Awakening Love: Reborn to Be His Duchess Chapter 4: Sharing a Bed with the Duke

A faint twitch pulled at Alaric's brow.

With his uncle still unconscious, unable to perform the ceremonial escort, someone else had to take his place.

And if Elowen had been given the choice—

She would have chosen him without hesitation.

At least, that was what he had always believed.

He knew her too well.

Admiring my uncle? Wanting to marry him out of sincerity?

Please.

It was nothing more than another performance—another calculated move to circle back to him, to force his attention.

It must be her who arranged Leonhart's visit for that very reason. Afraid he might refuse outright, she had sent someone first to soften his stance.

And Leonhart… well, he had once liked Elowen.

Mostly because of the sweets she baked—but still.

None of it mattered.

Alaric had no intention of escorting her.

A maid entered quietly and placed two cups of steaming tea on the table. Leonhart picked his up, blew across the surface, and took a cautious sip.

When he remained silent, Alaric's patience thinned. "Has no one else in the royal family been considered? I don't have the time—or the inclination."

Leonhart blinked, caught off guard. “But—”

Alaric cast him a sharp glance. “What?”

Leonhart hesitated, scratching the back of his neck before choosing his words carefully. "Her Majesty did think you'd be the most suitable… since you're not married."

A short, dry laugh escaped Alaric. Exactly as expected.

"But," Leonhart added quickly, "Elowen said it wouldn't be appropriate to trouble Your Highness. So Her Majesty summoned me instead. She said I could go in your place."

Alaric stilled.

…She refused me?

He had been nothing but irritated at the idea of being dragged into her wedding.

Yet hearing that she had rejected him outright brought no relief.

Only a vague, unwelcome irritation stirred in his chest—tight, unnameable.

Leonhart watched him closely, catching the subtle shift. Trying to ease the tension, he forced a grin. "She probably just figured you're too busy. Escorting a bride would be a hassle. Unlike me—I've got nothing going on. I'm free every day."

Alaric said nothing.

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.

Some claimed Bran stood nine feet tall.

Others said he feasted on human flesh.

Yet the man before her bowed with absolute respect.

"His Grace has been asleep for over half a year," Bran said carefully. "He's grown a bit thinner, but otherwise, he's in good condition. He takes his medicine daily. In this heat, we bathe him every other day."

Elowen said nothing.

Bran mistook her silence for reluctance and hurried on. "Please don't worry, my lady. Everything is handled. A separate chamber has been prepared for you, just across the hall—"

Elowen shook her head.

Bran stiffened. "Then… would you prefer another courtyard?"

Since the Duke's fall, many attendants had been assigned to his care. But most were negligent—skipping medicine, cutting corners, assuming a man who could neither see nor speak would never know.

Once, the Duke had been revered.

Now—he was pitied.

Or worse… despised.

Bran assumed a noble lady from Hale Manor would feel the same.

"No need."

Elowen's voice was soft, calm as a spring breeze.

Her gaze rested on the man lying on the bed.

"The Duke and I are husband and wife now. There is no such thing as separate chambers."

She paused, then added gently—

"From tonight onward… I will share his bed."

Bran froze, eyes widening in shock.

"It's getting late," Elowen said with a faint smile. "I'll go freshen up."

Without another word, she turned and walked away.

She did not see it—

the faintest movement.

At Cassian's side, his fingers twitched.

Just once.