CHAPTER 270: A HOUSE FOR MY WIFE

"Her Majesty has passed away, Your Majesty!" Sevrin grabbed Edmund’s hand and forced him to touch her face.

In a second, Primrose saw the shift in Edmund’s expression.

[She ... she feels as cold as ice. Is this room too cold for her?]

He turned toward the fireplace and muttered, "Why didn’t the maids light the fire? My wife ... she’s freezing."

Sevrin took a deep breath, then said, "Lighting the fire would only make her body decay faster, Your Majesty." He continued gently, "Please, you have to listen. Her Majesty died from a serious illness. She—"

"She was sick?" Edmund interrupted. "Why didn’t anyone tell me she was sick?"

Sevrin hesitated before replying, "The truth is ... I only found out about it after she passed."

Back then, Primrose had made sure no one knew about her condition.

She didn’t see the point because she truly believed no one cared about her.

Therefore, she chose to hide it.

She had asked the doctors and maids not to tell a soul, and since she rarely left her room, no one ever suspected something was wrong.

People like Sevrin only knew that she often had fevers, probably because this winter was colder than usual.

"Your Majesty, we need to prepare the funeral," Sevrin said gently. "The longer we wait, the more her body will start to decay."

Edmund gritted his teeth and suddenly turned to Sevrin with a terrifying glare. "Can you stop talking for one second? You’re too loud."

Sevrin’s eyes widened slightly because Edmund had never spoken to him that way before. "Your Majesty, I—"

"Get out," Edmund said in a low voice. "I want to be alone with my wife."

Sevrin opened his mouth to say something, but before he could speak, Edmund shouted, "GET OUT!"

The tone, the look in his eyes, everything about Edmund changed the moment he touched her face.

At that moment, a part of him finally knew that his wife was truly gone.

His mate had died.

And the pain in his heart was unbearable, like a thousand blades stabbing into him all at once.

Primrose had once heard that when a lycan loses their mate, they experience excruciating pain, both in body and soul.

That alone made her believe Edmund must have known the truth the moment it happened, even before he came back to the palace.

In fact, she suspected the civil war hadn’t even ended yet.

He probably rushed back because he sensed something was wrong with her.

His clothes were a mess, and his shoes didn’t even match.

He knew from the very beginning that she had died, but his mind had fought desperately to block that truth from reaching him.

And in the end, it was the coldness of her skin that finally brought him back to reality.

As soon as Sevrin closed the door behind him, Edmund suddenly dropped to his knees, like the last bit of strength had drained from his body.

He stared at Primrose’s pale face in silence, then slowly reached out again.

His fingers hesitated before gently brushing her cheek, as if he was afraid that if he touched her too roughly, her skin would shatter.

It was the first time he had ever touched her face in this lifetime.

To be honest, Edmund had only touched her once before, to be exact, when he marked her.

Even then, he hadn’t done anything else, not even something as simple as holding her hand.

Primrose used to think Edmund had avoided her on purpose because he found her too disgusting to touch.

But the truth was the opposite.

He believed he was the one who was too filthy to lay a hand on someone as delicate as her.

He was terrified that his touch might break her, so he chose never to touch her at all, not even for a second.

"Did you hate me that much?" Edmund’s voice cracked as he spoke. "I swear I won’t show you my face again before you, but ... please, can you open your eyes now?"

"I swear, this will be the last time. The last time you’ll have to look at me. So please ... just let me see your eyes, even if it’s only for a second."

He sat there, staring at her lifeless body, as if wishing with all his heart that she would really open her eyes.

But even after nearly half an hour, there was no response, not even a blink.

"Please ... I’m begging you," he whispered. "Just one second. I just want to see your eyes."

Slowly, Edmund leaned forward until his head rested against the edge of the bed.

His hand moved from her face to her hand, holding it tightly just for a moment before letting go because he was afraid he might accidentally hurt her.

"My wife ... I—I was building a house for you," he said, his voice desperate and shaking. "In another kingdom. Somewhere far, far away from Vellmoria, so far that even the Emperor would never be able to find you."

"I’m sorry it took so long to finish ... there were political issues, but it’s ready now. You can live there. It’s safe."

Edmund slowly lifted his face, searching her expression for any sign of life. "If you wake up now ... I’ll have the soldiers take you there immediately."

His voice grew softer, like a child begging the stars. "Just wake up ... and I’ll give you the life you always deserved."

Primrose stared at him in disbelief.

She had truly never known that Edmund had been preparing a home for her, somewhere far away from Vellmoria and even farther from Noctvaris.

He had been planning an escape for her, a place untouched by war, by politics, by the cold eyes of the court.

He built a home for her, just so she wouldn’t have to keep living under the same roof with a monster like him.

He built a home for her, not as a gift, but as an apology.

It wasn’t a romantic gesture.

It was an act of self-punishment.

And as if the universe wanted to make the pain even worse, his wife died the moment the house was finally ready.

The very home he built just for her, now standing empty, waiting for someone who would never come.