Fated Hearts: Reborn to be His Duchess

Chapter 113: Chapter 113: Shadow of Authority

His uncle had spotted it at once.

He had snatched the seal from the boy’s hands and, without a word, delivered a sharp kick that sent young Vaelen sprawling across the floor. His chin struck the ground hard enough to split the skin, pain and tears flooding his senses.

Too terrified of his uncle to make a sound, Vaelen clutched his bleeding chin and fled the study in humiliation.

When his father heard what had happened, there was no sympathy waiting for him.

A hard slap landed on the back of his head.

"You little fool! Set foot in your uncle’s study again, and I’ll beat you to death!"

The memory had left a deep-rooted fear in Vaelen.

Now, seeing that same seal in Bertha’s hands, his mind seemed to buzz. A cold sweat broke out across his back.

How could Uncle have given this away?

"Before His Grace departed this morning," Bertha explained, her voice calm and measured, "he expressed some concern."

Her gaze passed over Vaelen and Deborah.

"He feared that Her Grace, being young, newly settled into the household and far too kind-hearted for her own good, might encounter shameless people at Merlinspire Manor who would take advantage of her."

She lifted the seal slightly.

"As His Grace could not arrive immediately, he entrusted this to me. His instructions were simple: anyone who offends the Duchess of Draevenor is to be regarded as offending His Grace himself."

Her expression hardened.

"Your Highness. Lady Deborah. I suggest you consider that very carefully."

"What seal?" Deborah scoffed, tightening her grip on Vaelen’s arm.

"It’s nothing more than a trick. Your Highness, surely—"

"Be silent!"

Vaelen tore his arm away.

Deborah recoiled, startled into silence.

He clenched his jaw, then turned towards the seal.

Forcing down his pride, he bowed.

"My respects to Uncle and Aunt."

Deborah stared at him in disbelief.

Vaelen’s gaze snapped towards her.

"Bow."

Tears gathered in Deborah’s eyes.

But the warning in his expression left no room for defiance. She bit her lip and lowered herself into a stiff, reluctant curtsy.

Watching Vaelen’s reaction, Elysia finally understood just how much authority that little bronze seal carried.

She had known Cassiel would stand behind her.

She simply hadn’t expected him to make his support so unmistakable.

He really is... exceptionally good to me.

A quiet thrill ran through her.

"Remember this well."

Elysia’s voice took on the calm authority befitting her position.

"Any further disrespect will not be met with the same leniency."

Bertha remained at her side, holding the seal in both hands.

The small bronze object was silent, yet its presence alone was enough to make Vaelen and Deborah swallow every objection.

Neither dared say another word.

And seeing the two of them forced into submission while barely concealing how much they despised her gave Elysia a deep, almost childlike satisfaction.

She allowed herself one more glance at their grim faces.

Then something caught her eye.

A familiar figure had just stepped down from a carriage.

"Mrs. Rennor!"

Ismeria had arrived.

It had only been a few days since they had last met, yet Elysia realised she had missed her more than she’d expected.

She immediately left the two unhappy faces behind and hurried towards Ismeria with a bright smile.

Behind her, Vaelen’s brow remained deeply furrowed.

Deborah watched Elysia’s retreating figure, her fingers curling into tight fists until her nails bit into her palms.

Jealousy and resentment churned in her eyes.

Enjoy your triumph while you can, Elysia.

The Duke is coming, you say?

A vicious smile almost touched her lips.

Perfect.

I’ve prepared something wonderful for the two of you.

Let’s see how brightly you’re smiling then.

Elysia was almost at Ismeria’s side when she realised the Duchess wasn’t alone.

A few paces behind her walked Evren.

He wore a dark green, close-fitting wool tunic, its fine fabric suited to the occasion despite the warmth of the morning. An ornate leather belt, decorated with delicate silver filigree, rested neatly around his waist.

His eyes remained fixed on Elysia.

When she approached, he offered the appropriate greeting, though there was something slightly reluctant beneath his courtesy.

"Your Grace."

Elysia smiled.

"Mr. Soren, you and your aunt seem very close."

Evren inclined his head.

"If it pleases Your Grace, you may call me Evren. ’Mr. Soren’ feels rather formal."

"All right, Evren."

Elysia accepted the suggestion without hesitation.

Her gaze travelled over him appreciatively.

"The more I look at you, the more I think you’re rather easy on the eyes. And on a day this warm, you still came all the way here to accompany your aunt to admire the lilies."

Easy on the eyes?

The compliment landed far more pleasantly than Evren cared to admit.

A faint warmth crept into his cheeks.

Elysia, entirely unaware of his reaction, turned towards Ismeria with a sigh.

"I wish I had a nephew like this."

Evren’s brief pleasure vanished.

Nephew?

That was certainly not the role he had hoped to occupy.

Ismeria laughed softly.

"Well, Evren’s maternal grandfather and your husband are brothers. That makes the two of you family now."

Elysia tilted her head.

She considered this carefully.

"Then..."

Her gaze returned to Evren.

"Would Evren have to call me... Grandma?"

Evren felt a wave of dizziness.

Ismeria quickly corrected her.

"According to Caelvyr custom, it would be ’Grandaunt’."

Evren’s heart sank further.

Grandma. Grandaunt. Is there really much difference?

Elysia looked faintly embarrassed.

"I’ve never been very good with family titles and complicated relations."

She gave a small, sheepish smile.

"In the past, whenever I met relatives, I’d simply look to my mother. She always knew what I was supposed to call everyone, so I’d just repeat whatever she told me."

The smile faded slightly.

"But she’s gone now..."

For a brief moment, something wistful entered her eyes.

"There isn’t anyone left to teach me."

Ismeria knew enough of the Hartwell family’s tragedies to understand what lay beneath those simple words.

Her expression softened.

She reached over and gently patted Elysia’s hand.

"Your mother raised you well."

As they entered Merlinspire Manor, the morning sun bathed the grounds in gentle light, while the day’s events were only beginning to unfold.

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