Nightshade Valet And His Nobel Mistress

Chapter 11

It had been a month since Sebastian and Madeline first slept together, and their routine had become predictable: sneaking out of the stable, indulging in passionate lovemaking, but Madeline wasn't feeling well to go out.

Sebastian paced anxiously outside Madeline's quarters, his boots scuffing against the cobblestones. He longed to see her, to feel her soft skin against his calloused hand. He let out a loud exclamation of frustration and hurled a vase across the hallway in anger.

The crash of shattering porcelain echoed through the corridor, causing Sebastian to wince. He froze, listening intently for any signs of approaching footsteps or alarmed voices. When only silence greeted him, he exhaled slowly, running a trembling hand through his disheveled hair.

Guilt gnawed at him, not just for the broken vase, but for his selfish frustration. Madeline was unwell, and here he was, thinking only of his own desires. He leaned his forehead against the cool stone wall, closing his eyes.

"Sebastian?" came a soft voice from behind the door. "Is that you?"

His heart leapt at the sound. "Yes, my love," he whispered, pressing his palm against the wooden surface. "How are you feeling?"

There was a pause, then the quiet click of the latch. The door creaked open, revealing Madeline's pale face, framed by her tousled auburn hair. Her usually bright eyes were glassy and rimmed with red, and she wore a thick woolen shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders despite the warmth of the evening.

"I'm sorry," Sebastian began, but Madeline shook her head, pressing a finger to his lips.

"Don't be," she murmured, glancing nervously down the hallway. "Come inside, quickly."

Sebastian slipped into her chambers, his eyes adjusting to the dim candlelight. As Madeline secured the door behind them, he noticed her hands were shaking.

"What's wrong? Is everything ok?" He ask reaching out her.

"I'm ok, it's just the flu that's all."

Sebastian's brow furrowed with concern as he studied Madeline's face. Despite her reassurance, something in her eyes told him there was more to her illness than a simple flu.

"Are you certain?" he pressed gently, taking her trembling hands in his. "You seem... troubled."

Madeline bit her lip, averting her gaze. "I... I'm not sure," she admitted in a whisper. "Sebastian, I'm late."

The weight of her words hung heavy in the air between them. Sebastian's heart began to race, his mind reeling with the implications. "Late?" he repeated, his voice barely audible. "You mean..."

She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. "I can't be certain yet, but I fear... I fear I may be with child."

Without warning, Sebastian's legs gave out and he collapsed onto the edge of her bed.

"What's the matter?" She sat down next to him, taking his hand in hers.

"This can't be happening. Demons aren't supposed to have children," he said, standing up as his breathing quickened with anxiety.

"What's going on? What are you thinking?" She stood up and approached Sebastian, her own anxiety rising at his reaction.

He shake his had "I'm going to get that thing out of you." He points at her stomach.

Madeline recoiled, her hands instinctively covering her abdomen. "What are you saying?" she gasped, her voice trembling with fear and disbelief.

Sebastian's eyes, usually warm and tender, now burned with an otherworldly intensity. In the flickering candlelight, Madeline could have sworn she saw a flash of red in their depths. She then realized what he meant. She gasped and shook her head ,"No you can't do that."