Lord Theodore's Favorite Ritual
Chapter 121: The Aftereffect & Hopeful Hound.

Chapter 121: The Aftereffect & Hopeful Hound.

Night.

Bedroom, Conan’s Bungalow.

Critic Arley, Critic-Ishire.

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’Dear Sir Obnoxious I am fine, you could look for me but you can find me only when I want you to’

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he realized she had a game in mind and he was ready to play, her absence nothing more than a temporary inconvenience.

With a newfound sense of calm, the knight tucked the note into his pocket and set about to find her, a small smile graced his face, unconsciously.

He was confident wherever it was she had hidden, he could easily find her in this small space that they owned.

"Lady Clingy?"

He called, silence as expected but after undressing to a decent and he started to tiptoe inside something seemed fishy. The building was too quiet and he had a strange feeling.

He started for their shared room and as he neared he heard small sounds coming from their shared bedroom making him frown.

With a soft creak, the door swung open, and he entered, immediately his expression contorted with shock and concern at the sight presented to him.

Helena had been at home alone since the morning after Conan left, and somehow Ebony too had found a place to be, leaving her completely silent all day. She had slept into the day and she didn’t have any visions. She felt it was nice that she had so much the other week because then the distributors would distribute it for a while. She ate what Conan made like he would want her and she slept again.

As evening drew closer she took a paper and wrote down what Conan had read earlier, she had decided to play the hide and seek game with him to feel lighter but slowly as she waited and he didn’t come back she started to feel uncomfortable, her dress itched and her head was having a constant drum beating in it.

It was a fever and she started to feel delirious, her body was weakening, her pulse was racing she could only move into the room and could only lie down after drinking water.

As the fever consumed her, Helena lay weakened on the bed, her delicate features drawn and pale against the backdrop of the bed’s richly embroidered linens.

The dim glow of oil lamps casted flickering shadows upon the walls of the ornate bungalow bedroom, it added to the solemnity of the scene.

And she had been drifting in and out of consciousness when after a sudden rustle of silk, the door had creaked open, and her Conan stepped inside, his impeccably tailored attire contrasting starkly with the disarray of the room.

She blinked trying to clear her vision so that she could focus on him but she was having a running heart. It refused to stabilise and she shut off again.

Conan’s handsome features however contorted into shock at the sight before him.

Helena was wrapped in blankets, half in bed and the lower half out of it, her hair, one he still hasn’t been able to take care of in a scary disarray. The room entirely was like a baking house.

Without hesitation, he hastened to her side, he took her face in his palm. He whispered. "What is happening?"

No answer and she had become immobile just before he reached, her pulse raced under his fingers, sweat trailing and the heat coming under her skin made him frown.

"Helena" he called her name softly, urgently.

Immediately she gasped "Nothing" it was as though she had heard him before but she hadn’t been able to respond.

Conan paled, freezing momentarily as he tried to narrow his thoughts to one positive one, but.

The woman he lived with was consumed by fever and delirium.

He gently tugged the blankets from under her waist, between her legs and arms, she didn’t make a sound in all this process, her body instead grew hotter and limp.

He picked her up and laid her down on the bed properly,

His elegant fingers retrieved a cloth and quickly he dampened it by dropping it in a nearby basin where he had added water.

Gently, he squeezed the cloth of water and began to dab at her feverish brow, the coolness of the water providing a fleeting respite from the oppressive heat.

She gasped and awoke. "What are you doing?"

"You are running a fever" he alerted solemnly as he temporarily held her eyes before moving.

She shifted. "It is merely an aftereffect" her mumbled words made him pause.

He held her gaze with panic in his eyes.

"This always happens? Did it happen after you helped me in the Casted Land?" he was bewildered. Why then did she do it so easily?

Use magic. Or did it have rules that he didn’t know about?

She held his dark orbs before dropping her gaze, she refused to utter another word as he continued to wipe her exposed skin with a wet rag.

"My chest" she gasped.

He looked at her for almost a moment before he understood. "I... I could not" he stuttered out.

Helena was delirious, she wanted an out and his wet rag was doing it for her. "Please wipe it, my neck, my back, spine" she instructed.

She had never been treated after using excess magic before but today Conan showed her the difference between being alone and being lonely.

Her core was all connected to the places she was naming for him to wipe, she felt hot sbd uncomfortable and she couldn’t at that moment understand why he was delaying the process of making her feel better.

"Alright, come here"

He whispered after he dropped his rag before pulling her hot body off the bed, he rested her on his body, her head dropped on his shoulder and he shuddered. He took her dress zip between his fingers and unzipped her.

And with his hands trembling as he gently began to wipe away the sweat that coated her feverish skin.

"Hold up your dress" he ordered hoarsely and she did.

He wiped on all the parts she had mentioned, and also focused more on her face, stroking her hair every once in a while.

His every stroke started to become sensual and pleasing, Helena voluntarily moved side by side but unintentionally her breast spilled out of her dress as her grip on it loosened.

Her eyes were closed and she arched to his touch. Conan gulped as he traced the rag between her breasts, the line of sweat around her breasts and down, her eyes sprang open at the sensation and as they held each other’s eyes, they knew it was going two way; they stop this now because if they continued it’d become a one-way journey.

He blinked turned away and dropped the cloth, whilst she quickly pulled her dress up and took a comfortable position to sleep, it was already late.

In hushed tones reminiscent of poetry, Conan whispered sweet nothings into Helena’s ear, his declarations of affection mingling with the soft rustle of fabric and the gentle hum of the night. Despite the weight of the fever that held her in its grip, Helenaa found solace in his tender ministrations, her heart swelling with gratitude for the unwavering devotion of her knight amidst the trials of illness and uncertainty.

Yes, her knight. She thought with a smile.

*

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Night.

Woods, Statham Estate.

Critic Arley, Critic-Ishire.

***************

A figure cloaked in black stood under the velvety shroud of night, amidst the dense tapestry of the woods, his silhouette melding seamlessly with the shadows.

His piercing green eyes, reminiscent of polished emeralds, gleamed with a fervent intensity beneath the veil of darkness.

Black strands of hair, as dark as the night itself, cascaded over his forehead, framing his angular features with an air of mystery and allure.

Hound, or as his lady calls him ’Zachary’.

With a stance as regal as a nobleman’s, he gazed longingly at a distant window, its panes illuminated by the warm glow of candlelight emanating from within the Statham estate.

Hound’s heart fluttered with anticipation, as he waited for the sight of his Shi’Enz.

The one who held the key to unlock the depths of his soul.

Though the night whispered its secrets around him, the absence of her presence left an ache in his heart.

He yearned to see her graceful form emerge from the confines of the estate, to feel her tender touch once more. He had left the mansion the moment Blanc and the boys came back, he needed to be near her.

Yet, as moments stretched into eternity, she remained hidden within the estate walls, unconsciously withholding herself from his longing gaze.

Despite the chill breeze that permeated the air, his fervour burned bright, fueled by the flames of desire that danced within him.

Memories of her laughter, and the gentle caress of her hand, flooded his mind, teasing his senses with their tantalizing sweetness.

Each passing second without her felt like an eternity, yet he remained steadfast, unwilling to tear himself away from the hope that she might yet appear, he also held back from climbing walls and into her balcony.

In the quiet solitude of the woods, he could almost feel her presence, as if she lingered just beyond his reach, teasing him with a promise in her eyes.

His heart, heavy with longing, ached for the sight of her radiant smile, for the warmth of her embrace, for he had none of that and she had abundant of it.

But as the night wore on and the stars traced their timeless paths across the heavens, reality crept in, casting a shadow upon his hopes, he knew she might not come out but he had hoped she would.

With a heavy heart and a soul weighed down by his unfulfilled yearning, he reluctantly tore his gaze from the window, a silent farewell lingering on his lips.

Though the night held no solace for his longing heart, he knew that dawn would bring with it the hope of another chance to behold the object of his desire.

With a heavy yet determined step, he disappeared into the depths of the woods, his silhouette melting once more into the embrace of the night, a solitary figure bound by love’s unyielding grasp.

Zachary, Hound of the Lord Theodore was in love.