couldn't help but be drawn into the man's orbit. She didn't think she had seen anyone so kind and willing to help others. She didn't even know people like Claude could exist.
She took a deep breath, Claude studying her as she opened her mouth to finally voice the truth. "In the Mandray household, the wives were not to eat first. Tomas and his brothers would eat first at the table. Their mother and sister did not sit with them often; they ate in his mother's rooms. The men ate without any abandon and were not the tidiest of eaters. Once they had done and left the room, the wives could eat what was left," Nesta said quietly. She had never admitted it before. She had never had the bravery to say anything, unlike others.
Nesta looked up at Claude, only to notice how horrified he looked. Nesta had never seen horror etched so clearly onto someone else's face, but with Claude, it was hard to mistake it for anything else. "Nesta," Claude rasped out, his eyes filled with tears. "Did they starve you?"
Nesta hesitated. She had never really thought about it like that. At first, she thought it was so strange and questioned her husband about it a lot. Tomas had told her it was a long-standing tradition in their family when it came to married women, but it had always been about controlling them.
"I never thought about it, but yes, they did, I suppose. There were times when we got nothing if we angered them. And then there were rules for if one of us was pregnant," Nesta explained, although she had no idea why she was explaining it. As the words came out of her mouth, she knew it all sounded horrific.
"Were you- did you ever become?" Claude asked, clearly unsure how to proceed in that conversation.
"No, not me, but my friend. She was married to Philip, Tomas' older brother. Her name was Clare, and she was the only person who understood what it was like in that house," Nesta said, her voice breaking as she spoke about her friend. She felt terrible for using Clare's pregnancy to avoid talking about her own, but then again, it was safer that way. She had no idea how the Duke would react if he knew she had been pregnant before, even if she didn't last very long.
"What happened to her?" Claude whispered
"She died in childbirth. The baby didn't survive either," Nesta said, wiping a tear which had escaped. Claude put a cup of tea down in front of her; she hadn't even noticed that he had done anything; she had been so consumed with her thoughts.
"I can't believe how much you've been through, Nesta; how did you bear it?" Claude asked, clutching his own cup of tea.
Nesta shrugged. "I did what I had to do. It was better when Clare was around; she understood how it was. I got used to things; I got into a routine. I knew how to avoid things." She knew getting used to things wasn't okay, but that was the truth. She didn't want to say that she had wanted to die. Claude seemed concerned enough as it was.
"That must've been hard, especially after your friend was gone," Claude said quietly.
"She was the only one who understood it, but I knew I had to carry on for her," Nesta said, taking a sip of her tea to give her some time to gather her thoughts. "Claude, I didn't tell you these things because I wanted you to pity me. I just needed you to understand that I'm trying my best. It probably doesn't seem like much, but it's all I can give now."
"No, of course!" Claude exclaimed. "And I'm honoured you felt like you could tell me."
Nesta didn't want to rain on his parade and tell him it was because she felt guilty for not eating his food, but then again, she would be lying to herself if she didn't admit that she felt some comfort around him. There was something about Claude which made her feel safe. She knew he wouldn't use the information against her like the staff in the Mandray household did. It was a strange sensation for her to actually trust someone. It had been so long she had forgotten how it felt.
"Will you tell Cassian?" Claude asked.
Nesta's eyes widened in horror. "No, absolutely not!"
Claude felt guilty for alarming her, so he held his hands out in surrender. "Sorry, I was just wondering if it would help understand the things you've been through," he said, trying to soothe her.
"He can't know Claude. He didn't want to marry me; he just agreed for my sister's sake. I'm grateful to him, but I know he's burdened by my strange behaviour. I'll get better, though; I'll become the wife he wants if he just gives me some time. I just need to learn more about his likes and dislikes. Once I figure him out, I'll be the wife he wants, and then he won't have any problems," Nesta said without even thinking. Her brain felt full of cotton wool; she had no idea what she was saying. She felt like she was speaking too fast and too slow simultaneously.
"Nesta, you know that's not what Cassian wants, right? I agree; I think you do need to get to know him, though, because when you do, I know you'll realise what he wants." Claude said.
Nesta didn't know how to react. Her brain was slowing down, so she raised her mug to take another sip of the tea. She didn't realise how much her hands shook until she spilt her tea down her front. Thankfully, the tea wasn't warm enough to scald her, but the shock of feeling the liquid on her startled her enough to make her drop her mug.
She shot to her feet as Claude got up and grabbed a cloth. The room was spinning, and Nesta eventually concluded that she had not managed to fight the horrific feeling she'd been having all day. Her stomach churned worse than ever.
Of course, her husband walked in on this chaos. "I heard some noise. What's going on?" the Duke asked, looking concerned.
Claude said something, but Nesta didn't register it at all. The Duke clearly understood whatever it was that Claude had said, and took Nesta's hand to guide her away from the broken mug.
She wouldn't usually be so glad he was so close to her, but she felt so unsteady that she gripped his hand like it was her lifeline. His hands felt so cool compared to her burning skin, and she fought the temptation to put his hand on her brow. Thankfully, her senses hadn't entirely left her, and she refrained.
"Nesta, you look pale and unsteady. Please, tell me what's wrong?" the Duke said in a frightfully close tone to begging her.
"I'm not sure, I just feel-" Before she could downplay how ill she felt, she felt the bile rise in her throat as her stomach churned. To her horror, Nesta turned to throw up the contents of her stomach on her husband's shoes.
It was over as quickly and suddenly as it had started, and Nesta felt the tiny bit of energy she'd managed to conserve throughout the day had left her body and lay at her husband's feet.
"Nesta? Fuck, are you okay?" the Duke sounded discomposed now, but his voice was starting to sound far away. She felt a hand touch her forehead, and some unsavoury curse words left the Duke's mouth. "Nesta, you're on fire; why didn't you say?"
Nesta tried to say something, but her head was swimming, and even thinking of words took energy she didn't have. She just wanted to sleep, and she could feel it calling her like a siren calls a sailor. Everything was too much for her, so Nesta simply embraced the darkness. She had just enough time to register strong arms grabbing her as she fell into the darkness lingering in her mind.
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