Silence settled over the study, thick and uncomfortable. The tea in Leonhart’s hands suddenly felt scalding. He shifted in his seat, then stood abruptly.
“Alaric-I’ve got other matters to attend to. I’ll be going.”
Alaric gave a low, indifferent hum, not even bothering to rise.
Leonhart took a few steps toward the door-then stopped.
Something tugged at him.
He turned back, voice quieter this time.
“Alaric… about what happened back then. Elowen really wasn’t at fault. You’ve blamed her all this time, but it’s not fair. Things have come this far, and you’re clearly not happy. She-“
“Leonhart.”
Alaric cut him off.
His brows drew together, his voice low, edged with warning. “Didn’t you say you had somewhere to be?”
Leonhart lowered his gaze. “…Yes.”
The rest of his words died in his throat.
He turned and left the Crown Prince’s Wing.
–
The wedding day arrived.
The first thing Elowen did upon waking was walk to the window.
Sunlight poured from a clear, open sky. The air was bright, crisp-no trace of rain.
She let out a quiet breath.
A good day.
Truly.
She rose, bathed, dressed, and took her place before the vanity. Maids moved around her in a soft flurry of silk and whispers, adorning her piece by piece until every detail was perfected.
Perhaps because she had already lived through a wedding once before-she felt nothing at all.
No nerves. No anticipation.
Only calm.
This was merely a ceremony.
By the time Leonhart arrived, everything was ready.
Tradition dictated that a bride be led from her home by a male relative. But Hale Manor had long since been stripped of its men-lost to the battlefield, one after another.
The only one left… was a five-year-old boy.
So Leonhart stepped in.
As he took her hand and led her forward, laughter and well-wishes rose all around them. Amid the noise, he leaned closer, lowering his voice.
“Elowen… Alaric won’t be coming today.”
She paused, just for a fraction of a second.
Of all things to bring up-today?
“He’s… unwell,” Leonhart continued. “Ever since I returned from the palace, he’s been sick. Still hasn’t recovered. The palace ordered it kept quiet…”
He hesitated, as if there was more he wanted to say.
Elowen sighed softly and cut him off.
“Leonhart,” she said gently, “I stopped caring about His Highness a long time ago. I know you mean well-but the past is the past.”
She looked ahead, her voice steady.
“Eyes are meant to look forward. Not back.”
The words lodged in his throat.
Elowen lifted her hand and gave his arm a light, reassuring pat, her smile soft. “It’s my wedding day. Let’s be happy, alright? And next time we meet… remember to call me Aunt.”
Leonhart lowered his gaze, a strange mix of emotions tightening in his chest-bittersweet, complicated.
Outside the Hale Manor, the procession was already waiting.
Music filled the air-drums beating, horns ringing bright.
The escort from the Duskmoor Manor had arrived early.
This was a royal marriage, decreed by the King himself and overseen by the Queen. Every detail was immaculate-lavish beyond reproach.
And yet…
Elowen couldn’t shake the feeling-that this procession was grander than the one she had walked in her previous life.
As though the Duskmoor Manor had been waiting for this day… for a very long time.
–
Because the Duke remained unconscious, the ceremony was kept brief.
After the essential rites were completed, Elowen was led toward the bridal chamber.
As she passed beneath the courtyard gates, her gaze flicked to the guards stationed on either side-hands firm on their sword hilts, expressions sharp and unyielding.
She had heard the stories.
Her father used to say-the number of enemies who wanted Duke Cassian dead spoke louder than any praise.
The bridal chamber was vast, elegant, draped in pristine white.
In her previous life, the Crown Prince’s chambers had been far simpler.
After the ceremonial wine, Alaric had left her there-alone-to entertain guests.
He never returned.
She had waited for hours in silence, the heavy ceremonial crown pressing down until her neck ached, her breath growing shallow beneath its weight.
That would not happen again.
Elowen’s gaze shifted to the bed.
Cassian lay there, motionless, eyes closed.
The Valebourne bloodline was famed for its beauty.
Alaric was refined-polished, flawless.
Cassian…was something else entirely.
Sharp. Striking. Dangerous.
Like a blade still in its sheath-silent, but lethal.
A broad-shouldered man stepped forward and bowed deeply. “Bran Holt at your service, my lady.”
Elowen recognized him immediately-Cassian’s most trusted lieutenant… and now, his keeper.
He had lost his left eye. Usually, he wore a leather patch. Today, for the wedding, it had been replaced with a strip of gold silk-an oddly festive touch.
Rumors about this guy had always been wild.
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