Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 209 - Two Hundred And Nine

The day had faded into twilight, the sun’s warmth replaced by a growing chill. Inside the main house, the corridors were quiet.

Derek walked to his bedchamber. He pushed the door open softly, intending only to grab a warmer cloak for the ride.

He stopped just inside the threshold.

The room was dim, lit only by the dying embers in the fireplace. But there, on his large four-poster bed, was a shape that made his heart ache with a fierce, possessive love.

Marissa was sleeping.

She had curled herself into a ball in the center of the mattress, pulling his thick, woolen sheets up to her chin. Her dark curls were wild and free, no longer pinned up in the severe style of the Duchess. They sprawled across the white pillows like dark silk.

Her chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. Her soft breaths filled the room, a peaceful sound that clashed with the storm brewing in Derek’s mind.

He remembered the night before. Their night of passion. The way she had looked at him, the way she had touched him. Since then, she had refused to go back to her own room in the east wing. She had stayed. She had claimed his space as her own.

"She must have been waiting for me," Derek thought, a pang of guilt hitting him. "She was waiting for me to finish in the study. She probably wanted to ask about my stressful day. And she fell asleep."

He walked quietly to the side of the bed. He looked down at her. In sleep, her face was unguarded. The sharp, calculating look she wore like armor was gone. She looked young. She looked vulnerable.

She turned slightly, murmuring something unintelligible, her face turning toward him, still deep in sleep. Her hand reached out, searching for him in the empty space beside her.

Derek’s throat tightened. He wanted to climb in beside her. He wanted to forget about Carlos, about Theodore, about the plots, about everything. He wanted to just hold his wife.

But he couldn’t. The letters were waiting. The truth was waiting.

He leaned down. He brushed a stray curl from her forehead. His touch was light as a feather.

He planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

"Sleep well, my love," he whispered. "I will be back before you wake."

He straightened up. He walked to the wardrobe and grabbed a heavy, dark riding cloak. He swung it over his shoulders, fastening the clasp. He checked his sword belt one last time.

He turned and left the room, closing the door softly, leaving her safe in the warmth while he rode into the cold.

The ride was long and hard. The mining district was miles away, a desolate place of rock and dust. By the time they arrived, the moon was high and bright, casting long, eerie shadows across the landscape.

The carriage rattled over the rough, unpaved road. It slowed down, the wheels crunching on gravel.

"We have reached the old townhouse, Your Grace," Ian said from the driver’s seat as he pulled the reins of the horses.

The carriage stopped in front of a rusted iron gate. Beyond it lay a large, dilapidated house. It looked abandoned. The windows were dark, like empty eyes. Weeds grew tall in the courtyard.

Derek opened the carriage door and stepped down. His boots hit the dirt. He looked up at the house. It felt quiet, too quiet. Even for an abandoned house, there should have been the sound of wind, or animals. But there was nothing. Just silence.

He turned to Ian.

"Take the carriage down the road," Derek ordered quietly. "Wait by the old mill. If I am not back in an hour... come for me."

Ian frowned. "Your Grace, I should go with you."

"No," Derek said. "If Carlos sees you, he might panic and hide the letters. I need to face him alone. Brother to brother."

Ian hesitated, then nodded. "Be careful, Your Grace."

Ian flicked the reins, and he drove the carriage away, the sound of the wheels fading into the night.

Derek was alone. He stood outside for three minutes.

Then he walked to the gate. He pushed it open.

Screeeech.

It creaked loudly, the rusted hinges protesting the movement. The sound was like a scream in the silence.

Derek flinched. He stepped through, entering the courtyard.

He walked toward the main door. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. He scanned the windows, looking for a light, looking for Carlos.

There was no sound. The house loomed over him, dark and foreboding.

He walked into the courtyard. It was quiet. Too quiet.

He reached the heavy wooden double doors of the house. They were slightly ajar.

He pushed the door open. It swung inward, revealing a dark, empty foyer.

Derek took a step inside.

Thwip.

The sound was soft. Almost inaudible. Like a breath of wind.

Derek didn’t have time to react. He didn’t have time to draw his sword. He didn’t have time to think.

THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD.

Four impacts hit him at once.

They slammed into his chest with the force of hammer blows. The breath was driven from his lungs in a sharp, agonizing gasp.

He looked down.

Four arrows were buried in his chest. Their black fletching quivered against his dark cloak.

He staggered back. He tried to raise his hand, tried to reach for the arrows.

But his limbs wouldn’t obey. A cold, numbing sensation was spreading from his chest, racing through his veins like ice water.

Poison.

He knew it instantly. The same poison that had killed Leon. The same poison he had feared.

He tried to speak.

"Ha..." he gasped.

Blood bubbled up in his throat, choking him. His legs gave way.

He collapsed backward. He fell onto the stone steps of the townhouse, his body hitting the ground with a heavy, final thud.

He stared up at the moon. It looked blurry. The edges of his vision were turning black.

He heard footsteps. Slow, deliberate footsteps coming from the shadows of the house.

Four figures stepped out. It wasn’t Carlos.

He tried to focus. He tried to see the face of his killer but the darkness was too fast. The cold was too deep.

His heart gave one last, slow, painful beat.

Thump.

And then, nothing.