Awakening Love: Reborn to Be His Duchess Chapter 468: Old Stories and Quiet Schemes

Elowen shifted slightly, settling in with clear interest.

Hugh began at an easy pace. "When I was twelve, I had it in my head that I'd make a name for myself as a wandering swordsman. I picked a fight in Falkriver, lost badly, and ended up bleeding out by the roadside. Your grandfather happened to pass through, took one look at me, and hauled me back with him. Nearly dying once tends to change a person, so I decided I liked the idea of staying alive. That's how I ended up studying medicine under him."

A faint smile tugged at his lips. "He didn't want me at first. Turned me away more than once. I stuck around anyway, running errands, pouring his drinks, saying whatever I thought might win him over. Eventually I told him I had no intention of going back to Vanelle. When he heard where I was from, he asked if I knew Clement. I said I did. Then he asked what I thought of him. Truth be told, I didn't know much. But the way your grandfather looked when he asked made it pretty clear what answer he was hoping for, so I said I didn't think highly of him."

Hugh let out a quiet chuckle. "That did the trick. He took me in after that."

Elowen fell silent for a beat. Clement was her father.

She had always known her grandfather held him in low regard.

When she was a child, he would often mutter, "Ella, your father's no good. Men who live by the sword rarely end well. Stay here with me in Falkriver, and I'll see you want for nothing."

Hearing Hugh recount it now, she could almost picture the exact look on his face.

Her mood lightened without her realizing it.

Then she remembered something. "You started training with him at twelve, and you stayed in Falkriver. I've been there many times. How did we never cross paths?"

Hugh shrugged lightly. "Back then I slept three hours a night and spent the rest of my time buried in study. Medical texts, herbs, pulse reading. I barely set foot outside, so it's no surprise we never met."

Elowen nodded, understanding.

At last, the day of the peace talks arrived.

Given her condition, Cassian chose not to bring her along.

The negotiations were to be held in the Hall of Imperial Grace within the royal residence.

Cassian arrived just as the appointed hour approached and happened to run into Alaric outside the hall.

"Uncle," Alaric said immediately, "why didn't she come with you?"

Cassian knew exactly who he meant. His expression cooled, just slightly. "She's expecting. I'm not about to drag her across the palace for something like this."

His gaze flicked over Alaric. "What about you? Why isn't your Crown Princess here?"

Then, as though the answer had just occurred to him, he added with mild indifference, "Ah, right. I forgot. She's been stripped of her title and confined to the Secluded Wing. No children either. There are some things you wouldn't understand."

Alaric's jaw tightened, the barb landing exactly where intended.

After a pause, he forced a thin smile. "The girl could never compare to her. Elowen and I grew up together. I know her better than anyone. If things had gone differently, if not for everything that went wrong, the woman at my side today would have been her. Everything you have now should have been mine."

Cassian's expression didn't change. One brow lifted slightly, his gaze carrying a trace of cool amusement. "So that's how you passed the time during your confinement. Telling yourself stories like that."

Alaric's composure cracked for a fraction of a second.

Cassian continued, his tone even, each word deliberate. "You speak now like a man full of regret, but I can't seem to recall who it was that kept her at arm's length and made her miserable."

He paused briefly, as if considering it.

Then a faint, sharp smile touched his lips. "Must have slipped my mind. Could've been anyone. Or maybe just a fool who didn't know what he had."

Alaric's face flushed, anger surging up so fast he could barely speak. "You..."

Cassian had already turned away, no longer interested. He lifted a hand slightly. "We're going in."

"Yes, Your Grace," Bran replied, guiding the wheelchair forward with steady hands as they passed Alaric without another glance.

Alaric stood rooted in place, staring after him, his chest rising and falling unevenly as something bitter climbed up his throat.

Every word had struck where it hurt most.

Did he regret it?

Of course he did.

If I'd had another chance, if I'd come back sooner... none of this would have happened.

Elowen would have been his. Her warmth, her care, even the child she carried, all of it would belong to him.

Not to Cassian. Not to a man who had taken everything without effort.

Jealousy twisted in his chest, burning through what little restraint he had left.

His gaze fixed on the retreating wheelchair, dark and intent, as a slow, crooked smile formed.

"Tristan," he said quietly, the words pressed tight, "everything's ready?"

Tristan bowed his head. "Yes, Your Highness. Everything is in place. We're just waiting for the right moment."