Eilika turned to leave when Damian's voice sliced through the silence.
"Didn't you come to speak to me?"
"No, Your Grace. I merely wanted Roman to interact with you. Now that he has gone, I see no reason to remain here," Eilika replied.
Damian let out a sharp, mocking snicker as his gaze raked over her. "Your sister came to the palace to see you. You didn't even meet her." He arched an eyebrow in skepticism, his expression suggesting he doubted her every word.
"I did see her, before you summoned me. After that, I met Roman and chose to play with him instead," Eilika explained. She paused, her eyes searching his. "Why does Your Grace ask? Did you happen to see my sister?"
"No," Damian replied shortly.
"Don't harbor such coldness for your own son, Duke. As he grows older, that neglect will turn into a bitterness you may never be able to mend. You wouldn't want that, would you?" Eilika's voice softened. "For the sake of your late wife, whom you claim to love so deeply, do not ignore the boy who craves nothing more than your attention."
She offered a slight, formal bow of her head and turned away, leaving the room before he could retort.
Eilika returned to her chamber and sank onto the mattress, the day's tensions finally catching up to her. She kicked off her white sandals and began to massage her aching feet until Joanna entered the room.
"Shall I help you, My Lady?" Joanna asked humbly.
"No," Eilika refused, gesturing for the maid to take a seat instead.
"Your sister met the Duke earlier. The servants have been whispering about it all afternoon," Joanna said, lowering herself into the chair beside the bed.
Eilika paused, her hand hovering over her ankle. She recalled Damian's refusal just moments ago when she had asked if he had seen Rosaline. 'He lied to me,' she realized.
"They were saying your sister is exceptionally beautiful, but that she was dressed quite provocatively," Joanna remarked, her voice dropping to a gossiping tone. "It seemed as though she intended to seduce your husband."
"Rosaline has always preferred to dress in that manner," Eilika said simply, her voice devoid of jealousy. "And I highly doubt the Duke would spare a glance for any woman. His mind and heart are entirely occupied by the memory of his first wife."
"Aren't you affected by any of this?" Joanna asked, her eyes widening in surprise. "You are the Duchess now. He should be turning his thoughts toward you, not someone dead. And for your own sister to approach your husband behind your back... It is beyond odd."
Eilika lowered her eyes, letting her legs dangle off the edge of the bed. "The Duke isn't truly mine, Joanna. Why should I fight for a man who carries not a single emotion for me? I stood all alone at the wedding altar while he remained absent. What more can I expect from this marriage?"
She looked down at the ring on her finger. It was a mere ornament, a piece of theater to convince the world of a union that didn't exist in the heart.
"Men are often like that, My Lady. We must be the ones to make the efforts to—"
"I am not making any effort," Eilika interrupted, not letting her finish. "I would like to rest now. I have no appetite, so I will not be taking lunch today."
Joanna rose quietly, bowing low before stepping out of the bedchamber. Once the door clicked shut, Eilika slid beneath the cool silk sheets. A few stray tears escaped her eyes, but she wiped them away.
"Father didn't even come to see me," she murmured into the stillness, closing her eyes against the loneliness of her new life. But then, her father never truly cared for her. She was a mere burden to him, whom he finally discarded.
~~~~~
Eilika jolted awake from the fragments of a nightmare clinging to her like a cold shroud. Shivering, she wiped the beads of sweat from her forehead and sat upright, peering into the oppressive darkness of the bedchamber. With a trembling hand, she reached for the bedside lamp, and switched it on.
After freshening up, she stood before the mirror to brush her hair until a sharp knock echoed through the room.
"Come in," she called out.
The heavy doors swung open, and Joanna entered with her head dutifully bowed. "My Lady, the Duke requires your presence at a party tonight. You must prepare immediately."
"A party? Now?" Eilika's heart hammered against her ribs. Fear flooded her chest. It had been four years since she last stepped into a ballroom; four years since the pointed stares at the mark on her cheek had driven her into isolation.
"Yes, Your Grace. There is no time to waste," Joanna replied, gesturing for the line of waiting servants to enter.
Before Eilika could truly process the situation, she was cinched into a shimmering white, high-neck gown. The design was striking, leaving her shoulders bare while elegant sleeves began at her elbows and flowed down her forearms. As she reached up to touch her face, her breath hitched, the layers of makeup had hidden the scar on her cheek.
"The final touch, My Lady. Please, step into these," Joanna murmured, kneeling to slide a pair of slender heels onto Eilika's feet.
Swallowing her anxiety, Eilika stood and made her way toward the grand hallway. She stopped short when she saw Damian. He stood with his back to her as he gave final instructions to his valet.
"Your Grace," Joanna announced, her voice echoing in the corridor, "the Duchess is ready."
Damian turned slowly, and as their eyes met, the air seemed to vanish from the hallway. Eilika's breath caught in her throat; he was strikingly handsome, the sharp lines of his white tuxedo accentuating his powerful frame. The gold pin at his necktie and the intricate brooch of diamond and gold caught the light, shimmering with a brilliance that forced her to blink. In that moment, he looked every bit the man born to rule as the Duke of Varos.
"Shall we?" Damian asked, his voice low and steady as he held out his gloved hand.
Eilika hesitated, her pulse fluttering. She looked at his outstretched palm, then up at his unreadable expression, before finally placing her hand in his. His fingers clasped firmly around hers before he began to lead her down the grand staircase toward the waiting black motor car.