Chapter 689

Daniel struggled to rise; his body felt weak, as if he'd just recovered from a serious illness. The door creaked open, causing him to quickly turn his head.

A woman entered, stepping from behind a screen. Her hair was loosely bunned, adorned with a delicate hairpin. She wore a pale blue top with white accents, over which a smoke-colored satin coat flowed elegantly. Appearing to be in her forties, she showed only faint signs of aging, yet her expression was stern and commanding, radiating authority.

Another person followed, moving a chair to the bedside. The woman slowly sat, her cold, sharp gaze locking onto Daniel's wide, confused eyes.

"Who… who are you?"

Daniel had never met her, but sensed her status was significant. Eleanor's observation of his panic stirred an unsettling feeling within her; it was as if a flame had been doused by a sudden downpour, leaving no embers. She noted the similarity between his face and another's, yet their demeanor and courage were worlds apart.

"Are you afraid of me?" Eleanor asked slowly, her disdain no longer concealed.

"Who are you? Why did you bring me here?"

Scrutinizing her attire, Daniel deemed it unlikely she'd abducted him for money. She must have other motives. He recalled Theodore's warnings about the heightened tension between the Hell Monarch and the Duke of Northwatch's families, a situation ripe for exploitation. They needed to tread carefully, preventing anyone from undermining the Duke's family.

"Is the Sinclair family reduced to having only cowards like you left?" Eleanor said coldly.

"Who are you?" Daniel clenched his fists, a steely glint in his eyes. "No matter who you are, you know my identity, meaning you have a purpose for abducting me. What do you plan to use me for? I tell you, whatever your plan, you won't succeed."

Eleanor watched his fear fade, replaced by the pride characteristic of Sinclairs.

She sighed softly and smiled. "Yes, this is how a Sinclair should be." She reached out, wanting to touch his icy face—a face that rejected her, keeping her at arm's length with eyes devoid of warmth.

Daniel, exhausted from lifting his head in anger, panted for breath. His neck could barely support his head, which slumped back onto the pillow as he watched her approaching hand. Goosebumps spread across his body. He weakly flailed his arm, missing her as she leaned closer. Her eyes betrayed an incomprehensible emotion that made his skin crawl.

Eleanor withdrew her hand, but her gaze remained fixed, seeming to look beyond him. An obsessive resentment burned in her eyes. It terrified him.

"Get out!" Daniel roared, but his command fell flat; his voice lacked power, and he felt utterly drained.

Eleanor laughed, leaning back languidly. Her elbows rested on the armrests, her eyes sparkling with allure and mockery.

"Oh, you may look alike, but the feeling when I touch you is entirely different." She had once touched Hector's face, but he'd swatted her hand away, shouting, "Get out!"

Hector's defiance astonished her. Eleanor, a favored grand princess, contrasted sharply with Hector, who relied only on his military achievements. Yet, he'd dared to shout at her. That pride could infuriate and attract, igniting a desire to conquer.

Eleanor spoke lazily, "I've seen your two sons. Both look just like you. I hear your wife is pregnant again. Do you think it'll be another son? You have a talent for fathering boys—they all resemble you. It's quite enchanting, really."

"What?" Daniel felt a chill wash over him, fear pooling in his eyes. "What do you want?"

Eleanor sneered, stood, and turned to leave. Her voice was cold and dismissive as she commanded, "Take him to the dungeon."