Returning home, I realized this was yet another scheme of Fiona's to frame me.
The way everyone looked at me felt like a reminder that I was beneath them, forced to bow my head under their scrutiny.
Fiona simply cried out that she had lost the child, and they all turned their accusations toward me.
In their eyes, I was the usurper of the rightful wife, envious of her for bearing children.
"Just this once," I heard someone say outside, and I looked up, momentarily stunned.
It was the young man who had bumped into me earlier.
Instinctively, I lowered my gaze as he approached, and I stepped aside to let him pass.
Fiona had indeed lost the baby, but to my shock, the young man dared to ask whose child it was.
Cassian's face turned ashen. "What kind of question is that?"
The physician, however, seemed in good spirits. "Just prescribe her some remedies to help her recover," he said, pausing before adding, "My condolences."
Feeling the weight of their gazes on me, I instinctively lowered my head even more.
Perhaps Cassian didn't want outsiders to witness this scene; he quickly ushered everyone out, including me.
As I walked over the bridge, heading back to my room, someone blocked my path.
"I'm Wesson Augustine," he introduced himself, the physician from earlier.
I blinked in surprise and nodded, fumbling in my pocket to pull out the sachet I had found, not wanting to engage in conversation, and turned to leave.
Wesson had a faint, pleasant scent of herbs about him, and he stepped in front of me, blocking my way. "You look unwell; how about I give you a check-up?"
His eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief, but I didn't understand his intentions and declined his offer.
"Come on, let me repay your kindness!" he insisted, his face calm but his words persistent.
I was at my wit's end. Just as I thought he would follow me into my private quarters, I finally relented and let him examine me.
Wesson calmly pulled out a silk handkerchief and placed it on my wrist, his brow furrowing deeper as he studied me.
Finally, he smiled and said, "You're in good health."
I scoffed internally at his incompetence, but suddenly, I coughed up blood—yet again. It was becoming a routine, and I had lost count of this month.
He handed me a small vial with a smile. "Your health is contingent on following my advice. Medicine works wonders, you know. Do you trust me?"
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