The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 592

**Military 592**
**Chapter 592 The Blood Of His Mother**

The last occasion she had stepped foot into this library, her visit had been a fleeting one—mere minutes spent among the towering shelves, hardly enough time to absorb the haunting details that now loomed before her.

“Most of this collection belongs to the Whitethorn ancestors,” Julius murmured, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper, as if they were standing in a sacred chapel rather than a dusty library. “During the wars, these volumes were nearly lost to flames. Many family members sacrificed their lives to protect them, and their blood stained the pages.”

A wave of respect washed over her, transforming the books from mere relics into gravestones etched with the weight of sacrifice. Each title now bore a history, a solemn testament to lives once lived and lost.

“A portion of the salvaged collection was later donated to the state,” he continued, gesturing toward the shelves. “What you see before you is what remained after the archivists made their selections.”

“These books—” she began, her curiosity piqued, but he interjected before she could finish.

“They encompass ancient medicine, pharmacology, geography,” Julius explained, a hint of pride threading through his voice. “We even have copies of the titles we donated stored here. If any of it captures your interest, feel free to explore the shelves.”

“You mentioned that most of the stains are from family blood,” she pressed gently, her brow furrowing with concern. “What about the others?”

His gaze fell upon a single volume resting near the center of the case, and he approached it with deliberate, measured steps. “That particular book’s blood does not belong to one of the ancestors.”

Her heart raced at his words, the implication sending a shiver down her spine. The book in question was so deeply stained that half its cover appeared permanently immersed in a pool of scarlet.

“Then whose blood is it?” she whispered, her voice barely rising above the silence, as if the answer might awaken long-buried specters.

At last, he spoke, his voice low and haunting, like the rustle of pages in a deserted library. “It is my mother’s blood.”

Quinn blinked, the revelation striking her like a sudden gust of wind that tilted the very walls around her. “What?”

“My mother had a deep affection for old geography books—volumes that traced how mountains, rivers, and winds shape the destinies of towns and the hearts of their inhabitants. So, my father brought part of the collection to the villa in Yarburn.”

“The day before my mother ended her life,” Julius continued, his voice barely rising above the hush that enveloped them, “she was engrossed in this very book. When she finally took that fateful step, the book lay so close to her that the pages were soaked—spattered with more of her blood than I wish to recall.”

His words flowed with a disquieting calm, yet beneath the surface, she could sense a tremor, a rasp akin to wind scraping over shards of broken glass.

Without uttering a word, Quinn stepped behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. The gesture was gentle, as if she were afraid of startling a wounded animal, yet it was also resolute, as if her embrace could somehow mend the torn fabric of his memories.

He flinched at the unexpected warmth. “What’s wrong?” he asked, confusion threading through his tone.

“Nothing,” she murmured against his shoulder, her voice soft and soothing. “I just thought you might need a hug right now.”

“Quinn, I’m not as fragile as you believe,” he protested, his words barely more than a breath on a winter’s day.

“I know you’re strong,” she replied, tightening her grip until her knuckles turned white. “But I still want to hold you like this.”

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