chapter1401

Thalassa’s entire world was centered on Lysander’s recovery. Every morning began with a dedicated routine, ensuring he received the essential nutrition required to maintain his strength. She managed his meals with a level of patience that bordered on the divine, carefully assisting him through every step of the process. Each meal was a slow, deliberate act of devotion, lasting over an hour, fueled by the hope that nourishment would be the catalyst for his eventual awakening.

At night, the responsibility of his care fell solely on her. As she tended to him, her eyes would often linger on the silver traces of scars that marked his frame—reminders of the profound sacrifices he had made for her. What might have once stirred a sense of bashfulness was now replaced by an enduring, quiet ache of gratitude. She moved with delicate precision, treating him with the reverence one would afford a masterpiece in restoration.

“Lysander,” she would whisper during these quiet hours, her voice a steady anchor in the stillness of the room. “I am here. I will never pull away again. When you wake, we will make everything official. Whatever path you choose, my answer will always be yes.”

A year slipped by in this rhythmic cycle of care. Thanks to Thalassa’s meticulous attention, Lysander remained immaculately groomed, his vital signs steady, though he remained deep within an unresponsive slumber. Day after day, she continued her vigil, her apologies evolving into a constant stream of encouragement and shared memories.

Another year passed. The external scars of his heroism had faded into faint lines, yet his eyes remained closed to the world.

Thalassa, maintaining a bittersweet resolve, took on the task of shaving him. “The doctors mentioned that sensory stimulation might reach those deeper nerves,” she told him, her hand steady as she moved the razor with practiced care. “But I cannot bring myself to cause you even the slightest discomfort. It has been two years, Lysander. I am waiting for you, whenever you are ready to return.”

The soft hum of the electric razor was the only response in the quiet suite.

By the third year, Lysander’s physical state was a testament to Thalassa’s unwavering dedication. He lay in a state of perpetual, tranquil sleep, his health perfectly maintained despite the silence of his mind. The atmosphere at the Royal Estates remained somber, yet underscored by a powerful, invisible thread of hope—a testament to a woman who refused to let the flame of their connection go out in the dark.