Chapter 19

Hours had passed. Outside, a formidable storm unleashed its full fury against the sturdy walls of the castle. Thunder roared with an ancient wrath, while rain lashed relentlessly at the stone, each droplet a miniature assault. Lightning sliced through the darkness, illuminating the library with stark, fleeting flashes of white light that danced across the room before plunging it back into shadow.

Yet, within these walls, the chaos seemed a world away to Sebastian.

"It is not a story I am… accustomed to sharing," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, though reaching Virtue's ears over the storm for how nestled in she was to his chest. "Ever."

"I believe we have moved beyond the need for secrets, no?" Virtue gently chided.

"Every heart guards its own mysteries," he mused with a wistful sigh. "Without them, what are we except barren fields and hollow shells? What secrets could we barter for insights into those we love? What tales could we share with those we cherish?"

"Surprisingly poetic," she responded with a playful glimmer in her eyes.

"It is an adage my mother often recited to me."

Virtue sighed. "Well, I imagine I wouldn't mind. Perhaps it would compel you to reveal your true thoughts more often," her voice lilted with a teasing challenge.

Sebastian turned to face her, a smirk playing across his lips. He held her stare for a moment longer until he broke into a grin. "I suppose you are right."

"I almost always am."

"But you must promise me one thing." Again he looked at her, only this time he made sure to don a somber expression. As much as he enjoyed joking and teasing Virtue, not everything could be treated as a game.

"Anything."

"Promise me that no matter what secrets I share…" He took a deep breath as he felt his chest tighten, "Or what stories I tell of my past, you will remember the man I am with you now. Not the shadows of who… what I once was."

"I promise."

"You say that now..." Sebastian grimaced, but Virtue's gaze remained gentle and full of grace.

With a tender gesture, she reached out and delicately swept a lock of hair away from his forehead, briefly exposing the scar that he so often hid beneath the fringe. She pressed her lips against it softly. "I will never judge you, Sebastian. You have my word."

And he believed her. Although, by this point, there was no reason not to.

The reality of what had transpired between them still felt surreal to Sebastian. Not only had he finally made love to his wife, but he had done so unmasked. And even now, laying beside her, he felt no compulsion to hide his face—the mask lay forgotten, a relic of his past insecurities.

When Virtue had first revealed that she had seen his face already, it was not anger that had coursed through his veins, but a deep, penetrating dread. She had glimpsed him at his most vulnerable—witnessed what he considered his deepest shame. A notion that struck terror in his heart, and may have still left him reeling were it not for what she told him right after.

And that being, she didn't mind.

In fact, she had pleaded to see him unmasked again. That she thought him to look better without the mask than with, filled him with a kind of joy that he thought might never be his.

As to their lovemaking? Well, what needed to be said except that again, she rendered him utterly astounded. He had always been rough around the edges when it came to the intimacies reserved for the marital chamber, but ever since returning from the war, that level of savagery had seemed to intensify in him tenfold. It was what it took to keep him in the now, and in the present. And it was one of the few times he would let his guard down completely, a risk to those who experienced it with him, and precisely the reason why he had been so hesitant to consummate his marriage with his wife.

Yet, she delighted in it. Yearned for it, even. Cherished it as much as he had. And now that it was over, and the two lay together on the soft carpet of the library, bodies intertwined like vines on an ancient arbor, he realized he had not overstepped as he feared he might. Why, the way she tenderly caressed his chest and pressed kisses along his throat while he spoke, he was near certain that before their night concluded, their passions would once more reignite.

Now, there was just one more thing left to do. One final step to dismantle all the barriers that had been cast up within their marriage. Though the thought pained him, he knew it was necessary—not for his own sake, but for hers, for she deserved every happiness and fulfillment that he could bestow, no matter the cost.

Sebastian took a deep breath. "You are aware that I served in the Peninsular War?" he began softly, unable to meet his wife's gaze as she reclined within the sanctuary of his embrace.

"I am," she said with just as much quiet. "The dragoons, I think I heard?"

"The Royal Dragoon Guard of Waterloo," he corrected. "I had the honor of commanding them. Among my men, those dearest to me were Lord Simon Wellington, whom you know, another friend of mine—a commoner, Ralph Merchant, who happens to be the son of my butler Albion... and Lord Wellington's brother, Jasper." Merely uttering that name felt as if a blade had pierced his heart.

"And this was a decade past?" Virtue inquired in his prolonged silence.

"Around that time, yes. The war... it is a topic I find myself reluctant to discuss. Not out of a desire to deceive you or to keep you uninformed, but because the very nature of war is such that it ought not be spoken of lightly. Even those of us who have endured its trials... man is not fashioned for such strife. We may engage in it so frequently you might suppose we are born to it, but..." Visions from those days flickered before his eyes, causing his heart to race. "It changes a man. Some adapt more readily than others, yet no man emerges from that ghastly battlefield unscathed."

"And that is where you got the..." She reached up and gently touched his scar. There was no sensation of pain, for the wound had long since healed, but still, at her touch, he flinched, for the memories it wrought.

"Sorry." She pulled her hand back.

"It is fine," he reassured her, taking her hand tenderly and kissing her knuckles. "Had the story ended there, I might have returned a changed man, but no more than the countless others who have trodden this path before, and the countless others who are to tow that line once more. It is not what became of war that I dread, it is what became of myself. As I said earlier, some adapt, and… regrettably, I was among the rare few who did. If that is what it deserves to be called." He swallowed hard. "In the throes of war, a man ceases to be a man. He becomes a beast, you understand. Those rumors you have heard of me, that I butcher…" He sighed. "That I lure in and butcher those who cross me, those rumors that seem implausible for Sebastian Foxworth, Duke of Greystone, are not so otherworldly for Sebastian, commander of the Dragoons. I acquired a title during the war, one that I rightfully earned but am forever ashamed of." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle, anticipating her inevitable question.

"What... what was it?"

"The Royal Butcher," Sebastian answered coldly. "Some of the things I did... I will forever despise myself. As I should. As everyone should, but no one does."

His mind flashed to the blood-soaked fields of Talavera, the dying cries, and the stench of death. He remembered the desperation in the eyes of those he killed – soldiers, innocents, all the same. The brutal orders followed without question, the night raids, burning villages, and the glow of fires illuminating terror. An elderly couple, caught in the blazes he wrought. An unarmed French boy, pleading for his mother, cut down by his hand.

He saw the faces of his fallen comrades, sent to die in impossible battles. The guilt of their blood on his hands. The moment he realized he had become the monster he once swore to fight, the darkness consuming his soul. And he embraced it, he embraced it all.

"I see their faces every night," he whispered. "I hear their screams. No title or wealth can erase the horrors I wrought. The Royal Butcher is my penance, a reminder of the creature I became." He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. "What was worse… were the praises I received upon my return. I am not the hero they want. I am a monster in a Duke's guise. No amount of time will wash away the blood that stains my soul. And I will forever despise myself."

"You are no longer that person. You don't have to hate yourself anymore," she started softly, a tinge of fear coloring her tone, for this was more than she had asked for. More than the story of his scar, rather, the story of what made him the beast he was today.

"No." He took a deep breath and pulled her in closer. They were both naked, lying on the floor, the blanket thrown across the room because their bodies provided enough warmth. "I must, for there is no one else to if I don't."

"But you sought penance, you repented and changed, no? That is more than can be said for the countless others who carried on without a hint of remorse," Virtue pressed gently.

"Carried on? Carried on? I was granted the opportunity to repent, an opportunity many were deprived of because of my actions. You asked me of Lord Wellington's brother once, and why we are no longer friends."

"I remember."

"It was toward the latter stages of the war, our final mission in fact. It was supposed to be a routine raid—a village we believed to be deserted. The Spanish forces were reported to have retreated beyond the battlelines and our battalion was dispatched to reconnoiter the village in preparation for establishing a base." His voice faltered as visions flickered behind his eyes; the village under nightfall, fires blazing, rain falling, distant screams echoing... "I led my battalion at the forefront, convinced the village was devoid of danger. ‘No peril,' I assured them. ‘Complete this, and tonight we will toast to the war's end. You will return to your family's as revered men.'"

"What happened?" she asked, nerves tinging her voice.

Sebastian nodded. "Lord Wellington's brother, Jasper was his name." A bittersweet smile as he remembered his friend. "He and I led a small detachment through the rear of the village, flanking it to join with the main forces in the center. As we anticipated, the village appeared deserted. Just a few stragglers. Some families in hiding. But nothing that posed a threat..." He trailed off as he began to remember.

Virtue remained silent beside him. He could feel her eyes singing into the side of his face—could sense the apprehension pouring from her. Were he alone, he knew he would likely succumb to the grief that always threatened to overwhelm him when he recalled those moments—mistakes made, lives lost, all because of his ignorance.

"We finished scouting," he continued with some difficulty. "We were about to regroup with the main force when I spotted a farmhouse we hadn't yet checked. I instructed Jasper to lead the men back while I investigated it alone, convinced it would be unoccupied. It was a necessity, you see, to make records of all landmarks surveyed, so it should have just been a routine check. They tried to pull me away from it, Jasper leading the cause, claiming it was a night for celebrations, not labor, but I was too headstrong on such a minuscule detail. I cannot for the life of me recall why. So, I carried on alone. At first, it seemed just as empty as I expected. I conducted a swift perimeter check, inspected the main building, and was about to return when I heard it..."

"Heard what?" she murmured.

"Crying," he whispered back. He could hear it now, ringing in his ears, as clear as if it was right beside him. "A girl crying in what I realized to be a cellar tucked away behind the stables. Believing it to be merely children, I... I let down my guard," he grimaced. "I did not think it to be a danger. I left my sword and rifle on my horse as I hurried to open the cellar doors, only to find... it was not just a girl."

"It was… it was a trap?"

Sebastian nodded soberly. "Five men. All armed. There was a girl too, a child, maybe sixteen or seventeen, her tears... they were using her to lure me there. Upon recognizing my rank—a commander—they saw an opportunity to use me for leverage. One held me at gunpoint, as another... He reached up and touched the scar running down the side of his face—he could feel the blade now as it sliced him, warm blood trickling down his chin. "They intended to use me as a bargaining chip, but I feared they would end my life instead. But then, Jasper intervened."

"He rescued you?" she asked.

"From the ether. Saber in one hand. Pistol in the other. He dispatched three of them before they even realized he was on them and the distraction was enough to free myself to help him with the last two." He grimaced as he recalled the pure delight on Jasper's face, how excited he was at having appeared just in the nick of time. These weren't normal emotions for the circumstances—at the precipice of death, one should feel terror, dread, an existential crisis perhaps—yet joy and pleasure… they had become part and parcel of their existence at war. "We thought we'd won. We thought it was over, just another tale we could tell our friends upon our return home, but..." A lump formed in his throat. "But the girl. It was foolish of me. I assumed her to be their captive, that she was a prisoner but she... she... I should have..." His body began to shake and it was all he could do to keep himself from breaking entirely. There was a pause, where nothing was said as Sebastian gathered his thoughts.

Eventually, he nodded, as silent tears streamed down his face. "She plunged a saber through his back—the saber... it pierced right through him as he was laughing. I didn't understand it at first. I remember standing there, unable to comprehend what had just happened. It wasn't until he collapsed to his knees before me, lifeless..."

Silence rang out after that. Thunder rolling in the distance. The whip of lightning. And Sebastian's heart thrashing.

"And the girl?" Virtue asked the question he prayed she would not. "What... what happened to her?"

"She didn't make it to morning," Sebastian said coldly.

Not a word was spoken for what felt like an eternity, though it might have only been a minute. Sebastian became lost in the haunting memory of that night, and Virtue seemed to sense the weight of his grief. She held him tight, refusing to let go, as if the very warmth of her body could anchor him. And in a way, it did. It was the first time Sebastian felt any real compassion since the war, and it was almost enough to pull him from the darkness threatening to consume him.

"I don't understand. It wasn't your fault," she whispered eventually, her voice soft and soothing.

"What?" he asked, pulling back slightly to look into her eyes.

"It wasn't your fault," she repeated. "What happened to Jasper, you couldn't have—"

"Don't." He held her away, then leaned back so they were no longer touching. "Please, don't. Don't try to make me feel better. There are some things that one shouldn't be made to feel better about."

"I am serious," she pleaded. "I can understand why you might feel guilty but there is no reason why—"

"I said, enough!"

She gasped, freezing in her spot. Naked, lying on her side, half-leaning toward him, her body stilled in an instant. Though she tried to look at him with pity and remorse, he saw the disgust concealed behind her eyes. Not that he could blame her—it was everything he deserved.

"You asked how I got this scar," he continued, pushing himself to his knees. "And now you know. Now you know I do not wear the mask merely to conceal some war mark. I wear it so I needn't look at myself and be reminded of what I did."

She shook her head. "And I told you, I don't care about that. That man... he is not you."

"He is."

"No, he is not—"

"He is!" Sebastian bellowed, anger flaring again. But not at Virtue. Never at her. It was himself who he hated in that moment. It was he who his fury was directed at. "My best friend died because of me! Me! That was my fault!"

"It wasn't..." she said softly, not willing to challenge him like she so often did.

"And that girl... merely a pawn for those men's schemes," he spat, his lip curling in disgust. "I killed her for it. For nothing! And that is something that I have to live with." He hammered his fist into his chest. "That is something that I deal with every single day. I don't take pleasure in it. I am not happy with what I did. But it is my burden to carry. It is mine!"

She reached out to him, but he winced and pulled back, stumbling as he climbed to his feet.

Lightning lit the room as he bore down over Virtue. Naked. Panting and covered in sweat. Dark hair, a tangled mess. And his scar, a stark reminder of his sins, staring her in the face. She gasped at the sight and recoiled, and he didn't blame her. Not one little bit.

"Tonight..." He began, clenching his jaw as he spoke, keeping himself from exploding because this had nothing to do with Virtue. "Thank you. Thank you for everything. But as you can see..." He gave a bitter chuckle and averted his gaze. "Some scars... even a mask cannot conceal."

And with that, a final look of contempt that he hoped she knew was for himself and not her, Sebastian turned and stumbled from the library.