My Contract Husband Demands a Divorce - Chapter 74

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Where could he be sneaking off to at this hour?
Something was definitely amiss.
I sat up and tracked the monk through the window as his silhouette dissolved into the gloom.
He kept his eyes glued to something in his hands, though the dark made it impossible to see what.
Was my hunch right? Was he a fugitive trying to slip away quietly while everyone slept?
If so, good riddance. But the way he kept glancing over his shoulder suggested he was hunting for something.
He didn’t look like a man making a clean escape.
“Shan, are you awake?”
“Yes.”
Shan shifted, pressing his chest flat against my back.
His searing warmth made me flinch. My throat went dry as his low, measured breaths brushed my ear.
Forcing down the flutter in my chest, I locked my gaze on the dark window.
“That monk is highly eccentric. Do you think Kildian sent him to spy on us?”
“I wouldn’t rule it out entirely.”
His deep baritone vibrated against my ear, making me cup it instinctively.
Fortunately, he didn’t notice my agitation as he moved toward the carriage door. Wait, was he leaving?
“Where are you going?”
Startled, I caught his sleeve.
He paused with his hand on the latch and looked back at me.
After a heartbeat of silence, he offered a casual reply.
“Just getting some fresh air.”
“Liar. You’re going to tail that monk, aren’t you?”
“Nothing escapes you, my lady.”
“Don’t go. We have no idea who he really is. If he returns, we can question him then. If he doesn’t, good riddance.”
“…As you wish.”
Surprisingly, Shan sat back down without any further argument.
With the space between us closing again, the air grew thick with a strange, heavy tension.
Then again, perhaps I was the only one imagining things.
“Aren’t you going to rest?”
“I want to see what time he returns. Slip under the covers, my lady.”
“Come to think of it, shouldn’t there be a sentry posted?”
Instead of explaining, Shan pointed toward the dying campfire. One of our hired mercenaries lay curled on his side, snoring peacefully.
“Sleep first. That way, if I nod off during the day, you can keep watch over me.”
“…Me, protect you? My fighting skills are about on par with Papilion’s.”
“A grim prospect, then.”
Chucking, I cuffed his shoulder before rolling over onto my side.
“Sweet dreams, Amarynthis.”
A gentle hand began to toy with the ends of my hair.
The slow, rhythmic strokes traveled up my curls, sending a soft tingle across my scalp.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but that only made the thudding of my heart echo louder.
I was tense, yet an inexplicable peace washed over me.
It felt as though he could brush away any nightmare before it ever reached me.
* * *
Yulisian watched the sleeping Amarynthis for a long moment before leaning back against the carriage wall to stare at the ceiling.
Her soft locks threaded through his fingers.
The texture felt like a skein of fine silk, tempting him to twirl it mindlessly until a faint whimper drew his gaze back to her face.
“Another nightmare.”
Sharing these quarters had taught him that Amarynthis was plagued by terrors almost every night.
Roughly five times a week, a peaceful night’s rest eluded her.
Carefully, Yulisian pulled her closer, shifting her head until it rested securely against his thigh.
Amarynthis buried her face into his lap, curling around his outstretched legs like a makeshift pillow.
The lines on her brow smoothed out.
It had been this way for days; whenever the terrors struck, a simple touch or a warm embrace reassured her that she wasn’t alone.
That was why he had reached for her earlier.
Though, if he were honest with himself, that wasn’t the sole reason.
His knuckles throbbed as her soft weight pressed against his legs.
He clenched and opened his fists, battling an unfamiliar, burning urge.
He wanted to touch her. He wanted to pull her entirely into his embrace.
He wanted to press his ear to her fragile frame and count the frantic beats of her heart.
He wanted to cup her flushed cheeks, the ones she hid behind that brave, indifferent facade.
Yet, in the very same breath, he wanted to leave her completely untouched.
It sickened him that the physical vessel holding her belonged to Scheit Huniswald.
It tortured him because he couldn’t tell if her heart raced for Scheit Huniswald’s flesh or Yulisian Kleinheits’s soul.
What if Amarynthis grew fond of this shell?
What if, by some cruel twist, I vanish and Scheit Huniswald reclaims his place?
What if a stranger embraces her while wearing my face?
The mere thought made his pulse skyrocket and his jaw tighten.
The longer they spent together, and the more she shed her terror to bloom in her own brilliant colors, the worse these emotions tore at him.
At first, it had been a mere ripple he could easily ignore, but now it had swelled into a raging storm.
Even moments ago, it had been the same.
Had his own subordinates begged him not to follow the monk, he wouldn’t have hesitated to push past them.
Yet he had stayed inside. He was terrified that if he left her side, some other horror would strike while she was defenseless.
Yes, he was afraid.
“I have to draw the line here.”
The research journal made one thing undeniably clear.
He couldn’t occupy this flesh forever. He was a man destined to fade, and for her sake, he had to maintain his distance.
Yet whenever he let his guard down, he would find himself taking her hand or brushing a stray lock from her brow.
Resting his palm against Amarynthis’s back, he forced his turbulent mind to settle.
As he listened to her steady breathing, the sky bled a pale blue, and the monk finally stepped out from the treeline.
Yawning widely, the man folded a scrap of paper and slipped it into his tunic.
‘That looks like a map.’
Yulisian flattened himself against the carriage wall, blending into the shadows where he couldn’t be spotted from the window.
Outside, the rustle of the monk crawling back into his sleeping bag reached his ears.
* * *
The monk was essentially a sloth.
He refused to open his eyes unless food was involved.
Even during his brief bouts of wakefulness, his focus drifted to entirely inappropriate things.
He would wander off under the guise of taking a walk or spend his time hovering around the baggage wagon.
“Ah…….”
And whenever he spotted something of interest, he would emit a dazed groan that sounded like a cross between awe and a sigh.
It was a thoroughly vacant sound that sucked the energy straight out of anyone nearby.
“Is something wrong?”
“Look at that piece over there.”
Peering into the wagon, the monk pointed to a small crate wedged between the travel supplies.
“Isn’t that the stone Saint Karkov held during his hundred-day vigil? To think I’d stumble across such a holy relic out here.”
…Who? What?
As I tilted my head, he muttered a quick apology and hauled the wooden crate out from the pile.
Inside sat a perfectly flat, polished stone.
“Oh, that thing.”
I had bought that rock for an absurd sum at a charity auction, mostly because I was bored and wanted an excuse to leave early.
The auctioneer claimed Saint Karkov had held it, but since no one had ever heard of the man, it hadn’t fetched any other bids.
Yet this stranger recognized it?
“Is Saint Karkov a renowned figure?”
“Famous for his deep piety, immaculate character, *yawn*… and something else. At any rate, he is revered for those traits. Though few recall his name these days.”
So no one knows him.
Is he famous or completely obscure?
My head tilted sideways in sheer bewilderment.
Just then, the opposite side of the crate caught my eye.
Stenciled right there on the wood were the words: ‘The stone Saint Karkov held for a hundred days.’
Was he just putting on an act to prove he was a real monk?
“Would you like to keep it?”
“But it is a sacred object, is it not?”
“An item belongs with someone who appreciates it. To me, it’s just a rock.”
“Ah… *yawn*. No, thank you.”
Muttering his refusal, he shoved the crate back into the pile and staggered back toward the carriage.
Later that afternoon, our party rolled into a tiny settlement called Glenmoor.
I had planned to discreetly ditch the eccentric monk since we could likely source a fresh carriage here, but a sudden torrential downpour ruined everything.
We were stranded in an instant.
Devoid of any social graces, the monk shuffled right into our inn and planted himself firmly on a chair.
“Do not despair. My phenomenal prayers will surely…”
He mumbled a half-thought before his chin dropped to his chest.
“Amarynthis. We should call it a day and rest here.”
“Agreed. Let’s dry off and wait out the storm before we push on.”
The locals didn’t seem particularly thrilled to host outsiders.
The sharp glances they threw our way carried a distinct edge of hostility.
Perhaps it was because our escort consisted of too many menacing mercenaries.
While the servants unloaded our gear, I kept my eyes on the dozing monk. As the man snored against the table, Shan slipped a hand into his tunic.
“What are you—!”
“Shh.”
His fingers emerged clutching a crumpled scrap of paper.
It was frayed and soft from being folded countless times, but the markings remained legible.
Unfortunately, the contents only made our situation worse.
Scrawled clearly across the map in the ancient language was the phrase: ‘Nest of Monsters.’

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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