Duke of the Beast and the Vicarious Bride - Chapter 88 - XII.

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`XII.`

She could not say in what state of mind she had fled the encampment.

She had thought Jayden might pursue them, but for reasons unknown, he let them go.

Still gripping Caligo’s arm, Fiona first returned to the place where she had parted from Morin. She needed to go back to the castle.

“Where did you go? You were gone so long, I was beginning to wonder whether I should set out to find—”

Morin, who had begun to chide her upon spotting Fiona, stopped mid-sentence.

“Mistress, could that be…”

He had spotted Caligo looming behind her like a vast shadow and seemed to grasp something of the situation.

Fiona had no leisure to explain in detail. She first helped Caligo onto the cargo bed of the wagon they had arrived in, then seated herself and Morin on the driver’s bench. Knowing how to handle a wagon proved remarkably useful.

Guided by Morin, they returned to the castle. Fiona brought Caligo directly to her chamber.

Now that matters had come to this, she had no intention of sending him back alone to that dark stone cell beneath the earth.

Whatever the cost, she was determined not to let him be treated as a beast ever again.

“I should have done this sooner. I was too complacent.”

With a twinge of regret, Fiona first examined Caligo’s injuries upon reaching the chamber.

She hesitated a moment, wondering whether to summon Morin, but she had ointment enough to tend him herself.

Marie’s help could wait as well. With a worried expression, Fiona began to inspect his body carefully, inch by inch.

“No serious wounds. Thank goodness.”

As far as she could see, there were no deep gashes or severe injuries.

Even his back, which had taken the soldier’s whip, was faring better than she had feared. The places where restraints had bound him—neck, wrists, ankles—bore no significant marks either.

In truth, considering how roughly he had lived without protection, Caligo’s skin was remarkably smooth, free of scars or blemishes.

Fiona, who had expected to find countless traces of abuse, felt relieved—though also somewhat foolish for having worried so excessively.

‘Does his kind heal quickly?’

If so, that was fortunate. She dismissed this passing thought about Caligo’s constitution and refocused on the man before her.

“The absence of scars does not mean he did not suffer.”

Moreover, wounds of the heart often ran deeper and lingered longer than those of the flesh.

Recalling the soldiers who had treated him so contemptuously, she ground her teeth as fresh anger rose.

Finally, she took his face in both hands and turned it this way and that, scrutinizing every detail. Her touch was perhaps a bit rough, driven by lingering ire, but Caligo submitted meekly, offering his face to her inspection.

Fortunately, his face too was smooth and unmarred. She noted with brief curiosity that he lacked even the common trace of stubble, his skin perfectly clean—but again, she did not dwell on it. Thinking of his relatively hairless body, she simply assumed he was naturally smooth.

Instead, she focused on studying her husband’s face, which she had scarcely been able to see until now.

As though compensating for all the times she had been denied this sight, she gazed at him silently for a long while, committing each feature to memory. Then, unnoticed, a certain discomfiture began to steal over her—one she had not felt at all until moments before.

‘Why… is he handsome?’

It was his comely appearance, nothing more nor less, that unsettled her.

The thought had arisen unbidden, but Caligo’s face, revealed in the clear light, was truly a rare and comely one.

His features were so fine and well-formed that even Jayden—whose handsomeness was a matter of common repute—could scarcely rival him. Fiona found herself seized by an unexpected tension.

When she had traced his bones with her fingertips, she had sensed an excellent structure beneath. But she had never imagined that structure would prove so visually exquisite, so delicate. Before the flutter of excitement could fully arrive, she found herself somewhat discomposed.

Had Jayden not described him as too hideous to behold? Those words had led her vaguely to imagine a face coarse and cruelly distorted. Yet before her sat a man of jade-white skin and red lips—a true beauty.

“So this is the face you have worn all along.”

His hair was black as though it had captured a fragment of the underground darkness. His brows, thick and masculine, were drawn as if in charcoal. Beneath them, his sharp eyes and the golden irises they held were beautiful enough to make looking away impossible.