Alaric shot Elowen a glance, his voice cutting and cold. “If she’s so eager to marry my uncle, why deny her? Delay it until October, and she may start complaining behind our backs.”
The words were deliberately cruel.
Where once they might have struck deep-
Elowen simply smiled.
“His Highness is quite right,” she said calmly. “Then June third it shall be. I do hope Your Highness will attend the celebration.”
Alaric’s eyes darkened, something dangerous flickering beneath the surface. He let out a faint, humorless huff, then turned away.
“I have other matters to attend to. I’ll take my leave.”
“Very well,” the Queen replied. “Don’t overexert yourself.”
He gave a perfunctory nod and left without another word.
Elowen was about to excuse herself when the Queen spoke again.
“Oh-Elowen.”
She turned back.
“You’re aware Duke Cassian remains unconscious,” the Queen said thoughtfully. “He will not be able to escort his bride from Hale Manor. By custom, someone must stand in his place-an unmarried man of suitable standing.” She paused, then added lightly, “I’m considering Alaric.”
Elowen shook her head without hesitation.
“His Highness carries many responsibilities. I wouldn’t dare trouble him. It would be better to choose another from the royal family. Leonhart would be appropriate-he is twenty, unmarried, and of proper age.”
If Alaric were to escort her, he would only find new ways to humiliate her.
The Queen studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Very well.”
–
On the carriage ride back to Hale Manor, fragments of childhood rose unbidden.
Her grandfather had once instructed Alaric in riding and archery, often bringing her along to the palace. In those years, they had grown up side by side.
They had shared everything.
Sneaking out beyond the palace gates. Laughing without restraint. Speaking of futures that seemed certain.
Once, a runaway carriage had thundered down a crowded street. Elowen had pushed Alaric aside just in time-saving his life-but she had been struck instead, her knee slamming hard against stone.
The injury had left her unable to walk for days.
Back then, Alaric had been beside himself, gripping her hand, sweat beading down his temples.
“I’ll take care of you forever,” he had vowed.
When had that changed?
When had warmth turned into distance… and distance into disdain?
She couldn’t remember.
In her previous life, she had chased that answer relentlessly-crying through endless nights, wearing herself thin.
In the end, her injured knee ached without cease, and her vision deteriorated. In dim light, the world blurred into shadows.
This time-she let it go.
There was no need to understand.
In this world, aside from life and death, everything else was trivial.
–
As the wedding approached, preparations engulfed the palace, Duskmoor Manor, and Hale Manor alike. Golden silk and gilded ornaments bloomed everywhere, impossible to ignore.
Living in the Crown Prince’s Wing, Alaric found himself surrounded by it.
Day after day, his irritation mounted.
At last, he stepped out for air.
Just then, a visitor arrived.
His cousin-Leonhart Valebourne, eldest legitimate son of Duke Roland.
They met in the study.
“You’ve come with a purpose?” Alaric asked lazily.
Leonhart grinned, unabashed. “Well-Uncle Cassian is getting married, isn’t he? Her Majesty wants to appoint someone from the royal family to escort the bride from Hale Manor…”
A faint twitch pulled at Alaric’s brow.
With his uncle still unconscious, unable to perform the ceremonial escort, someone else had to take his place.
And if Elowen had been given the choice-
She would have chosen him without hesitation.
At least, that was what he had always believed.
He knew her too well.
Admiring my uncle? Wanting to marry him out of sincerity?
Please.
It was nothing more than another performance-another calculated move to circle back to him, to force his attention.
It must be her who arranged Leonhart’s visit for that very reason. Afraid he might refuse outright, she had sent someone first to soften his stance.
And Leonhart… well, he had once liked Elowen.
Mostly because of the sweets she baked-but still.
None of it mattered.
Alaric had no intention of escorting her.
A maid entered quietly and placed two cups of steaming tea on the table. Leonhart picked his up, blew across the surface, and took a cautious sip.
When he remained silent, Alaric’s patience thinned. “Has no one else in the royal family been considered? I don’t have the time-or the inclination.”
Leonhart blinked, caught off guard. “But-“
Alaric cast him a sharp glance. “What?”
Leonhart hesitated, scratching the back of his neck before choosing his words carefully. “Her Majesty did think you’d be the most suitable… since you’re not married.”
A short, dry laugh escaped Alaric. Exactly as expected.
“But,” Leonhart added quickly, “Elowen said it wouldn’t be appropriate to trouble Your Highness. So Her Majesty summoned me instead. She said I could go in your place.”
Alaric stilled.
…She refused me?
He had been nothing but irritated at the idea of being dragged into her wedding.
Yet hearing that she had rejected him outright brought no relief.
Only a vague, unwelcome irritation stirred in his chest-tight, unnameable.
Leonhart watched him closely, catching the subtle shift. Trying to ease the tension, he forced a grin. “She probably just figured you’re too busy. Escorting a bride would be a hassle. Unlike me-I’ve got nothing going on. I’m free every day.”
Alaric said nothing.
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