The Duke's Unwanted Second Wife

Iliana placed the dishes on the small table as she tried her best to cook something that Prince Sylvian would like.

She stepped back, her heart hammering against her ribs. Having a prince sitting in her humble home was surreal enough, but feeding him was outright nerve-wracking.

Her kitchen lacked the exotic spices of the palace chefs, so she had relied entirely on simple, hearty commoner dishes made with care.

"I hope His Highness likes the meals I’ve prepared," she murmured and looked upstairs. She asked Sylvian to stay in the room until she would call him and the prince had complied to her command well.

Iliana returned to her bedchamber to find the door standing half-open. Sylvian lay stretched out across her narrow bed, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar and his posture completely relaxed, looking entirely at ease in her modest room.

"Your Highness, the midday meal is prepared," Iliana announced, standing near the doorway.

Sylvian sat up promptly, resting his feet on the floorboards. "Do you happen to have a pair of slippers I might borrow?"

"Only in my own size, I am afraid," Iliana replied. "I can step out to the market and purchase a pair for you after we finish eating."

"Do not bother," Sylvian said, rising to his feet without hesitation. "I prefer walking barefoot regardless."

He brushed past her to head down the hallway, but Iliana hurried after him, her brow furrowed with concern. "If word spreads that a royal prince is wandering barefoot in my home, people will claim I have cast a spell over you. Women are easily branded as witches for far less."

Sylvian paused at the top of the spiraled staircase, turning to look back at her. "Let them say what they wish. Should anyone dare cast improper accusations against you, I shall see them punished. I carry more than enough authority to ensure that."

He extended his open palm toward her. "Take my hand."

Iliana hesitated for a brief second, eyeing his outstretched hand before gently placing her palm in his. With his steadying grip guiding her step by step, they descended the narrow stairs together.

Stopping before the table, he saw the dishes that Iliana had prepared.

"Your Highness, let me serve you," Iliana said, stepping past him toward the table.

Before she could reach for the serving spoons, Sylvian caught her wrist in a light grip. With his other hand, he pulled out the chair beside him and guided her down into it.

"We eat together," he said softly.

He took his seat and lifted the ceramic lid from the first dish, revealing a golden chicken and mushroom pasty.

"I also roasted some chicken," Iliana added, pushing a porcelain bowl closer to him. "The garlic and rosemary are fresh from my garden."

Sylvian paused, his brow furrowing slightly as he looked at the platter. "You told me earlier that the butcher had no meat left today."

"I asked a neighbor," she explained, smoothing her apron over her knees. "I was worried it might not be to your taste, but I tried my best with what I had. Oh, there is rice, too."

She leaned forward to scoop a steaming portion into a small bowl, then set out a woven basket containing bread she had baked that morning. "Please, eat."

Sylvian looked at the spread, and then turned his gaze to her. "You didn’t let me help you," he said. "You prepared all of this alone."

"You are a guest in my home, and you are a prince," Iliana replied, keeping her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest. "Start eating, Your Highness, before it grows cold."

"Hmm." Sylvian lifted the spoon and passed a smile to Iliana before he started eating.

~~~~~

"Your Highness, a message has arrived from the capital for the Duke," a servant informed Eilika, interrupting her as she instructed the kitchen staff to prepare a light evening meal.

Eilika crossed the stone floor and took the envelope from the servant’s tray. A flicker of confusion marked her brow; the wax bore a plain stamp rather than an official house or state seal.

Stepping away from the heat of the kitchen, she broke the wax and unfolded the paper. Her eyes scanned the hurried script:

’I will not let you live in peace, Damian. The truth about Liliana will soon be known to the world.’

The letter was completely unsigned. Eilika turned back toward the hallway, calling out to the departing servant.

"Who brought this message?" she asked.

"It was found in the letterbox outside the gates, Your Highness," the servant replied. Seeing her pale face, he added, "Is something wrong, Your Highness?"

"No," Eilika said, quickly turning away to hide her composure.

She retreated to her bedchamber and sat at the wooden desk near the window, unfolding the paper to read the threat once more.

’Could it be the Queen? She should have faced execution by now. Unless she escaped it... We have received no formal proclamation of her death from the capital. Perhaps the King stayed the execution. Yet no one else holds this secret, save for the Queen and our most trusted inner circle.’

"What if she has allies outside the palace walls helping her? What if this truth is exposed while we are away? What will become of Roman?"

She shook her head, forcing the dread aside, and stood up. Pacing the width of the room, she resolved her next move.

"I must discover who sent this message first. Only then can we decide how to act. If it were truly the Queen, she would have demanded a price or made terms. But she has asked for nothing. That means someone else has learned our secret and is turning it against us."

~~~~~

Damian closed the navy-blue folder after affixing his signature to the official agreements, concluding the negotiations with the Dukes of the three neighboring provinces regarding their upcoming joint trade ventures. He glanced toward Maurice, who stepped forward and took the documents from his hands.

With the day’s business adjourned and the remaining matters deferred until the morning, Damian left the council hall.

He stepped into his waiting motorcar, Maurice taking his usual place in the front passenger seat before instructing the driver to head toward the cottage.

Halfway through the journey, Damian ordered the carriage to halt outside a fine tailor’s establishment. He went inside to select a traditional gown crafted in the distinct style of the Northern territory, pairing it with matching jewelry and fine leather heels.

"Your Grace, this dress is exceptionally popular among the ladies of our town. I am certain your wife will adore this traditional piece," the shopkeeper said, his tone dripping with courtesy.

Damian offered a faint, thoughtful hum in response. "She will look beautiful in it," he murmured under his breath.

Carrying the wrapped package back toward the waiting car, he was met by Maurice, who offered a quiet suggestion. "Perhaps Your Grace could take the Duchess out somewhere this evening?"

"I have been considering it," Damian replied, pausing beside the vehicle. "However, given that we relocated to the cottage early this morning, she may well be exhausted."

Maurice opened the rear door, allowing Damian to step inside and take his seat.

Before long, the car pulled up to the cottage. The staff greeted Damian at the entrance, and he returned the gesture with a warm smile before inquiring after Eilika.

"The Duchess is in her bedroom, Your Grace," the head of the household reported.

"Very well."

Damian ascended the wide wooden staircase and approached the chamber. Upon opening the door, he found Eilika pacing back and forth across the floorboards.

She halted immediately at his entrance, executing a quick bow and greeting him, unable to entirely conceal her surprise at his early return.

"You were pacing," Damian noted, stepping into the room while subtly keeping the package hidden behind his back. "Has something happened?"

He stopped in front of her. "Close your eyes. I have something for you."

"Then show me. Why must I close my eyes?" Eilika chuckled, yet she obliged and shut her eyes.

Damian took her hands, lifting them to rest the wrapped package upon her palms. She opened her eyes instantly.

"For you," he said. "Wear it later."

Eilika looked down at the weight in her hands, recognizing the shape of a dress immediately.

"Thank you," she smiled, her heart warming at his constant, quiet surprises. "Did you buy nothing for yourself?"

"I thought only of you," Damian replied, unthreading the scarf from his neck before removing his heavy overcoat. As he turned his back to hang his coat, he asked softly, "So, what is troubling my wife?"

Turning back to face her while unbuttoning his cuffs, he saw Eilika walk over to the coffee table. She retrieved a plain envelope and carried it toward him.

"This arrived earlier," she said, holding it out.

Damian, having already rolled his sleeves up past his forearms, took the envelope from her hand. His gaze narrowed at the unmarked paper.

"There is no sender," he muttered, his tone sharpening. "I take it this is not a pleasant message."

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