Awakening Love: Reborn to Be His Duchess Chapter 329: Guests

He had a lean face, high cheekbones, narrow eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard along his jaw.

He dismounted and bowed toward the gate tower. When he spoke, his language was flawless.

"I am Byron, deputy envoy of Nordia. By order of His Majesty, I accompany this delegation to Avenlor to speak of peace between our realms. Our chief envoy is Prince Roderic, and Prince Zachary Howard and Princess Flowira Howard travel with us. We come in good faith, hoping for friendship between our kingdoms."

His voice carried clearly up the tower.

Mira frowned slightly. "Why are their names so long?"

Elowen smiled. "That's just how Nordian names are. Their titles are often used with their names."Mira nodded in understanding.

"I see."

Elowen glanced back outside. "What surprises me more is how well that envoy speaks Avenlor."

She paused. "Nordia rarely deals with us. Someone like him must be unusual."

What puzzled her most was something else. In her previous life, the people sent by Nordia had not been these individuals.

It seemed that after her rebirth, things in Nordia had changed as well.

If that was true... Then many of the advantages she once had might no longer apply.

"Very perceptive, Ella," Cassian said with a small smile. "Come. We should go down."

Bran stepped forward and carefully guided Cassian's wheelchair. They moved through the corridor toward the gate.

Elowen tightened her cloak and followed behind.

The moment Byron saw Cassian, he approached immediately.

Instead of using the Nordian greeting of striking his chest, he followed Avenlor etiquette. Folding his hands formally, he bowed respectfully.

"I am Byron, deputy envoy of Nordia. Greetings, Your Grace."

Cassian sat calmly in his wheelchair, one brow lifting slightly as he studied the man.

"You recognize me?"

Byron straightened.

"This is my first time seeing Your Grace in person. But even in Nordia, your reputation is well known. They say the Duke of Duskmoor possesses unmatched bearing. Even after losing the use of your legs, your dignity remains unchanged."

He smiled faintly. "Seeing you today, I find the stories were no exaggeration."

His gaze shifted naturally toward Elowen. "And this must be the Duchess of Duskmoor."

Elowen inclined her head politely. "Byron."

At that moment, a carriage behind them rattled open.

A slender hand pushed the door aside, and a tall figure stepped out onto the carriage frame with effortless balance.

She looked about seventeen or eighteen.

Her figure was strikingly tall and strong.

Thick curls of hair tumbled down to her waist, threaded with amber and coral beads. A lapis wolf-head ornament rested against her forehead.

She wore a gold-woven gown trimmed with soft silver fox fur at the collar and sleeves.

Her features were sharp, her cheekbones high and strong. Her eyes were almond-shaped, a striking shade of green that caught the sunlight.

And she was staring straight at Elowen.

The look was bold and fearless, like a young she-wolf fixing on prey across a snowy field. Beautiful, but fierce.

"This is..." Byron began.

"I'm Flowira," the woman cut in coolly.

Her Avenlor language carried a heavy accent.

Elowen nodded. "So you're the princess."

Flowira curved her lips slightly. "Duchess of Duskmoor... you're very..."

She paused, clearly searching for the right word.

"...appealing to men."

Elowen blinked.

That didn't exactly sound like a compliment.

Someone inside the carriage muttered irritably.

A moment later, a young man stepped down as well.

He looked remarkably similar to Flowira. At first glance, they could have been carved from the same mold.

But his build was slender and delicate.

He wore a pale silver robe embroidered with cloud patterns, a simple gray fur cloak draped over his shoulders. Aside from a ruby-set dagger at his waist, he wore almost no ornaments.

The difference between them was temperament.

Flowira had a fiery beauty that drew the eye at once. Standing beside her, he was all pale calm and quiet composure. Handsome in a restrained way, with nothing about him that felt threatening.

"Prince Zachary of Nordia," he said with a graceful bow. "Greetings, Your Grace. Your Grace."

His voice was low and steady, cool to the ear and easy to listen to.

He glanced at Elowen apologetically.

"My sister's Avenlor language isn't perfect. She chose the wrong words. Please forgive her."

Behind them, another ornate carriage creaked open.

A large figure jumped down, landing with a heavy thud.

The man looked about forty. His rugged face was marked by a long scar running from his brow to his cheekbone, giving him a dangerous edge.

He wore a robe patterned in Avenlor style, though carelessly. Despite the cold, the collar hung open, exposing his bronze, muscular chest.

Rolling his thick neck lazily, he looked Cassian up and down.

Then a faint, mocking smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

He spoke a sentence in Nordian.