She saw Sylas kneeling properly by the bedside.
Gwendolyn was still in the same position, lying on her back, face turned sideways with a slight smile.
They were purely a gentleman and a lady; the scenario Mirabel had fantasized about would absolutely not occur.
But precisely this kind of restrained affection, this propriety, drove Mirabel wild with jealousy.
You two should both love me!
"Your Majesty, I was just speaking with Lord Byron.
It's been a long time since we last met, and there are many household matters I am unaware of.
You should get some sleep," Gwendolyn startled by her sudden entrance. Then, to mask her own shyness, she explained with a smile.
Mirabel shot Sylas a venomous glare.
Such a seducer.
The moment Auntie Gwendolyn returns, you start using your charm magic, don't you?
She's paralyzed in bed, and you still won't let her be?
Do you want it?
It must be because I haven't disciplined you these past few days, making you restless.
Mirabel shamelessly sidled up. "Auntie Gwendolyn, I want to sleep with you. It's too cold outside."
She had often slept in the same bed as Gwendolyn as a child, only moving back to the palace at fourteen.
Mirabel was charming and cute. This plea instantly stirred Gwendolyn's maternal instincts.
Having returned from the brink of death, Gwendolyn also had a newfound appreciation for cherishing the present.
She too had feared she might never see Mirabel again.
So, she sighed with a resigned smile. "Alright, then you sleep on the inside. I won't be able to look after you tonight."
"It's fine, it's fine. I'll look after you." Mirabel eagerly climbed onto the bed, lying on the inner side and sharing the covers with Gwendolyn.
The quilt was warm.
Mirabel instinctively snuggled closer to Gwendolyn, resting her head on her shoulder.
Auntie Gwendolyn was still so gentle.
She glanced at Sylas sitting by the bed and felt a sudden pang of heartache.
It was indeed somewhat cruel to have him sitting on such a cold night.
But she couldn't very well say anything.
Gwendolyn continued her conversation with Sylas.
Listening, Mirabel found it really was just trivial chit-chat about daily life.
The lamplight in the room was soft and warm; the voices in her ears belonged to the two people she knew best.
Mirabel's heart felt utterly at peace. This should be her entire world.
Finally, she fell asleep contentedly.
Sensing she was asleep, Gwendolyn whispered to Sylas, "She's asleep."
Sylas stood up, leaned over Gwendolyn to adjust Mirabel's sleeping position so Gwendolyn could sleep comfortably.
He had been kneeling for a while, and his knees were weak.
Just after settling Mirabel, as he tried to withdraw, he lost his balance and fell onto Gwendolyn.
"Hu..." Gwendolyn exhaled softly under his weight.
Sylas hurriedly tried to move. "I'm sorry, I—"
Gwendolyn said gently, "It's alright..."
Sylas wasn't heavy. The weight felt... substantial.
In that moment, they were face to face.
Sylas suddenly froze, looking at Gwendolyn, his gaze unsteady.
Gwendolyn's dignified, beautiful face grew warm and flushed again. Her eyes darted away, occasionally meeting his.
Neither spoke, and neither moved.
Their noses were almost touching, their breaths mingling.
It was sweet, as if a subtle fragrance drifted between them.
An ambiguous atmosphere began to permeate the air.
But both were extremely self-controlled by nature. Neither took a further step.
After a long while,
Gwendolyn ultimately resisted the confusion in her heart and sighed softly. "Lord Byron..."
Sylas looked away, murmuring, "I'm sorry. I know I'm not worthy..."
He was dispirited and saddened, slowly rising to his feet.
Gwendolyn closed her eyes but said nothing more. For a moment, her nose tingled sourly, and she let the tears fall.
She gave a soft sob, then regained her composure. "Go sleep outside. I'll call if I need you."
"Alright." Sylas left a lamp burning in the bedroom, then went to the outer room and lay down gently.
He certainly couldn't sleep.
The ripple of emotion from earlier had left his heart restless and unsettled.
He realized he had actually fallen for Gwendolyn.
After enduring so much suffering, he had finally met a woman whose temperament matched his.
Equally self-disciplined and courteous, equally cultured and reasonable.
She was the woman he most wanted to marry.
But...
Putting aside the age difference, Gwendolyn would not accept him.
Sylas knew perfectly well that things like 'having sworn an oath' were just excuses.
It was about disdaining his past.
This was normal; even he disdained it himself.
A man who had been with five women and had a child.
He himself felt contemptible.
Thinking of Gwendolyn's goodness, he felt utterly grievous.
Damaged goods shouldn't expect love. His very existence was disgusting.
He pulled the quilt over his head, sighed deeply, and rationalized to himself:
Forget it. It's nothing. It's all nothing...
In the inner room, Gwendolyn, listening to Mirabel's breathing beside her, lay so stiff she could barely move.
Since waking up this time, she had felt a desire to confess her feelings to Sylas.
But the moment she thought of her physical condition, she lost all courage.
She was now an invalid, and nearly a decade older.
Sylas was in the prime of his youth.
How could she dare to hold him back?
Their similar personalities led them to feel inferior together.
Morning came.
Sylas got up in a daze and routinely helped Gwendolyn clean up.
He kept his eyelids lowered, avoiding eye contact with her.
Gwendolyn also remained silent, letting him attend to her.
But because both wore solemn expressions, the atmosphere became strange.
Only Mirabel had slept soundly.
She watched the two of them, full of energy, feeling that something was off.
After Gwendolyn was taken care of, Mirabel sat on the edge of the bed and said pleadingly, "Byron, what about me?"
Sylas was momentarily speechless.
This Empress had also been raised in privilege since childhood.
Clothes held out for her, food delivered to her mouth.
Hearing this, Gwendolyn couldn't help but laugh. "He'er, haven't you learned to dress yourself yet?"
Mirabel whined, "No, I was waiting for you to teach me, Auntie Gwendolyn."
Gwendolyn couldn't help but feel sad. "In my condition now, I can't even dress myself."
"Don't worry, you'll definitely get better. They've already gone to find famous physicians," Mirabel comforted Gwendolyn for a while. Then, she looked at Sylas provocatively.
The latter could only come over silently and help her get dressed.
"Byron, I'm hungry." No sooner was she dressed than Mirabel began chattering again.
"Ah, Byron, would you mind taking the trouble to make something for His Majesty to eat?"
Gwendolyn asked helplessly with a smile.
Sylas looked up at her. Gwendolyn met his gaze but immediately looked away.
Her face flushed, then paled.
"Alright." Sylas headed for the kitchen with a complex expression.
Mirabel's eyes shifted. She suddenly said, "Auntie Gwendolyn, I'll go see what there is to eat, see if it suits your taste."
She chased after him.
Catching up in the kitchen, Mirabel had all the servants leave.
Then, she stood behind Sylas and wrapped her arms around his waist.
Sylas didn't struggle. He turned his head; his eyes were somewhat red.
His voice was very soft. "Your Majesty, stop fooling around."
Seeing him like this, Mirabel suddenly realized something.
She asked dazedly, "Is this...the lament of a neglected lover?"
Before Sylas could answer, Mirabel suddenly erupted. She said somewhat frantically, "I've warned you several times not to like Auntie Gwendolyn!
You really don't learn your lesson. I'm going to punish you now!"