Awakening Love: Reborn to Be His Duchess Chapter 27: What Belongs to the Duchess

Alaric stared at her, cold fury flickering in his eyes. "You never used to act like this," he said. "But today, you've set me up on purpose. Why? Because I refused to marry you?"

The shop boy, who had originally wanted to step forward and break up their argument, froze in place. After hearing that bombshell, he instinctively backed away, as if he'd just stumbled into the middle of a royal scandal.

Elowen's eyes widened in shock. Alaric sneered. "Am I wrong?"

Anger surged in her gaze. "You are!"

He gave a bitter, icy laugh. "Then who was the one always trailing after me? Every time you made a tart or sweet cake, you'd find a way to bring it to me. Who kept pestering Maerwyn, asking what I liked, what I wanted, racking her brain just to make me happy? Elowen, have you already forgotten how shameless and clingy you used to be—"

Smack! A loud slap cut him off mid-sentence, silencing the words that had been about to turn nastier.

His head snapped to the side. He froze for several seconds. He was the Crown Prince. Since childhood, he had never once suffered this kind of humiliation.

Stunned, Alaric looked back at her, utterly disbelieving.

Elowen's voice trembled. "If I'd known this day would come, I wouldn't have pushed you out of the way when that carriage charged at us!"

"I hit the ground hard," she went on. "My knee was badly injured, and I've never been able to ride a horse since. All I ever wanted was to ride into battle alongside my father and brothers, but that dream ended the day my knee gave out. Now, if I stay on my feet too long, it starts to ache. If I push myself past my limit, the pain flares. On rainy nights, it keeps me awake until dawn."

Alaric's expression faltered. For a moment, even the sting on his cheek faded from his mind.

He hadn't known. In either this life or the last, Elowen had never said a word about it. She had believed he would see her worth on his own.

How could someone look at another's sacrifices and remain blind? How could he watch her suffer and still say she deserved it?

Her eyes turned red around the edges. She clenched her teeth. "You have no heart. You take no responsibility. I ruined my knee just from not marrying you—can you imagine what would've happened if I had? I don't hate you because you refused to marry me. I thank the gods I married your uncle instead."

Alaric froze. His chest tightened so suddenly he felt breathless.

For the first time, he realized—truly realized—that something vital, something he had taken for granted, was slipping away from him. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Elowen yanked her hand from his and turned to leave, her steps swift and unhesitating.

Back at the tavern, the storyteller was just finishing. Cheers and chatter filled the air as the tale came to a close. Elowen pulled out the money she had earned earlier, counted half of it, and handed it to Cora.

"Here, take this down and reward them."

Patrons at taverns often slipped a few coins to the performer. The entertainer kept a share, and the rest went to the tavern, an unspoken custom that rewarded the act and kept business lively.

Cora was stunned. "My lady, where did all this money come from?"

Elowen brushed it off. "Just a deal I struck. Now go."

Cora still looked confused, but accepted the money and hurried off. Elowen sat alone in her private room, lowering her gaze to her injured knee. A quiet heaviness settled in her chest. The drinks had gone lukewarm, but she picked up the cup anyway and took a small sip. Then she broke off a piece of pastry and took a careful bite.

It was delicious. Her aunt's baking never failed.

"My lady," Cora said as she returned.

Elowen was just about to stand when another voice called out—soft, warm.

"Is this the Duchess of Duskmoor?"

Elowen froze, too nervous to turn her head. That voice—it was her aunt. What was she doing here? Why now?

"Of all our patrons today," her aunt said gently, "Your Grace's reward was the most generous. I simply had to come up and thank you in person."

Elowen still didn't turn around. She prayed her aunt wouldn't recognize her back, then waved her hand dismissively and lowered her voice. "It's nothing. You've been paid, so go on back to your work."

But her aunt added, "I brought a few pastries. Would Your Grace take them home?"

Still, Elowen didn't move. "Just give them to my maid," she said casually.

There was a long pause behind her. Elowen's heart thudded wildly in her chest. Then she heard a soft sigh.

"Don't tell me... You don't want to acknowledge me anymore, Elowen?"

This time, the voice trembled with barely suppressed tears. Elowen froze. Her heart squeezed tight.

Slowly, she turned around—and met her aunt's warm, familiar gaze.

Her throat bobbed. "Aunt Isobel..."

Isobel's eyes were misty, but her smile was gentle. "Yes, I'm here."

She held out a plate of delicate pastries, her tone sweet. "These are my newest recipes. Won't you try one?" Elowen wiped her eyes and managed a small nod, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Isobel stepped inside and sat beside her.

The scent of her perfume, soft and clean, washed over Elowen. It brought her back to her childhood days in Hale Manor, where she used to follow her aunt around, tiptoeing to see how the dough was kneaded.