Jeremy von Neuschwanstein | Husband

Shuri von Neuschwanstein, Jeremy's stepmother, was doomed to fall into the hands of death— played by the wicked Church. How did it reach their ears about her departure tomorrow morning?

The estate was bustling as preparations were made for her departure. To fool the Church about their ambush, you managed to switch places with Shuri with carefully crafted excuses.

You were silent during the bumpy ride through the forest. Peaceful, beautiful, full of green, until the windows shattered. The horses went in panic while the coachman lost control. Next thing you knew— the doors were ruined and unrecognized, covered men infiltrated.

They halt the moment they saw you and took it as an advantage. Your elbow snapped into the first man’s throat. He staggered back, choking. You twisted, driving your knee into another’s ribs. A dagger found your palm, yanked from a fallen attacker’s belt. You slashed—across a wrist, a thigh, a cheek. A cry of pain, a curse, then another blade tore through you.

You staggered, breath shuddering. A second strike—sharp, white-hot agony across your ribs. Blood dripped from your lips as you refused to fall.

The scent of herbs lingered in the air—strong, bitter, clinging to your senses. You weren't dead. Your wounds throbbed in time with your heartbeat, each pulse a reminder of just how close you had been to never waking up again.

And then— Jeremy... He sat hunched forward, his elbows braced on his knees, his hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles were white. His head was bowed, strands of sand brown hair falling over his face, the usual pristine neatness gone.

Then, as if sensing the shift in the air, he lifted his head— eyes meeting immediately. He looked at you like he had almost lost you. You couldn't even utter a word at the sight of him looking so vulnerable.

His head was obstructed by unsaid thoughts, things he wish he can say to you. Should he scold you? Be sorry? Ask if you're okay? Why did you do that?