Awakening Love: Reborn to Be His Duchess Chapter 514: Fractures

Albert, bored out of his mind, glanced around until something caught his eye. He quickly nudged Liam. "Hey, look. Alaric's back."

Liam followed his gaze.

Albert leaned closer, his voice low but urgent. "Should we go talk to him about the court qualification trials now? Before the banquet wraps up?"

Liam grabbed his arm immediately. "Bad idea."

Albert blinked. "Why?"

Liam let out a breath. "You really can't tell? He's in a terrible mood."

Sure enough, Alaric was pouring himself another drink. The decanter ran dry, and his irritation only deepened.

An attendant hurried over with a polite smile, reaching to take it and replace it.

Alaric didn't even look at him. He let the empty decanter drop from his hand.

It hit the stone floor and shattered cleanly.

Liam gave Albert a look. "See that? He's already smashing things. You walk up to him now, and you might be next."

Albert shuddered. That made sense, but he still looked confused. "But he was fine earlier. It hasn't even been that long. What happened?"

Liam shrugged. "Could be anything. Maybe whatever he went to do didn't work out."

They were related, technically, but not close enough to know his mind.

"Either way," Liam added, "this isn't the time."

Albert frowned, clearly worried. "So what now? At this rate, we might actually lose to someone with no backing at all."

That wouldn't just mean a harsh lecture from their grandfather. Worse, it would cost them face in front of the Duchess.

Liam patted his shoulder. "Relax. If today doesn't work, we'll have our fathers visit the Crown Prince's Wing. Let them handle it. Same outcome."

Albert thought it over, then nodded, visibly relieved. "Yeah... that works."

As long as they passed, the method didn't matter.

"Passing's all that matters," he muttered.

The light faded, and evening settled in.

Duke Roland and his wife were the first to rise, offering their farewells to Elowen with warm blessings and polished courtesy.

The banquet was coming to an end.

Elowen stood beside Cassian, seeing the guests off one by one.

They left with smiles and well-wishes, praising their union, offering hopes for a long and prosperous future together.

Elowen returned each with calm grace.

As the crowd thinned, iron sconces along the manor walls were lit, their warm glow softening the edges of the night.

Then, through the hum of departing voices, Elowen caught the sharp scent of wine.

She looked up.

Alaric was walking toward her from the dim courtyard, his steps uneven. Tristan moved to steady him, but Alaric shoved him aside without a word.

As he drew closer, his expression came into focus.

He didn't look fully drunk. His gaze was too clear for that. But there was something heavy in it. Something dark and tightly wound.

Elowen's smile remained, though it no longer reached her eyes.

There were still guests nearby. She meant to keep this polite, controlled. But Alaric didn't give her the chance.

He stepped forward abruptly, his voice rough.

"Leonhart gave you that ivory scepter. Aveline sent that embroidered screen. Falconcrest Manor even brought a trained bird that can recite verses..."

He listed them off, faster with each breath.

"You accepted all of them."

His eyes locked onto hers, unyielding.

"But mine?" His voice tightened. "I went out of my way to find that bloodline warhorse for you, and you turned it away."

His throat moved as he swallowed.

"Fine. You didn't want it. But then you had Maerwyn come out and make a spectacle of me, calling me out in front of everyone..."

His voice faltered.

"You wouldn't even face me yourself. Not even to say no."

By the end, tears were already running down his face.

"Elowen," he said, his voice trembling, "do you really hate me that much? Enough that you won't even see me, won't even accept a single thing from me?"

Around them, those who hadn't yet left slowed, their attention drifting over, some openly, some pretending not to watch.

The history between Elowen, Cassian, and Alaric was no secret in Vanelle.

Moments like this drew eyes.

Elowen remained composed.

Only after he finished did she let out a soft, almost distant laugh. "You're taking this too far, Alaric. Why would an aunt hate her own nephew?"

Her voice gave nothing away, no warmth, no irritation, nothing to hold onto.

And somehow, that made it worse for Alaric. It got under his skin in a way anger never could.

And then there were those words, calling him her nephew, placing that distance between them like it meant nothing.

Why?

How was that supposed to be enough?

Alaric's composure cracked.

"Don't say that!" His voice rose sharply. "You hate me. Because of how I treated you, because of what I did to you, because in my last life—"

He stopped himself abruptly, biting down hard enough to taste blood.

The rest of the words never came.

He had said too much already.