Chapter Fifty-Six: The Bioelectric Blanket

Arthur looked up and saw Shadowmoon standing quietly there, dressed in a pale lavender, translucent nightgown. Her figure was petite, yet delicately curved. As Arthur gazed at her, he found himself momentarily lost in thought.

Shadowmoon stood aloof, neither speaking nor looking at Arthur. It was as if the person standing there was nothing more than a lifelike wax figure, not a living soul with warmth and breath.

Arthur snapped back to himself, his heart aching at her cold expression and empty gaze. Yet a devilish smile played at his lips as he rose and walked toward her. He stopped in front of her, his slender fingers lifting her delicate chin with a careless touch. Their noses were almost touching as he murmured seductively, "You look very beautiful tonight." He then leaned in to kiss her lips, but Shadowmoon turned away lightly. Arthur’s lips merely grazed hers, landing instead at the corner of her mouth.

His rose-tinted lips pressed against her cheek, a flicker of emotion passing through his eyes. His fingers tightened, and in the quiet room, it seemed as though the crackling of bones could be heard. Arthur looked at her bruised jaw—she still said nothing. With a cold sweep of his sleeve, he pushed Shadowmoon aside and walked toward the bathroom. At the doorway, he suddenly spoke, "Go warm the bed." Without another glance, he entered the bathroom.

Shadowmoon still did not speak. Like a marionette, she walked step by step to the large bed at the center of the room. She lifted the covers and slipped quietly inside, curling herself into a small bundle. Her expression was hidden. In the silence, the sound of water echoed from the bathroom, then faded, and stillness returned.

Inside the bathroom, Arthur's body was submerged in water. The spacious Jacuzzi was filled with churning foam that never managed to spill over the edge, only roiling within, unable to escape. He lifted his hand, bringing a wineglass from the side table to his lips. His Adam's apple bobbed as he drank down the crimson liquid; a trickle slid slowly from the corner of his mouth, leaving a red stain on his pale, smooth chin. His rose-tinted lips glistened—at that moment, Arthur looked as seductive as a vampire. His eyes were half-closed, his expression unreadable in the hazy steam.

On the bed in the other room, Shadowmoon’s posture had not changed. She remained curled up quietly, her small hands visible above the now-creased covers. Once fair, her hands were now traced with blue veins, her knuckles tinged with a chilling pallor.

From the bathroom came the sounds of water. Arthur stepped out of the tub, his long, well-shaped legs carrying him to the shower. The rushing water washed the foam from his body, revealing a sculpted chest and well-defined muscles—clear lines, yet not overly wrought.

Tilting his sharply contoured face under the stream, his features blurred by the water, he ran his hands again and again through his hair, sweeping it back. In his mind, Shadowmoon’s words echoed relentlessly:

"It’s you, it’s you. I finally realize—the reason I loathe you is because you’re a murderer."

I loathe you. Murderer. Murderer. I loathe you. I loathe you. Murderer...

"Bang—" Arthur’s fist crashed against the wall. "A murderer, am I? So I’m a murderer after all?"

The water abruptly stopped. Arthur threw on the robe hanging nearby, his expression icy as he walked out.

On the bed, the small figure that had been so still was now trembling uncontrollably. Her delicate face was ghostly pale, sweat beading across her brow. Her once dewy lips were now bloodless and peeling, bitten hard to stifle any sound.

As Arthur left the bathroom, his cold demeanor vanished the instant he saw Shadowmoon's twisted, pallid face. He rushed to the bed, anxiously wiping the sweat from her forehead with his sleeve and asking in a panic, "What’s wrong? You were fine just now—how could this happen so suddenly?"

Shadowmoon’s tightly shut eyes opened. The pain and endurance in her gaze faded into indifference the moment she saw Arthur. "It’s nothing. My period just started," she answered, her tone so cold it was almost cruel. After a pause, she added, "I’m afraid I won’t be able to serve Your Highness tonight."

Arthur was taken aback. Period? His face flushed with embarrassment. He was about to ask if she needed a doctor when her chilly, merciless words reached his ears. The shame on his face froze instantly, his lips tightened, fists clenching. He stood abruptly, turning his back to her, and spoke through gritted teeth with a chilling indifference,

"Get off the bed. Don’t dirty it."

—A word from the author—

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