Feeding The Duke Medicine

The single, heavily weighted word "Aunt" hung in the air, cold and definitive. Evander’s brows knitted together in deep frustration as the sharp reality of her status cut through his lingering denial. The title was a physical barrier she had erected between them, one he knew he could not cross. His shoulders shook slightly under the weight of her words, his jaw tightening into a hard line.

Without missing a beat, Oriana continued her verbal assault. "If we are talking about satisfaction," she said, her voice steady, "this marriage was something I asked for myself. I got exactly what I wanted, so of course, I am pleased. Surely Your Highness is not asking something you already know the answer to."

Her blatant, unapologetic satisfaction acted like a physical blow, sending the already weakened Evander into a harsh, hacking coughing fit. His face grew pale, and he bent double in the quiet corridor, racked by the sudden spasm.

Oriana watched him with cool indifference, unmoved by his physical distress. She took a deliberate step backward, putting enough distance between them to ensure she would not catch his illness.

"If Your Highness is unwell, you should remember to take your medicine and rest," she advised, her tone distant and cool. "I am going to pay my respects to Her Majesty now."

Before he could recover, she turned on her heel and entered the Queen’s chambers, leaving him behind.

Inside the palace, she found the atmosphere remarkably bright. The King had arrived after court, in good spirits. For the very first time in recent memory, the notoriously fractured and argumentative civil ministers and military commanders had reached a rare agreement in their unanimous praise of this royal marriage.

Riding the high wave of this good mood, Queen Helena generously kept Oriana at the palace for a lavish meal, eager to further cement their bond. Oriana accepted the invitation with grace, playing her role as the perfect, dutiful guest.

By the time she finally bid farewell to the royal court and returned to the sprawling grounds of Grimwood Manor, the afternoon sun was already blazing high in the sky, casting a warm, golden light across the massive estate.

As she entered her courtyard, she spotted Gareth leading two burly footmen toward the main house. They were carefully carrying a massive, dark stoneware pot. A steaming, pungent herbal scent rose from it, filling the warm air. It was the exact same bitter medicine she had smelled on Gideon the night before. The heat of the sun intensified the strong aroma of the boiling herbs, making the entire garden smell of ancient roots and bitter leaves.

"Gareth," Oriana called out, stepping toward them. "What is that?"

"My lady, it is time to give His Grace his medicine," Gareth answered honestly.

He looked at her, his face showing a trace of concern. "Perhaps you should wait in the garden, my lady. Given his current condition, feeding His Grace is not an easy task. It is a messy and difficult process. It will take some time, and it is not a pleasant sight."

Oriana's gaze fell on the dark pot, her expression hardening with quiet authority. "I will go inside with you," she insisted firmly.

Gareth froze, clearly surprised. "With us, my lady?"

"Yes," she replied, her voice steady and resolute. "I am his lawful wife, and caring for him is my sole responsibility. I will watch and learn how to do it today, so that I can handle it myself in the future."

Hearing this, Gareth was deeply moved. He had no reason to refuse her, but as they walked inside, he still offered a gentle warning. "My lady, His Grace is unconscious. He has no awareness at all and cannot drink on his own. We have to force it. Sometimes, even after it goes down, he spits it back up. It is a real struggle."

Oriana listened patiently, but her calm expression showed she had not taken the difficulties to heart.

Inside the dim room, the heavy curtains kept out the harsh afternoon light. The two footmen stepped forward and slightly lifted Gideon's upper body, holding him steady against the headboard.

Gareth poured some of the dark medicine from the pot into a small bowl. Holding it, he sat at the bedside and used a spoon to scoop up the liquid, trying to feed it past Gideon’s pale lips.

But Gideon's mouth remained tightly shut. One of the footmen had to support his jaw, forcing his mouth open. Only then was Gareth able to pour the medicine in.

Yet, despite his efforts, more than half of the dark liquid spilled down the Duke's chin, rapidly soaking into his pristine sleeping garments and leaving a large, wet stain. Gareth tried again, but the medicine continued to run out of the corners of his lips. The medicine stained his collar in dark, irregular patches, and the strong scent of the herbs began to fill the small space around the bed. It was a disheartening sight, showing just how little actually reached his throat.

Oriana watched the painful process. Unable to stand by and watch the incredible waste of vital medicine, she decisively turned away and rolled up her delicate sleeves.

She turned back, her hand held out for the bowl. "Gareth, the way you are doing this is wasting the medicine. Let me do it. Stand up."

Gareth froze, staring at her. He had assumed she turned away out of disgust, unable to bear the messy sight. He had not expected her to take charge.

Slowly, he rose from the bedside. "My lady, we will withdraw at once."

Oriana looked confused. "Why would you withdraw?"

Gareth answered solemnly, "You are about to feed His Grace. If we remain, you might feel embarrassed. It wouldn't be proper."

"Why would I feel embarrassed?" Oriana asked, her brow furrowing. "Feeding medicine is a practical duty. There is nothing shameful about it."

Gareth scratched his head awkwardly. "Aren't you going to feed His Grace mouth-to-mouth?"

Oriana was stunned. "Mouth-to-mouth?"

The sudden, vivid mental image of passing the warm, bitter liquid directly from her own lips to Gideon's flashed through her mind. A fierce heat instantly rushed to her cheeks, turning them bright crimson.

"Who told you such nonsense?" she asked, her voice rising in sharp exasperation.

"That is how it is written in popular storybooks," Gareth replied innocently, his round eye blinking with genuine ignorance.

Oriana fell silent, thoroughly exasperated. "You do know those are just storybooks, right?"

Gareth stood by the bed, looking sheepish.

Oriana took a deep breath, calming her tone. "Stories are fiction. Feeding medicine is purely practical. There is no need for mouths to touch. Go find a thin, smooth wooden strip. About a finger's width, with no splinters, and wash it clean."

"Yes, my lady," Gareth said, hurrying out.

Before long, he returned with the clean piece of wood.

Oriana had the footmen place an extra cushion beneath Gideon’s head. Then, she skillfully slipped one end of the wooden strip carefully into the corner of Gideon's mouth, using it as a precise channel. She scooped up the medicine and poured it steadily onto the wood.

The dark liquid flowed cleanly down the strip and straight into Gideon's throat without a single drop being spilled.

Gareth watched the process in delight and amazement at the sheer ease and effectiveness of her makeshift method. "So feeding medicine can be this easy!"

"Read fewer storybooks in the future," Oriana remarked dryly.

Gareth laughed sheepishly and leaned closer. "My lady, how did you know this trick?"

"My grandfather practiced medicine," Oriana explained calmly. "I grew up watching him, so I naturally learned a few things. This wooden strip is only a temporary solution. In the medical world, proper, refined feeding instruments for unconscious patients actually exist. They are very convenient."

Gareth looked enlightened. "So that's how it is."

With the first bowl finished, Gareth eagerly rushed out to refill it from the large pot.

Left alone for a moment, Oriana stared at her husband's resting face, and a dark, creeping suspicion suddenly entered her mind.

Gideon was a Duke, and he had been under the care of the elite royal physicians for an entire year. Surely, those esteemed doctors knew about the existence of such basic, essential feeding tools.

Why had they never once informed the staff at Grimwood Manor? Why had they let them struggle like this, wasting medicine and leaving the Duke in such a state?

Gazing intently down at her husband's handsome face, she wondered if his repeated, glorious military victories had quietly earned him deadly, hidden enemies within the palace walls. Were the royal doctors intentionally neglecting him?

Her thoughts were abruptly pulled back to reality as Gareth returned carrying the final half bowl of medicine.

"My lady, here is the rest," he said, handing her the bowl.

Oriana nodded, pushing her dark suspicions aside for now. She accepted the bowl and carefully resumed the feeding process.

As she worked, Gareth suddenly spoke up, his voice breaking the quiet of the room.

"My lady, later we'll need to change His Grace's clothes and wipe his body. Will you be staying to watch that as well?"