Reborn I Refuse To Save The Traitors (Margaery) novel Chapter 74

**Whispers Shape Distant Tomorrows by Aren Cole Vale**
**Chapter 74: Don’t Let Him Go**

The afternoon breeze howled with an intensity that mirrored the turmoil brewing within the hearts of the Wallen family. It swept through the trees, carrying with it an ominous sense of urgency that seemed to envelop the entire estate.

Desperation hung heavy in the air as every member of the Wallen family frantically searched for Margaery. Their anxiety was echoed by the Hadley family, who, despite their own alarm, were careful to keep their concerns hidden. They dispatched their servants to scour the area, all while fearing the wrath of the King should word of Margaery’s disappearance reach his ears. The stakes were high, and both families found themselves united in their loathing for Clyde.

Meanwhile, Margaery lay unconscious, her sleep fraught with restlessness. Her delicate brows knitted together in distress, and every now and then, a soft whisper escaped her lips. “Mother…” The single word was a haunting refrain that pierced through the stillness of the room.

Each time she murmured that word, Dashnell felt a sharp pang in his heart—a pain so profound that it threatened to consume him. It was as if every utterance of her name was a reminder of his failure to protect her, and the weight of that realization was nearly unbearable.

After what felt like an eternity, Leandro Robertson returned, his expression grave as he knelt before Dashnell, the weight of guilt evident in his posture. “Your Highness, this is entirely my fault. I was tasked with keeping Lady Margaery safe, and I failed her. Clyde was able to reach her, and I deserve whatever punishment you deem appropriate,” he said, his voice quaking with remorse.

Leandro had been stationed outside the Chancellor’s estate, under strict orders to ensure Margaery’s safety. Yet, he had never anticipated that Clyde would lose control and lash out so violently. By the time the chaos unfolded, Adam had already dispatched men to hunt down the assailant responsible for Margaery’s plight.

As the head of the Thirteen Shades, Leandro had prided himself on his vigilance, but this blunder weighed heavily upon him. Now, as he knelt before Dashnell, he trembled with dread, fully aware of the gravity of his failure.

“Before I accept any punishment, I demand that Clyde’s life hangs by a thread,” Dashnell declared, his voice icy and resolute.

Inside the dimly lit room, Dashnell’s eyes were half-closed, his expression inscrutable, yet the menace behind his words was palpable. It was a calmness that belied the storm brewing within him, a fury so profound that it rendered him almost indifferent to the chaos around him.

When pain reached its zenith, he found himself unable to shed tears. When rage surged through him, he could not even muster a shout. All that remained was a singular, chilling intent to kill.

“At once, Your Highness!” Leandro responded, his voice firm with determination as he sprang to his feet, not daring to linger for even a heartbeat longer. He dashed from the courtyard, urgency propelling him forward.

Craig turned to Dashnell, his brow furrowing in concern. “Are you truly considering confronting Clyde directly?” he asked, his voice laced with apprehension. “Have you thought through the potential consequences of such an action?”

The thought lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken fears. Both Craig and Dashnell were acutely aware of the precariousness of their situation.

But at that moment, none of those considerations mattered to Dashnell. His gaze fell upon Margaery, lying still on the bed. He gently tucked the blanket around her, a protective gesture that spoke volumes of his feelings. “If I cannot even safeguard her, then what purpose does the throne serve? Why wait for the opportune moment?” he mused aloud, his voice thick with emotion.

Craig nodded in silent understanding. “If you are resolute in your decision, then act upon it. I will stand by your side, no matter the outcome.”

Dashnell offered a slight nod, his focus unwavering as he continued to watch over Margaery’s serene face.

Just then, a voice broke through the tension, calling from outside the door. “Excuse me, is Margaery here?”

It was Raul, stepping for the first time into this part of the city—a place teeming with beggars and despair. He stood before the rickety wooden door, momentarily taken aback by the stark contrast between his world and the one beyond.

‘The miracle doctor who could conjure healing at a moment’s notice actually resides in a place like this?’ he thought, disbelief etched across his features.

He craned his neck, peering cautiously inside, and was met by Craig’s voice. “It’s Raul,” he announced, his tone flat.

Craig exchanged a glance with Dashnell, who maneuvered himself back into his wheelchair. Craig stepped outside to confront the man approaching. “Lord Chancellor, even amidst your busy schedule, you can’t spare a moment for your own daughter? What brings you to such a dismal place?”

“Is Margaery here?” Raul inquired, his eyes locked onto Craig’s, a sense of urgency clouding his features.

Before arriving, Raul had harbored suspicions that Margaery might be Craig’s daughter. He had even entertained the thought that Craig could be his wife’s childhood sweetheart. But upon seeing Craig in person, Raul quickly realized that the man before him was no longer the figure he remembered. Craig appeared older, his frame gaunt, yet his eyes sparkled with a fierce intensity. Dressed differently, he could easily be mistaken for a wise sage from ancient tales rather than a beggar.

Raul scrutinized him for a moment, attempting to piece together the puzzle, but ultimately, he could only manage, “I’m here to see Margaery.”

“You truly have the audacity to seek her out?” Craig’s voice trembled, fists clenched tightly at his sides, his sleeves fluttering with barely contained rage. If not for the last vestiges of reason holding him back, he might have struck Raul down in that very instant.

‘He does not deserve the title of father,’ Craig thought, fury boiling just beneath the surface.

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