"My health is truly unwell," she said, her voice composed yet firm. "If my lord insists, it may worsen my condition. And should word of it spread… others may say that you showed no regard for your wife—that for the sake of your own desires, you forced an ailing woman into what she did not consent to."
Her words struck precisely where it mattered.
Dorian cared deeply for reputation—perhaps more than anything else.
If her illness worsened and rumor took root, it would not be her name that suffered, but his.
She continued, her tone steady, "Moreover… I am presently within my monthly cycle. It is considered impure. Should I offend my lord by such impropriety, it would be most unfortunate."
For men of his standing, such matters were not taken lightly. It was a boundary seldom crossed. And Caelith knew that, too.
"You—!" Dorian's anger rose, yet for a moment, he found no words to continue.
"My lord, forgive me," she said softly. "This is not within my control."
