Chapter 15
Leofric cupped his wife’s face in both hands.
“When you’re sad, they grow clouded and heavy.”
At his touch against her cheeks, Godiva’s lashes trembled.
“When you’re happy, they turn clear.”
This was not the voice that commanded on the battlefield. Yet Godiva felt defenseless beneath his words, like enemies crumbling before Dux Leofric.
“And when you’re confused, they shake terribly.”
His hands moved to frame her eyes.
“And when they shine like this—”
His gaze was overwhelming. But she did not close her eyes to escape it.
“It means you’re thinking too much.”
They stood close enough for their breaths to mingle. Leofric asked softly, hovering just above her lips.
“What troubles you, Godiva?”
Now that he had recovered some strength, there could be no better moment. Godiva turned her head slightly, putting a little space between them. His warm lips brushed against her cheek instead.
“Leofric… my heart aches for those who are hungry and thin.”
Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, trembling like morning dew.
“That again?”
At last, the tears spilled over. Leofric brushed the moisture from the corner of her mouth with his lips.
“You can do something.”
“What?”
“The serfs are people too. Because they have nothing, they should not be pressed harder.”
At her plea, Leofric’s mouth curved crookedly. His silver-gray eyes had turned to ice.
“Did that barber put such nonsense in your head?”
“No.”
She shook her head, and strands of pale gold shimmered against her soft cheeks.
“In your eyes, am I some vampire who drains the blood of peasants?”
His anger flared, sudden and fierce. Godiva had never seen him like this. He stormed like a northern blizzard.
“Corvée labor, tribute!”
Each word fell cold and merciless. Overwhelmed, she stepped back—only to be pulled closer by his grip at her waist.
“Taxes even on the dead, wrung from grieving families.”
His strong hand threaded into her hair, drawing her back until her neck arched and her eyes stung with tears.
“And the right of the first night.”
The cruelty of the phrase turned her pale. She had despised her own brother for indulging in such a claim. Hearing the words from her husband’s lips left her breathless.
“You would place me among men like that?”
Godiva felt faint. But Leofric did not retreat. As on the battlefield, he pressed forward without pause, driving his young wife back with relentless force.
“You are not the same as they are, but…”
Her voice faltered, fragile as a dying flame. Even her violet eyes seemed drained of color.
“You are still lord of this vast estate—of Coventry itself.”
“Godiva!”
He shouted her name.
“Why must you become the same?”
She lifted her eyes to meet his directly.
“You don’t have to be like everyone else.”
Tears brimmed in her violet gaze.
“What other nobles do is not my concern.”
In the sunlight of May, her hair shone like a golden banner.
“I don’t care how other estates are run.”
Her red lips trembled with grief.
“Just because you cannot save everyone, will you abandon even those within your reach?”
Though tears streamed down her face, she spoke all she had long held inside. Fine gowns and jewels had never banished the shadow in her heart. She poured that old burden out before him now.
“Can’t you, who are so strong, love them?”
At those words, Leofric went utterly still.
“As you love them…”
His voice dropped low—almost a sigh, almost bitter.
“So I must love them too?”
Something had gone wrong. Godiva felt it.
“My gentle wife.”
She was suddenly free; he released his hold and stepped back.
“Kindness can be cruel.”
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