The Archduke's Songbird-Chapter 268: Her Question

Jessamyn turned to leave, her footsteps deliberate and slow, but a faint mumble from Imogen made her pause. She hesitated for a moment before turning back, her eyes narrowing as she looked down at the woman who had caused her so much pain.

What she saw, however, left her more than a little shocked. In the distance, Jerrick stood, his presence a silent sentinel in the fading light.

Beside her, Jostein had calmed down completely, as though one who had snapped moments before was an illusion. His usual calm demeanor had returned, the earlier aggression now a distant memory, as if he were a beast who had been momentarily unleashed, only to retreat back into the shadows.

Jessamyn’s gaze drifted back to Imogen, who now lay sprawled on the ground. The sight of blood trickling from her head made Jessamyn’s heart skip a beat.

Imogen’s body lay unnaturally still, her limbs splayed out limply, as if she had been paralyzed by the force of Jostein’s kick. Jessamyn noticed the shallow, irregular breaths that Imogen struggled to take, and she couldn’t help but wonder if her ribs had been shattered by the brutal impact.

But despite the obvious pain, Imogen was laughing—a soft, eerie sound that sent chills down Jessamyn’s spine.

"I wanted to see..." Imogen mumbled, her voice weak and breathy. Her eyes were bloodshot, tears streaming down her cheeks, yet she wore a twisted smile. "I thought they’d kill me before..." She gulped, a raspy scoff escaping her throat, her laughter punctuated by coughing fits.

Jessamyn stood over her, her expression cold and detached as she strained to hear Imogen’s words. She knew that unless Imogen received immediate medical attention, her fate was sealed. She would die here, on this cold, unforgiving ground.

Jessamyn’s eyes flicked to Jerrick, who was now rushing toward them. He could save her if he wanted to, but Jessamyn had no intention of letting that happen. This was Imogen’s end, and she would see it through.

"...you in all black again..." Imogen’s voice was barely audible, her dry chuckle blending with her ragged breathing.

Jessamyn raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smirk. "You came here thinking you could kill my husband?" she mocked, her tone dripping with disdain. "How deluded!"

But even Jessamyn’s taunting couldn’t break the strangely serene mood that had settled over Imogen, a woman teetering on the edge of death. There was something almost peaceful in the way Imogen lay there as if she had accepted her fate, perhaps even welcomed it.

"Fenrir..." The word escaped Imogen’s lips in a breathless whisper, a name that made Jessamyn’s smirk falter. A shiver of unease crept up her spine as she knelt beside the dying woman, leaning in closer to catch her final words.

"Fenrir’s son found his..." Imogen coughed violently, her body convulsing as she struggled for breath. "He will..." Her voice trailed off, her breathing becoming more labored with each passing second.

Jessamyn’s eyes narrowed, her mind racing. She knew what Imogen was talking about. She didn’t need to look up to know that Jerrick was close enough to hear every word Imogen uttered.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Jessamyn’s hand shot out, her fingers wrapping tightly around Imogen’s throat. The suddenness of the act left Jerrick stunned, his eyes widening in disbelief as he watched Jessamyn, his wife, squeeze the life out of Imogen with cold, methodical precision.

By the time Jerrick reached them, it was too late. Imogen’s body had gone still, her eyes lifeless and vacant. The woman who had once been a formidable force was now nothing more than a corpse on the ground.

Jessamyn released her grip, her fingers uncurling slowly as she let out a deep sigh. She stretched her hand, flexing her fingers as if to rid herself of the lingering sensation of Imogen’s skin against hers.

Then, with an air of indifference, she stood up, her gaze meeting Jerrick’s for the briefest of moments.

Jerrick stared at her, his expression a mix of shock and something else—something that looked almost like respect. He hadn’t cared for Imogen’s death, but he was taken aback by the sheer detachment in Jessamyn’s eyes, the way she had ended a life without so much as a flicker of emotion. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

"Handle this," Jessamyn said, her voice cool and composed as she turned away from the scene. She climbed onto Jostein and, without looking back, rode off into the fading light.

Jerrick let out a deep breath, his eyes lingering on the lifeless body of his former wife. The weeks of running, hiding, and desperation had taken their toll on her; she looked pale, gaunt, and frail. Even in death, there was a lingering sadness in her eyes, as if she had died with the weight of unfulfilled desires and bitter regrets.

He knelt beside her, his hand gently closing her eyelids. "I hope you suffer in your next life too, Imogen," he murmured, his words soft, but laced with bitterness.

The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time Jessamyn returned from her ride. The castle was bathed in a soft, dusky glow, the air heavy with the scent of evening blooms.

Dinner was a silent affair, the tension between them palpable. Jerrick watched Jessamyn across the table, waiting for her to say something—anything—but she remained silent, her face an unreadable mask. There was a distance between them now, a gulf that seemed to widen with each passing moment.

Later that night, they prepared for bed. Jerrick leaned against the headboard, his eyes following Jessamyn as she brushed her long, black hair in front of the mirror. Her movements were slow, almost mechanical as if she were lost in her own thoughts.

"I asked them to bury her near Edward," Jerrick said quietly, his voice breaking the silence.

Jessamyn paused, her eyes meeting his in the mirror’s reflection. She observed him for a long moment before giving a small nod. She knew why he had made that choice—burying Imogen near their son was a reminder, a way to ensure that he would never forget who had killed his child. There was no need for him to explain further; she understood his reasoning all too well.

Jerrick was surprised by her silence. "You’re not going to ask me why?" he pressed, his voice tinged with curiosity.

Jessamyn shook her head, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips. "No need," she replied softly.

Jerrick pressed his lips together, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. The distance between them felt wider than ever, a chasm that seemed impossible to bridge. He watched as she finished brushing her hair and approached him, her steps slow and deliberate.

Despite the detachment he had sensed in her earlier, there was a warmth in her eyes now, a soft light that hinted at the love she still held for him.

He reached out, his hands gentle as he pulled her onto his lap. She leaned against his chest, her head resting just beneath his chin, as his arms wrapped around her protectively. One hand drifted to her belly, rubbing it softly, a gesture that spoke of tenderness and care.

"You should watch your back," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her ear. He wasn’t pleased with how carelessly she had turned her back on Imogen, leaving herself vulnerable. It was unlike her, and it worried him.

Jessamyn looked up at him, her eyes meeting his, and she nodded. He was right, of course. She had been reckless, and she knew it.

Jerrick smiled, his heart lifting slightly at the sight of her own smile, a gentle curve of her lips that felt like a balm to his troubled soul. It was a smile that reminded him of the first breezes of spring—soft, warm, and full of promise.

But then, as the warmth of the moment began to envelop him, Jessamyn’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade. "Where will you bury me?" she asked, her tone light, yet the words carried a weight that made his world go dark.