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"Move!"
"Your grace I beg of you—"
Life was crumpling under his fingertips, Simon realized, and it took no more than a mere second to know what he was supposed to do. Buzzing employees made room for their grace as he barreled through his home.
The duke stopped in his tracks and turned back to face the butler, who was caught aback by the Basset. The man of high position in terms of staff hadn't done anything to deserve his wrath, yet there he was.
"Should you attempt to remove me from seeing her," Simon spoke, low and deadly as he raised a single finger toward the elderly butler. "I shall make sure that is the last thing you ever do."
And with that Simon Basset bolted toward your bedchamber, knowing (yet not caring in the slightest) that the act was anything but appropriate.
***
The handkerchief was filthy with your own blood and saliva, and you felt very much weak. There was a slight pounding in your head, one that gave you trouble keeping your eyes from falling shut. It lasted for weeks, the headache, and it didn't seem to be wanting to stop. The drapes were drawn, and sunlight seeped into your spacious room. It was your personal request to the doctor, one he obliged. Both of you knew your death was near and there was nothing a man could do about it save for make you comfortable. You still knew that the light was going to bother you soon. It always did in the end.
"Get your affairs in order, miss." Said the doctor, nodded and disappeared outside. And you swore you could hear him pray just outside your door.
You cried for hours after that.
Now you were too weak to do that. There was no moisture left in your body to release, and when a bare sparkle of light emerged on your rich sheets, you scarcely had enough strength to turn head and look at the cause.
"No."
"Y/N."
"Get out."
There were no words that could describe the look on that man's face. The tough bravado your closest friend presented every day was long-lost on his face, replaced only with fret and desperation. There was a more than a few days' worth of stubble on his handsome features, and a great deal of sickly-looking underlines beneath his eyes. Simon too looked sick.
Sick with worry.
"I will not." Said Simon, taking a single step closer.
You were fighting tears when you turned away from him. "Stop it."
He walked closer until his broad shadow loomed over you. His eyes glazed over with unshed tears, his strong hand clutched yours. "Y/N look at me."
You bit your lip, shut your eyes as if the actions were enough to suppress the tears. Your head shook against the pillow as you refused to spare him a glance in fear of giving him the sickness you were in possession of.
Just then a wave of discomfort pushed through, capturing your body into a weakening position. Simon released your hand when you tugged at it and watched precisely how you placed both hands over the cloth and coughed into it. Blood coated the pristine material, and you balled it into your fist once you finished.
"Here," he said quietly, and handed you his own handkerchief. It was elegant and costly, but he didn't seem to mind. You took it and clutched it to your pained chest in which your heart beat slower and less rhythmically. Simon didn't understand the value of it.
He wasn't dying, of course he wouldn't understand.
"I'm dying."
There was no point in restraint, as you would be gone before sunset. Now that he was here, giving in to consumption didn't sound so fearful as before. You smiled weakly, making sure to enchant the edges of your pale lips and twist them delightfully. But he could see right through it. "You will not die. I won't allow that."
"Simon—"
"Y/N look at me," his voice was insistent, but it broke at every syllable. "Please."
Did death have to be so cruel? Simon found himself asking that from the moment he got wind of your condition. "Consumption, your grace. I'm afraid we cannot do anything for her, save make her comfortable of course."
He almost broke the man's jaw for saying that. Thank God for Mondrich, who was there to catch his fist and stop him. "Remember who is in possession of the license from the Royal College of Physicians."
Simon still couldn't help but blame the doctors for it all.
He hadn't realized he was crying until he felt your shaky hand on his cheek. "You really wish to follow me to death, your grace?"
Your smile twitched, and then you too broke down, unable to keep a light atmosphere for the first time in your lifetime. "Oh, Y/N… I would’ve died for you."
"I'm scared…I'm so scared Simon…"
Simon could feel the life drain from your body, and he knew just how hard you were fighting the inevitable until he arrived.
He was there now.
What was there to fight for?
"I know."
You gave him the faintest of nods. "Will you stay with me?"
"Of course, I will."
"I'm sorry, Simon."
He shook his head immediately, "There is nothing to apologize for."
"I—I had wanted to attend a ball with you," you whispered, feeling memories from your life flash before your eyes. Your breathing was starting to slow down, and you could no longer hear your own heart beat wildly in your ears. Even the headache alleviated its clutches. "Help you find a wife…you deserve a good wife, Simon. A good life. Please promise me that."
"Shhh," he whispered.
"Simon promise me," you caught his eyes in yours, the last blinks of energy coming over you, so suddenly you felt faint. "You will live a happy life."
He swallowed, unable to do so. How could you ask him to live happily, knowing you weren't going to be there?
"Simon, I beg of you." You whispered, "A little child. A child and a wife. Please promise me."
And then he looked at you. Fresh tears streamed down his flawless skin, rushing to meet under his chin. It took one look. "I p—promise."
The promise to you overpowered the one he gave his father. With the old Duke of Hastings, he felt nothing but spite and vengeance. But right at that moment, he didn’t care. Simon needed to see you leave this world in peace. Nothing ever came above you. "Now l—let go."
And you did.
As you drew in your final breath, you readied to greet death like an old friend. Your hold on Simon's hand weakens until it is no more than a light, brief touch. Body limp, eyes forever closed and heart no longer beating like a warrior.
There was nothing the duke could do and the feeling was heartbreaking. Simon never wanted to feel like that again and if he ever did, he knew he wouldn't be able to live through the pain. The anguish.
This time, this very first time experiencing this feeling…he was going to try.
For you. Because he promised he would.
Simon placed the duvet over your limp body and walked toward the high windows, drawing the drapes closed because he felt as if you were going to scold him for letting in so much blinding sunlight.
The light streaming into your room always somehow bothered you in the end.
But you were gone now and the sun could no longer bother you. He knew that.
Though Simon could swear he never felt your presence as vividly as he did now.