Shared Bath (1)

Mikael stood in the entryway foyer, surrounded by a cluster of household servants. They had all temporarily abandoned their evening chores, waiting for the Marquess to make his return.

At first, Mikael had no intention of sticking around to greet Nicolaus. He had tried to keep himself busy by scribbling down rough drafts of responses to the letters, huddled at his desk. 

But Miss Celia, who had this curious expression on her face, noticed and questioned why Mikael seemed so inclined not to give the Marquess a welcome.

So, here he was, standing by idly, his fingers gently playing with his thumbs. He wasn't exactly jumping for joy regarding the circumstances at hand, but he decided to take things as they came.

And then it happened: the massive entrance gates began to swing open with a slow, protesting creak that reverberated through the estate, announcing the arrival of the Marquess in his carriage. 

The rhythmic clatter of hooves and wheels echoed through the estate, growing louder with each passing moment.

Mikael waited with bated breath, his gaze locked onto the approaching carriage. However, his ears picked up some soft footsteps, almost hesitant, behind him.

Secretary Cade, with his voice so quiet that only they could hear, murmured, "My, uhm… lady." He seemed a bit unsure about whether to call Mikael 'lord' or 'lady.'

As he leaned in closer, he went on, "Whenever Sir Daelan lets everyone know that the Marquess is on his way, it means the Marquess will be heading back in a… rather sour mood. It's like a cue for us, the servants, to be extra careful and walk on eggshells."

Mikael cast a curious glance in his direction, wanting to understand more about the situation. However, their conversation was abruptly interrupted by the distant sound of the carriage pulling up in front of the manor.

His gaze swiftly turned towards the approaching carriage, the horses whinnying as the driver expertly reined them in. It was Sir Daelan who made his way to the carriage door, intent on assisting Nicolaus.

But, just as Sir Daelan reached for the door handle, Nicolaus burst forth forcefully. With an abrupt slam, it burst open, causing Mikael to startle in surprise. The band caught him off guard, a jolt of unease rippling through his senses.

Nicolaus emerged from the carriage, and the sight of him sent an immediate wave of tension coursing through the entire foyer.

He looked disheveled, his dark hair a wild tousle, as though he had impatiently run his fingers through those raven strands.

There was a storm in his eyes. The loose shirt hung carelessly on his frame. Specks of blood adorned his clothes and even marked his face. His right hand was also smeared with blood.

As Nicolaus continued to move further into the foyer, his escaping pheromones swept through.

The servants and household staff felt the invisible weight of his presence as it settled over them. The very air seemed to thicken with the power and dominance he exuded.

Mikael also could not escape the influence of Nicolaus' pheromones. A subtle shudder rippled through his body, and an inexplicable itch crawled up from the nape of his neck. 

As the scent of Nicolaus enveloped him, the tingles traced a course down his spine, leaving him unsettled.

His gaze shifted toward Nicolaus, who seemed to be out and preoccupied with his contemplations. He wore a solemn expression with his lips slightly downturned and a deep furrow creasing his forehead.

Nicolaus, his thoughts adrift, was pulled back to the chaotic scene down by the pier. The cloaked man, his target, had managed to slip away before his grasp, leaving a lingering bitterness of frustration on his tongue.

Although they had succeeded in capturing the accomplice left behind, the man had proven exceedingly uncooperative. Despite his attempts at questioning, the detainee remained tight-lipped, leaving Nicolaus grappling with more questions than answers. 

The memory of the accomplice's laughter still clung to Nicolaus, a stark reminder of the time he had lost control. His frustration and anger had surged through him, pushing him to a breaking point. 

He had rained down a barrage of blows on the uncooperative man, and each blow a manifestation of his pent up rage.

Later on, the accomplice took his own life with the same method. As he had tried to utter the forbidden name of his guild, his body had convulsed in agony, organs melting away.

Shrugging off the incident earlier, Nicolaus continued along his way, striding past Mikael. 

While everyone assumed that the Marquess was giving his wife the cold shoulder, the truth was quite the opposite. 

Nicolaus expected Mikael to be right on his tail. So, he took a few steps, and when he realized Mikael wasn't following him, he slammed on the brakes.

His voice cut through the silence as he bluntly called out, "What's keeping you standing there? Come over here, wife."

Mikael pursed his lips tightly, his jaw visibly tensing, but eventually, he reluctantly gave in with a subtle nod. He would appreciate it more if Nicolaus didn't pay attention to him.

Striding alongside Mikael, Nicolaus didn't say a word but gently looped his arm around Mikael's waist. Mikael didn't resist at this point as a few servants stole curious glances at them, wondering what was going on.

Meanwhile, in the background, Miss Celia's calm voice broke through as she gave orders to the staff. "Prepare a bath for the Marquess," she instructed, her tone brisk.

The servants immediately nodded in acknowledgment, prepared to carry out the orders.

But then, out of the blue, Nicolaus made an announcement, saying, "The Marchioness will be joining me for the bath."

Miss Celia nodded in response.

However, Mikael's eyes grew wide, his astonishment evident on his face. He leaned in towards Nicolaus, disbelief in his voice as he asked, "Why in the world am I taking a bath with you?"

Nicolaus' expression remained as stoic as ever, showing no signs of emotion as he fronted Mikael's inquiry. "Because I said so."