Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 219 - Two Hundred And Eighteen

The hallway outside Beatrice’s bedchamber was quiet, the usual bustling sounds of the estate muted by the heavy carpets and the solemnity of the morning. Derek stood before the tall oak door, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He adjusted his collar, brushing away the last of the road dust.

He raised his hand.

Knock... knock... knock.

The sound was firm but respectful.

A moment of silence, then a frail voice replied from within.

"Enter."

Derek pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room smelled of old lavender, beeswax, and the faint, medicinal scent of the herbal tea Beatrice favored. The curtains were drawn against the bright sun, leaving the room in a soft, golden twilight.

Beatrice was sitting in her favorite armchair by the fireplace, a heavy wool shawl wrapped around her shoulders despite the warmth of the room. When she saw him, she didn’t wait for him to bow. She stood up, her movements slower than he remembered, her cane forgotten by the chair.

"Derek," she breathed.

She walked toward him, her arms open. Derek crossed the room in three long strides to meet her. He hugged her gently, mindful of her frailty, feeling how small she had become. She felt like a bird in his arms, light and fragile.

"Grandmother," he said, resting his cheek against her silver hair. "You wanted to see me?"

Beatrice pulled back slightly, her hands gripping his arms as if to assure herself he was real. Her eyes, usually so sharp and commanding, were watery and filled with a raw, naked fear he had rarely seen.

"Yes, yes," she said, her voice trembling. "Sit first. Please, sit."

She guided him to the chair opposite hers.

Derek sat down, his knees almost touching hers. He leaned forward, giving her his full attention.

"I am here, Grandmother," he said softly. "What is it?"

Beatrice sat back down, pulling her shawl tighter. She looked at him, her gaze tracing his face, his eyes, his features, memorizing him.

"You are leaving," she stated. It wasn’t a question. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

"Yes," Derek confirmed. "The army marches in two days. I must lead them."

Beatrice closed her eyes for a moment. A shudder ran through her.

"Strathmore," she whispered. The name hung in the air, heavy with ghosts.

"Yes," Derek said.

"It is a cursed place for us, Derek," she said, opening her eyes. They were full of pain. "Your father... he fought in the West. And Theodore... my Theodore..."

Her voice broke. She reached out and took Derek’s hand, her fingers cold.

"He went to Strathmore," she said. "He was strong. He was brave. Just like you. And he never came back. They sent me a box, Derek. A box with a flag and a sword. That was all I got back of my grandson."

Derek squeezed her hand. He felt the lump in his own throat. He remembered the day the news came. The silence in the house. The way Beatrice had aged ten years in a single afternoon.

"I know, Grandmother," he said. "I remember."

"And now you," she said, her grip tightening. "You are the last one. Carlos... Carlos is gone to his folly. Ryan is a child. You are the head of this house. If you go... if you don’t come back..."

She looked at him with desperate intensity.

"Who will be left?" she asked. "The Thompson line... The only line connected to the throne will end. It will end in blood and silence."

Derek looked at her. He saw the terror that had driven her to listen to the fake priest. He saw the love that had made her so protective, so controlling. She wasn’t trying to rule him; she was trying to keep him alive.

"I will come back," Derek promised. He tried to sound certain. "This is different. Theodore was ambushed. He was betrayed. I know the terrain. I have a plan."

"Plans fail!" Beatrice cried out, a sudden flash of anger. "Arrows fly! Swords cut! You cannot plan for death, Derek! It takes whom it wants!"

She leaned forward, her eyes pleading.

"Do you have to go?" she asked. "Can’t you send a general? Can’t you send Rogers? He is experienced. He can lead. You are the Grand Duke. Your place is here, governing, not dying in a muddy field."

Derek looked down at their joined hands. He wished he could say yes. He wished he could stay in the safety of the estate, with Marissa, with peace.

But he shook his head.

"I cannot," he said gently. "The King gave the command to me personally. If I refuse, it is treason. And... the men need to see me. They need to know that a Thompson still leads them. They need to know we haven’t given up."

He looked up at her.

"And I need to go," he admitted. "For Theodore. I need to finish what he started. I need to make sure his death wasn’t in vain and I need to find the truth of what really happened."

Beatrice stared at him. She saw the resolve in his eyes. She saw the same stubborn set of the jaw that his father and brother had.

She sighed, a long, ragged sound of defeat. She slumped back in her chair.

"You are just like them," she whispered. "Stubborn. Proud. Foolish."

She smiled, but it was a sad, watery smile.

"And brave," she added.

They sat in silence for a while. The sun moved across the sky outside the window, the light in the room changing from gold to a deep, rich amber.

"Marissa," Beatrice said suddenly.

"Yes?"

"She is a good woman," Beatrice said. "I was... unsure, at first. She seemed cold. Distant. But she has steel in her spine. She has saved the family honor more than once."

"She did," Derek agreed, a warmth spreading in his chest.

"She loves you," Beatrice said. She looked at him keenly. "You know that, don’t you?"

Derek nodded. "I know. And I love her."

"Then come back to her," Beatrice commanded. "Don’t make her a widow. Don’t make her wear black for the rest of her life like me. It is a lonely color."

She reached into the pocket of her dress. She pulled out a small, worn object.

It was a prayer bead, made of simple wooden beads, worn smooth by years of prayer.

"Take this," she said, pressing it into his hand.

"Grandmother, this is yours," Derek said. "You pray with this every day."

"I don’t need it," she said firmly. "My prayers will be here, waiting for you. You take it. Keep it in your pocket. It protected your grandfather in three wars. Maybe it still has some luck left."

Derek closed his fingers around the beads. They were warm from her hand.

"Thank you," he said. "I will keep it safe."

The sun hung high in the sky.

Beatrice looked tired. Her eyes were drooping. The emotional toll of the conversation was heavy.

"Go," she said softly. "Go to your wife. She is waiting for you. Don’t make her wait too long. Time is short."

She gestures towards the window. " The sun will soon descend."

Derek stood up. He tucked the beads into his tunic, next to his heart.

He bent down and kissed her forehead. Her skin was like paper.

"I will write," he promised. "Every chance I get."

"Just come home," she whispered.

Derek walked to the door. He turned back one last time. Beatrice was sitting in her chair, looking at the fire, her hands folded in her lap. She looked lonely. But she also looked strong, a woman who had weathered many storms and was bracing for one more.

"I will," Derek said.

He opened the door and walked out, heading straight to his room.