Dorothy’s chest tightened as she got off the table too, her pulse quickening at the mixture of desire, anticipation, and the careful restraint he displayed. She knew he understood the gravity of what she had asked, and yet, the distance he now put between them confused her.
Dorothy’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table, her voice rising despite her effort to remain calm. “Magnus, you must understand. There are expectations in a marriage, things that are required of us as husband and wife. Surely, you see that I cannot simply ignore them.”
Magnus ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Dorothy, we had this discussion already on our wedding night. I explained in no uncertain terms that I did not wish for an heir. I do not desire… whatever might result from a night shared in the bedchamber. I thought we had come to an agreement. That understanding should suffice.”
She shook her head, her chest tight, her words coming faster now. “Do you not comprehend the obligations? The duties of a wife? Why do you not want an heir? What is your reason? I am trying to understand where you are coming from, Magnus, but...”
“No, Dorothy.” His tone snapped, his eyes darkening with an intensity that made her falter. “You do not need to understand where I am coming from. I do not owe you a reason. It is what I want. I will not be swayed, nor do I intend to justify it further. This is not open for debate.”
Dorothy’s cheeks flamed, a mixture of frustration and disbelief fueling her words. “You cannot simply declare what you will or will not do and expect me to bend to it! A union… a marriage… is built upon understanding, upon compromise!”
Magnus’s jaw tightened, and he leaned back slightly, his gaze unwavering. “Compromise, yes, but not in matters of my choice. You speak of obligations, of expectations, as if they bind me to a path I have not chosen. I have chosen, Dorothy. I have chosen, and I will not yield to pressure. Not now, not ever. I made this clear before I married you. You agreed to it.”
She stood straighter, meeting his gaze boldly despite the fluttering of her heart. “I just want an explanation. Explain it to me, Magnus! Tell me why you refuse! How can a man who… who claims to care for his wife… refuse her without a word of explanation?”
“Because it is mine to refuse, and there is no need for further justification.”
Dorothy drew in a deep breath, steadying herself, and took a careful step forward. “Magnus,” she said, her voice low and soft, her eyes fixed on him with an intensity that belied her calm tone.
The moment her gaze met his, he recoiled, taking a sharp step back. “Dorothy,” he said, his voice tight, almost pained. “Do not do that. Do not do anything.” His eyes, usually so composed, flickered with a rare and fierce vulnerability, an unspoken betrayal at the thought of being swayed.
She felt a pang, but the sight of him like this stirred her deeper. “Magnus…” she began again, but he interrupted her with a controlled, angry edge.
“You should not appear to me that way,” he said, each word deliberate. “You know… you know the advantage you hold, and you are testing me with it.” He shook his head slightly, frustration tightening his jaw. “I will not be swayed. It is disappointing that you would even try to do that. You will never bear my child. This discussion is over.”
Dorothy’s chest tightened, a cold realization sweeping through her. His words reverberated in her mind like a sentence she could not escape. All the hope she had nurtured, the dream of a family, of children running through the halls with Eugenia, shattered in that instant.
“Magnus,” she whispered, her voice quivering. Her eyes searched his, pleading for even the smallest crack of compassion. “How can you say that to me?”
Magnus’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening, and he took a deliberate step toward the door. “Leave, Dorothy,” he said sharply, the steel in his voice leaving no room for argument. “I will not have this conversation again. Not now, not ever.”
She stepped forward, her hands trembling, voice rising despite herself. “Magnus, you must?—”
“Enough!” he said sternly, cutting her off. “You will leave. Now.” His hand rested on the doorframe, firm, and his glare left no room for further protest.
Dorothy’s heart ached, the sting of impossibility sinking deep into her chest. Her lips parted as if to speak again, but the finality in his voice silenced her. She turned slowly, forcing herself to obey, her fingers grazing the door as she stepped back, fighting back tears.
“You’re leaving?”
Magnus stood just inside the doorway of Dorothy’s chambers, the morning sun filtering through the gauzy curtains and painting soft rectangles across the carpet. The room was quiet...too quiet. Breakfast had long since ended, and she had not come down.
He had been unable to sleep the night before, his mind returning relentlessly to the library. The conversation there had burned itself into his memory. How he had wanted to tell her, not just explain but impress upon her that she need not bend herself to the dictates of society, that the duty she imagined pressing upon her shoulders was not hers to bear here in their home, away from the eyes of the world. That she could simply be.
Yet, instead of the gentle truths he had longed to say, his words had come out sharp, unyielding. He had told her she would never bear his heir. He had his reasons for such harshness, a need to set a boundary, to protect not only himself but the fragile balance of their marriage, but he could not deny the sting of frustration.
Even after all he had explained on their wedding night, she had returned to the topic, bringing with it the talk of imagined obligations, of society’s expectations, over the truth of what they shared, what he desired. That she continued to wrestle with a duty he never demanded. It both angered and pained him.
She worried about what had never been his concern, yet ignored the one thing that mattered most to him. Here and now, with him. The tension coiled in his chest, a mixture of anger, longing, and frustration as he realized that despite his boundaries, he could not stop his heart from noticing the ache her worry caused him.
Dorothy looked up, calm and resolute. “Yes. I’m going to my father’s house for a while,” she said. “My bags are downstairs. I need to clear my head.”
He glanced away for a moment, the words he had longed to speak—entreaties, pleas, persuasion—battling against the stubborn anger that still lingered. Instead, he said nothing.
“I’ll be helping Papa in the meantime,” she added, pausing to glance at him. “I have told Eugenia.”
He could tell that she had cried, and that thought fought him internally. But he wondered if perhaps some time away would help clear her head and quench the expectations she was starting to foster.
Magnus opened his mouth as if to speak, to tell her to remain, to insist that she not leave, but the confrontation of the night before, the persistence of her insistence on duty and societal expectations, kept the words from forming. He only nodded stiffly, a tense acknowledgment, and watched as she took the first step toward the door.
