Awakening Love: Reborn to Be His Duchess Chapter 3: Escorting the Bride from Hale Manor

Elowen stilled, a flicker of real confusion crossing her face. "I beg your pardon, Your Highness—what did you say?"

Alaric's tone was ice-cold, sharpened with open contempt. "Since you've so publicly declared your intention to marry my uncle, you can stop trailing after me. That kind of persistence is… revolting."

For a heartbeat, she stood frozen.

Then it clicked.

So that was how he saw it.

In her previous life, scenes like this had played out more times than she could count. She had always known she ought to explain—but fear had sealed her lips. Fear of choosing the wrong words. Fear of earning even deeper scorn. And so, again and again, she had said nothing.

But now?

She didn't care anymore.

His opinion no longer held any weight.

Elowen pressed her lips together briefly, then spoke with quiet clarity. "Your Highness, I have never intended to cling to you. At the family banquet, I made myself perfectly clear to His Majesty—I do not have feelings for you. Not in the slightest."

Alaric arched a brow, disbelief laced with sarcasm. "Is that so? Then what—did you lose your way and happen to wander here by chance, only to run into me?"

"I was summoned to the palace by Her Majesty," Elowen replied evenly. "If you doubt me, then at least trust Hilda."

A brief pause.

Alaric's gaze shifted.

Hilda stepped forward with a composed smile. "Her Majesty did indeed summon Lady Elowen."

She had served the Queen for years—her word was beyond question.

So Elowen hadn't come here for him at all.

A faint crease formed between Alaric's brows, irritation rising, unwelcome and sharp.

"I will soon be marrying Duke Cassian," Elowen continued, her voice steady as still water. "Her Majesty is overseeing the arrangements. Today, she asked me to choose the wedding date. If Your Highness remains unconvinced, you are welcome to confirm it with her yourself."

When she finished, something inside her loosened—like a weight she hadn't realized she'd been carrying had finally slipped free.

Alaric, however, felt the exact opposite.

His gaze locked onto her. "My uncle has been unconscious for years. The physicians say he may never wake. If you marry him, you'll spend your entire life alone."

Elowen's thoughts stirred quietly.

In my previous life, I married you… and I was alone until the day I died.

Her expression remained unchanged. If anything, a faint, almost serene smile touched her lips.

"Thank you for your concern, Your Highness. But as I've said, I have admired Duke Cassian for a long time. As long as I can remain by his side… it doesn't matter whether he wakes or not."

Alaric's face darkened at once.

Elowen turned to Hilda without another glance at him. "Let's go. We shouldn't keep Her Majesty waiting."

Alaric did not move.

He simply stood there, watching her retreating figure.

For a fleeting instant, another image surfaced in his mind—

Elowen, smiling, timid, her eyes lowered as she spoke in a soft, earnest voice: "Your Highness… I'm truly happy to be able to marry you."

The image wavered, like a reflection disturbed by ripples—

and vanished.

A dull, unfamiliar ache spread through his chest, heavy and suffocating, as though something important had just slipped beyond his grasp.

—

Inside Rose Hall, the Queen had already been waiting.

At the sight of Elowen, she smiled at once—graceful, impeccable… and utterly without warmth.

"Elowen, you've finally arrived," she said, gesturing her closer. "Come, sit beside me."

Elowen did not move immediately. Instead, she dipped into a flawless curtsy. "Your Majesty."

The Queen's smile lingered. "Always so well-mannered. But tell me—why did you come alone?"

Elowen understood the implication perfectly.

She simply chose not to acknowledge it.

"There is no one left at Hale Manor to accompany me," she said softly.

For the briefest moment, something flickered in the Queen's eyes—then disappeared.

"Let's not dwell on such things," she said lightly. "Come, take a look at the dates."

A parchment lay upon the table, two dates written in neat, deliberate script.

June third, October nineteenth.

October nineteenth.

The date she had married Alaric in her previous life.

An "auspicious" day, they had called it.

And yet, rain had poured without mercy, a relentless storm that drenched the entire procession. Silk and satin clung in disarray, musicians faltered, the ceremony descended into damp humiliation.

Later, whispers spread.

Ill-omened.

A bride who would bring disaster upon the royal house.

"In my opinion," the Queen said smoothly, "the nineteenth of October would be far more suitable. What do you think?"

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Elowen replied, her smile gentle but unwavering. "But I believe June third would be better."

"It is already April," the Queen pointed out. "Wouldn't that be rather rushed?"

"It is," Elowen admitted. "But I wish to marry Duke Cassian as soon as possible."

A faint blush surfaced at just the right moment—subtle, controlled, perfectly convincing.

At that instant, the doors opened.

Alaric stepped inside.

Her words reached him clearly.

His stride faltered—just slightly. His jaw tightened before he even noticed it himself.

Is she truly that eager?

"Ah, Alaric—you've come at the perfect time," the Queen said warmly. "Elowen insists on marrying on June third, but I find it far too hurried. October would be more appropriate. Come—help persuade her. She has always listened to you."

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…"