Vaelen’s brow twitched slightly.
Since Cassiel remained unconscious and could not personally escort the bride, someone else from the royal family had to take his place.
And if Elysia had been given the choice, she would have selected him without hesitation.
Or so he believed.
He knew her little tricks too well.
She claimed to admire his uncle.
Claimed she wished to marry him sincerely.
But wasn’t this merely another attempt to attract his attention?
A roundabout performance meant to provoke him?
The Queen had likely anticipated his refusal and deliberately sent Leonhart first to soften his attitude.
After all, Leonhart once liked Elysia.
Mostly because he enjoyed the pastries she baked for him—but still.
Regardless, Vaelen had no intention of involving himself in her wedding.
A maid entered quietly and placed warm drinks upon the table.
Leonhart accepted his cup, blew gently across the surface, and took a careful sip.
When he still failed to speak, Vaelen frowned impatiently.
"Has no one else in the royal family done it before?" he asked coldly. "I don’t have the time—or the interest."
Leonhart blinked.
"But—"
Vaelen shot him a sideways glance.
"What?"
Leonhart scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck before answering carefully.
"Her Majesty originally thought you would be the most suitable person since you’re unmarried."
A short, humorless laugh escaped Vaelen.
Exactly as expected.
"But..." Leonhart hesitated. "Lady Elysia said she didn’t wish to trouble Your Highness. So Her Majesty summoned me instead."
He smiled sheepishly.
"She said I could go in your place."
Vaelen froze.
Elysia refused him?
He should have felt relieved.
Instead, a strange irritation rose inside his chest.
Leonhart noticed the subtle shift in his expression immediately.
Trying to ease the atmosphere, he added hurriedly, "Maybe she just thought you’re too busy. Escorting the bride would probably inconvenience you. Unlike me—I’m free every day."
Vaelen said nothing.
The silence inside the study turned increasingly uncomfortable.
Even the tea in Leonhart’s hands suddenly felt too hot to hold.
At last, he stood abruptly.
"Vaelen, I still have other matters to handle. I’ll head out first."
Vaelen responded with a low hum, neither stopping him nor rising to see him off.
Leonhart walked halfway to the door before suddenly stopping.
After a brief hesitation, he turned back quietly.
"Vaelen... about what happened back then..."
His expression grew complicated.
"Elysia truly wasn’t at fault. You’ve blamed her for years, but that isn’t fair."
He lowered his voice further.
"Things have already become like this. You’re unhappy. She—"
"Leonhart."
Vaelen interrupted sharply.
His brows drew together, his tone carrying unmistakable warning.
"Didn’t you say you had somewhere to be?"
Leonhart fell silent.
After a long moment, he lowered his gaze.
"Yes."
The rest of his words died in his throat.
Soon after, he left the Crown Prince’s residence.
The wedding day arrived quickly.
The first thing Elysia did after waking was walk toward the window.
Bright sunlight poured across the courtyard outside.
The sky stood clear and cloudless.
Not a trace of rain lingered in the air.
A quiet breath escaped her lips.
It truly was a good day.
She washed, dressed, and sat calmly before the vanity mirror while attendants moved busily around her, preparing every detail of her bridal attire.
Perhaps because she had already experienced marriage once before, Elysia felt no nervousness at all.
Her heart remained unusually calm.
To her, this wedding felt less like the beginning of romance and more like the start of a new life.
By the time Leonhart arrived, everything was prepared.
Traditionally, a bride was escorted from her family home by a male relative.
But nearly every man of Hartwell Manor had died on the battlefield.
The youngest remaining boy in the family was only five years old.
So Leonhart naturally stepped forward in their place.
As he bent slightly and offered Elysia his hand, cheerful laughter and congratulatory voices rose around them.
Amid the noise, Leonhart suddenly lowered his voice.
"Elysia..."
His expression looked hesitant.
"Vaelen won’t be coming today."
Elysia blinked in surprise.
Why bring up such an unlucky topic on her wedding day?
"He’s been ill ever since returning from the palace that day," Leonhart explained quietly. "He still hasn’t recovered. The palace ordered everyone to keep it secret."
He paused, looking as though he wished to say more.
Elysia sighed softly before interrupting him gently.
"Leonhart..."
She looked at him calmly.
"I stopped caring about His Highness a long time ago."
Her voice remained soft but steady.
"I know you mean well, but the past is already over. Eyes are meant to look forward, not back."
The words lodged instantly in Leonhart’s chest.
Elysia lifted a hand and lightly patted his sleeve.
"It’s my wedding day," she reminded him with a faint smile. "Let’s be happy."
Then she added teasingly:
"And next time we meet, remember to call me Aunt."
Leonhart stared at her blankly before laughing helplessly.
Yet for some reason, the smile in his eyes carried an unexpected trace of bitterness.
Outside Hartwell Manor, the wedding procession had already gathered.
Musicians played festive melodies while drums sounded continuously through the streets.
The escort party from Draevenor Manor arrived far earlier than expected.
This marriage had been personally decreed by the King and arranged by the Queen herself. Every detail reflected royal extravagance.
Yet Elysia could not help feeling—
Perhaps it was only her imagination—
That the Duke’s wedding procession appeared even grander than the one she experienced in her previous life.
As though Draevenor Manor had anticipated this marriage for a very long time.
Because Cassiel remained unconscious, many ceremonial formalities had been simplified.
After completing the essential rites, attendants escorted Elysia toward the bridal chamber.
As she passed beneath the courtyard gates, she noticed the guards stationed along both sides of the corridor.
Each stood tall and motionless, one hand resting firmly upon the hilt of their sword.
The security throughout Draevenor Manor felt astonishingly strict.
Her father once told her that the number of people who wished Duke Cassiel dead spoke volumes about the kind of man he was.
The bridal chamber itself appeared spacious and elegant.
Soft white drapery decorated the room alongside flickering candlelight.
Compared to this, the Crown Prince’s chambers in her previous life suddenly felt plain and lifeless.
Back then, after drinking the ceremonial wine, Vaelen left immediately to entertain guests.
He never returned.
Elysia waited alone throughout the entire night.
The heavy ceremonial crown pressed painfully against her neck and shoulders until breathing itself became difficult.
This time would be different.
Slowly, Elysia turned her gaze toward the bed.
Cassiel lay quietly beneath the covers, eyes closed.
The Drakemont bloodline was famous throughout the kingdom for its beauty.
Vaelen possessed the polished elegance of finely carved jade.
Cassiel, however, was entirely different.
Sharp.
Striking.
Dangerous.
Even unconscious, he resembled a sheathed blade—silent, restrained, yet carrying overwhelming presence beneath the surface.
A tall man stepped forward suddenly and bowed deeply.
"My lady. I am Bran Holt."
Elysia recognized him immediately.
Cassiel’s longtime lieutenant.
And now, apparently, his caretaker as well.
Bran lost his left eye years ago in battle and usually wore a black leather patch. But perhaps for the wedding, he replaced it today with a strip of gold silk that looked strangely festive against his scarred face.
Rumors about Bran circulated throughout the capital endlessly.
Some claimed he stood nine feet tall.
Others swore he ate human flesh raw on the battlefield.
Yet now, the terrifying lieutenant lowered his head respectfully and spoke with visible nervousness.
"His Grace has been unconscious for over half a year," Bran explained carefully. "He’s grown thinner, but otherwise his condition remains stable. He takes medicine every morning, and during summer we bathe him every other day."
Elysia listened quietly without speaking.
Bran mistook her silence for discomfort.
He hurried to explain further.
"Please don’t worry, my lady. I personally oversee everything."
Then he added cautiously:
"A separate room has already been prepared for you just across the courtyard."
Elysia shook her head.
Bran froze.
After a moment, he asked uncertainly, "Then... would my lady prefer another residence instead?"
Since Cassiel fell unconscious, Bran arranged countless servants to care for him.
Most quickly became careless.
Some skipped medicine.
Others neglected cleanliness entirely.
After all, the Duke could neither see nor speak.
Once, everyone revered the brilliant Duke of Draevenor.
But after his collapse, reverence slowly transformed into contempt.
Bran naturally assumed a noble lady from Hartwell Manor would feel the same.
"There is no need."
Elysia’s voice sounded soft and calm, like an early spring breeze.
She turned toward the bed quietly.
"The Duke and I are husband and wife now."
A faint smile appeared at the corner of her lips.
"There is no reason for separate rooms."
Bran stared at her blankly.
Then Elysia continued gently:
"From tonight onward, I will share a bed with him."
Bran’s remaining eye widened in shock.
"It’s getting late," Elysia said with a small smile. "I’ll go change first."
Then she turned and walked toward the inner chambers.
She never noticed—
The fingers resting beside Cassiel’s body twitched very slightly beneath the blankets.