Elowen frowned and asked Cora, “That’s the Duke’s cousin?”
Cora nodded. “Yes.”
Elowen had heard of him. Lucien Ashcroft, infamous for being a debauched playboy. He loved wine and women and was a regular at the Velvet Lantern.
Yesterday, while she married Cassian, Lucien had been drunk in a courtesan’s arms and hadn’t returned for the wedding.
What kind of relatives had Cassian brought into his household?
She sighed silently and stepped straight into the carriage.
She didn’t know that through a gap in the flowering trees, Lucien had seen her. That fair, delicate face fell into his eyes as a stone dropped into still water. The haze of his drunkenness rippled outward, clearing into sharp, unmistakable amazement.
Lucien rubbed his face, grabbed a nearby servant, and asked, “Who was that girl? Why have I never seen her before?”
The servant hadn’t seen her clearly but recognized the carriage. “That was the Duchess of Duskmoor.”
“The Duchess?”
Lucien frowned, slowly recalling that his cousin had married yesterday.
Watching the carriage roll away, Lucien muttered to himself, “But my cousin is still unconscious. She couldn’t have consummated the marriage on her own.”
Amused by the thought, Lucien’s mood lifted, and a smile crept onto his face.
Elowen entered the palace and went to see the Queen first.
By custom, a newly married woman of Elowen’s rank was expected to present herself at court soon after the wedding.
With the former King and Dowager Selene both long passed, it was her eldest brother who now stood in place of her father.
So Elowen made her way to the palace, not as a daughter of Hale family, but as the new Duchess of Duskmoor, to present herself before the King and Queen.
She had timed her arrival carefully. By now, the royal ladies would have retired from their morning gathering, and the final hours of court business were winding down.
If she was fortunate, she would have a quiet moment with the Queen before the King arrived.
There was just one thing she hadn’t anticipated. Outside the doors, Elowen ran into Alaric.
She remembered that Leonhart had mentioned yesterday that Alaric was ill. No wonder he hadn’t attended court. He did look thinner, and his face still carried the signs of sickness.
He stood with his head lowered, staring at the corner of the wall, whether searching for something or waiting for someone was unclear.
Elowen thought that whatever it was, it had nothing to do with her.
Still, out of courtesy, she paused and greeted him, “Your Highness.”
Alaric looked up, taken aback. Among the nobility of Avenlor, a married woman did not wear her hair loose. It was bound and arranged, proper and unmistakable.
Today, Elowen’s hair was braided and set into a crown-like coil, fastened with silver combs and small jeweled pins.
The image of her from his dream-draped in a jeweled circlet and royal bridal gown-flickered in his mind and slowly faded into the sight before him.
Now, she wasn’t smiling at him. Her expression could even be called cold. When had Elowen ever looked at him like this?
Irritation stirred in Alaric’s chest. His voice was low as he said, “Elowen, marrying my uncle, you must be very pleased with yourself, right?”
Elowen shook her head. “No.”
Alaric’s gaze trembled slightly. So she wasn’t happy?
He was about to speak when Elowen’s expression hardened. “You should call me your aunt.”
Alaric froze. A beat later, he realized that when she said no, she wasn’t talking about her feelings. She was correcting his form of address.
Elowen adopted the air of an elder and lectured him calmly, “Calling me by my given name just now was extremely improper. You have very poor manners.”
The single word “Aunt” made Alaric knit his brows at once.
“If we’re talking about satisfaction,” Elowen said, “this marriage was something I asked for myself. I got exactly what I wanted, so of course I’m pleased. Surely Your Highness isn’t asking something you already know the answer to.”
Her words so angered Alaric that he broke into a violent fit of coughing.
Elowen felt no concern at all. She quickly stepped back more than half a pace, putting enough distance between them that she would not be affected, and said coolly, “If Your Highness is unwell, you should take more medicine and rest properly. I’m going to pay my respects to Her Majesty now.”
Before Alaric could say anything else, she turned and left, taking Mira and Cora with her. While Elowen was still with the Queen, the King arrived after court. When he saw her, he was visibly pleased.
As it turned out, the court officials had praised him today because of this marriage.
In Avenlor, the civil ministers and the military commanders were rarely on good terms. Small disputes broke out every few days, major ones every few weeks. This was the first time they had reached complete agreement.
For that reason, the King was in exceptionally good spirits.
Taking advantage of his mood, Queen Isla invited Elowen to remain in the palace for a meal. Elowen did not refuse.
By the time she returned to Duskmoor Manor, the sun had already climbed high into the sky. In the courtyard, Bran was leading two young footmen toward the house.
Elowen called out to him, “What’s going on?”
Bran answered honestly, “My lady, it’s time to give His Grace his medicine.”
Elowen’s gaze fell on the wooden tray in his hands. Resting on it was a dark stoneware pot. The herbal scent rising from it was identical to the one she had smelled the night before, when she lay beside Cassian.
“My lady, you should wait outside for a moment,” Bran said. “Once we finish feeding His Grace, we’ll come back out. It may take some time. Given his current condition, giving him medicine isn’t easy.”
Elowen spoke lightly, “I’ll go in with you.”
Bran clearly froze, thinking he had misheard her. His face filled with surprise. “With us?”
She nodded. “Yes. I’m his lawful wife. Caring for him is my responsibility. I’ll watch and learn today. From now on, these things can be done by me.”
Hearing this, Bran felt deeply moved.
He had no reason to refuse, but as they walked inside, he still reminded her, “My lady, His Grace is unconscious. He has no awareness at all. He won’t drink on his own. We have to force it. Sometimes, even after it goes in, he spits it back out. This is not an easy task.”
Elowen listened patiently, but her expression remained calm, clearly showing that she had not taken these difficulties to heart.
Bran let out a silent sigh. He could only hope that when the time came, the Duchess would not feel disgusted.
Once inside the room, the two footmen stepped forward and slightly lifted Cassian’s upper body.
Bran poured some of the medicine from the pot into a small bowl. Holding it, he sat at the bedside and used a spoon to scoop up half a spoonful, feeding it toward Cassian’s mouth.
Cassian’s thin lips remained tightly closed. One of the footmen supported his jaw, forcing his mouth open. Only then was Bran able to pour the medicine in.
Yet although the liquid entered his mouth, it soon slid back out along the corners of his lips. The medicine soaked into his sleeping garments, leaving a large, wet stain.
Bran continued feeding him. Half of it went down, half of it spilled out.
Elowen watched for a while. In the end, she could no longer bear to look and turned away.
Bran glanced at her carefully. The Duchess must still find His Grace’s current state too messy, too filthy. She could not stand it after all, could she?
Elowen was unaware of his thoughts. With her back turned, she rolled up both sleeves. Only then did she turn back and speak, “Bran, the way you’re feeding him like this, more than half the bowl is being wasted. Let me do it.”
Bran froze.
So she was not turning away out of disgust. She actually intended to feed His Grace herself?
Elowen extended her hand toward him, her expression serious and resolute. “Stand up. Give me the bowl.”
Bran rose and looked at Elowen as she sat down beside the bed. “My lady, we’ll withdraw at once.”
This time, Elowen looked confused. “Why would you withdraw?”
Bran answered solemnly, “You’re about to feed His Grace his medicine. If we remain here, you may feel embarrassed. It wouldn’t be proper.”
Elowen looked even more puzzled. “Feeding medicine is a proper thing. What’s there that can’t be seen?”
Bran scratched his head awkwardly. “Aren’t you going to feed His Grace mouth-to-mouth?”
Elowen was stunned. Mouth-to-mouth?
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