The Wife Who Walked Through Silence

The War Council Room was a museum of ghosts.

Every wall bore fragments of memory—paintings of soldiers locked in their final stands, banners faded to gray, and portraits of generals whose eyes still seemed to burn with defiance. Swords hung crossed above the hearth, their metal worn but still sharp, gleaming faintly under the candlelight. Spears, shields, and broken relics from old wars lined the chamber like sentinels of another age.

At the center stood a long table of ancient oak, heavy and scarred from generations of strategy and bloodshed. Scrolls lay scattered across it, maps half-unrolled, wax seals cracked open. The air was thick with the smell of parchment, ink, and the faint trace of iron from the relic weapons around him.

Ben sat at the head of the table, hunched slightly forward, his hands resting on a faded scroll. A dozen others were spread before him—battle formations, ancient war notes, tactical breakdowns of the Lionheart campaigns. He wasn't reading like a king now; he looked more like a scholar lost in obsession.

The candle beside him flickered, throwing restless shadows across his face as he traced the edges of a battle map with slow, thoughtful fingers.

So they used a pincer formation even with inferior numbers... clever, he thought absently. They turned weakness into bait.

He leaned closer, his gaze sharpening. The world outside vanished; time itself blurred.

To anyone watching, the king didn't seem like a ruler planning for war—he looked like a man swallowed by the past, chasing something only he could see.

Then—

A faint knock broke the stillness.

Ben didn't react at first. His eyes stayed on the parchment. Another knock followed, slightly louder.

He frowned, not lifting his gaze. "I said no one enters."

But the knocking came again—soft, patient, almost melodic.

His jaw tightened. "Are my guards deaf now?" he muttered, irritation seeping into his tone. He pushed back his chair and finally looked up—just as the heavy door creaked open.

A silhouette slipped through, framed by the light from the corridor. Feminine. Graceful. Familiar.

Ben's voice cut through the air, low and commanding. "You insolent— I said don't let anyone in! Who dared send this person—"

The words died in his throat.

A calm, melodic voice answered him, firm but teasing. "Stop shouting at the air, Ben. It's me."

He froze.

The flickering candlelight caught her form as she stepped fully into the room—long, flowing hair that shimmered faintly under the light, a gown of soft purplish-white silk that clung like moonlight to her frame. Regal. Effortless. She didn't need a crown to remind anyone who she was.

Anna. His queen. His wife.

Ben blinked once, then exhaled slowly, a faint, guilty smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "…Ah. It's you, wifey."

Anna arched a brow, hands clasped lightly before her. "Yes. The one you forgot to mention when you declared 'no one enters,' apparently."

He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes for a moment. "Right. That… might've slipped my mind."

She crossed the room with calm, measured steps, her gown whispering across the stone floor. The faint scent of jasmine trailed in her wake, delicate but commanding all the same.

When she reached the table, her gaze flicked over the chaos of scrolls and maps. "So this is why the guards looked like they'd seen ghosts. You've turned my war room into a library."

Ben chuckled faintly under his breath. "War room is exactly what it is, love. Just… with more reading."

Anna tilted her head. "Reading doesn't suit you. You look too serious."

"That's what war does to a man," he said, voice dipping.

But her expression didn't soften. She rested her palm on the table, leaning forward just slightly. "Then tell me why you're hiding in here."

Ben met her eyes—and for a heartbeat, forgot the world again. There was something about her gaze: sharp enough to command an army, soft enough to make him hesitate.

He swallowed, playing for time. "Hiding? I'm studying."

"Studying," she repeated, unimpressed. "Ben, I know what your 'studying' face looks like. And this isn't it. You're trying to bury something."

He tried to smile again, but it came out thin. "You're imagining things."

Anna exhaled slowly, crossing her arms. "Don't even try. You know I can read you better than anyone." Her tone softened just slightly, though her gaze didn't waver. "So… what are you trying to hide from me?"

Silence.

The question hung between them, quiet and heavy, like the air before a storm.

Ben leaned back in his chair, eyes dropping to the scrolls in front of him. His fingers drummed absently against the wood.

She waited.

He finally looked up at her—just a flicker of conflict in his gaze.

"I…" He stopped.

Anna stepped closer, the candlelight brushing over her face, outlining the faint tension at the corner of her lips.

"Ben," she said softly, "don't make me repeat myself."

He hesitated, caught between the habit of command and the weight of familiarity.

She'd always been able to disarm him—not through fear or rank, but through presence. Through knowing him.

Her eyes met his, steady and patient, and his resolve cracked just slightly.

She always knows, he thought bitterly. Always.

He drew a long breath, but before he could speak, she continued—her voice lower now, almost a whisper.

"You're trembling, just a little. And you only do that when you're afraid of what you'll say next."

Ben blinked, realizing his hand was, in fact, shaking faintly on the scroll. He clenched it into a fist and leaned back, trying to laugh it off. "You've been paying too much attention to me."

"That's what wives do," she said. "Now stop dodging."

He sighed, gaze turning toward the distant wall where the painting of the Lionheart ancestors watched in silence.

"Anna…" His voice came out quieter now. "If I told you, you'd worry. And I can't afford that right now."

Her eyes softened, but her tone didn't. "Then let me decide what I can afford."

The room went still again. The faint pop of a candle wick was the only sound.

Ben's chest rose and fell, slow and deliberate. He didn't answer.

Anna studied him, expression unreadable. Then, softly: "You know I'm not leaving until you tell me."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.