Awakening Love Reborn to Be His Duchess (Elowen Hale) novel Chapter 2

The grand hall exploded into noise.
"What? The Duke of Duskmoor?"
"She actually said she wants to marry him?"
"Why would she give up the Crown Prince for him?"
"Does she even know he's in no condition to marry anyone?"
Whispers surged like a rising tide, crashing from every corner of the hall. They overlapped—sharp with disbelief and ridicule.
Elowen heard every word.
And yet, not a flicker of emotion crossed her face.
She stood there, composed, as if the storm had nothing to do with her.
The King let out a quiet sigh, clearly trying to smooth things over.
"That would be… a difficult match for you," he said, his tone gentle but hesitant. "Perhaps I should select another suitable candidate from the royal family."
But Elowen didn't retreat.
"Your Majesty," she said, her voice steady, firm enough to cut through the murmurs, "I am deeply grateful for your kindness. But I have already sworn before the Holy Mother."
A breath.
"In this life, I will marry no one but the Duke of Duskmoor."
She lowered herself into a deep, formal curtsy before the King and Queen—and stayed there.
"I humbly ask for your blessing."
She did not rise.
Her posture was unwavering, her resolve laid bare for all to see.
Cassian Valebourne.
Duke of Duskmoor.
The King's younger brother, the ninth-born son of the royal family.
Back when the King had still been a prince, fighting his way toward the throne, it had been Cassian who stood beside him—unshaken, unyielding.
Again and again, he had pulled the King back from the brink of death.
Without him, there might never have been a crown.
Afterward, Cassian led campaign after campaign—east, north—crushing rebellions, expanding borders, carving his name into legend.
There was no one in Avenlor who didn't know his reputation.
Until one year ago.
Stationed in the Northern Reaches, in the middle of a campaign—
he collapsed.
Without warning.
He was carried back to Duskmoor Manor.
And never woke up.
Royal physicians came and went.
None could promise anything.
Some whispered he might never wake again.
Elowen knew all of it.
And she knew something no one else did.
In her previous life—
Cassian awoke in the third year of her marriage.
That year…
had been one of the darkest she had ever endured.
She remained childless.
The Queen arranged for Alaric to take a consort.
Compared to Elowen, the consort was cherished—by Alaric, by the servants, by the entire Crown Prince's Wing.
Everything Elowen was not.
When Cassian finally woke, Alaric brought both women to Duskmoor Manor to visit him.
On the way back—
the consort deliberately left early in the carriage.
Leaving Elowen behind. Alone.
Elowen didn't even know the road back to the palace.
She lingered there, quietly, hoping—just hoping—someone might offer her a seat.
But everyone knew.
The Crown Prince despised her.
No one wanted to risk offending him.
She stood there as the sun dipped lower, the world slowly emptying around her—
until despair began to close in.
And then—
a voice.
Weak, but steady.
"There's a carriage ready. Come.”
She turned.
Stunned.
Cassian sat in a wheelchair not far behind her, draped in a dark, loose robe.
His once-powerful frame had grown thin, his face pale and gaunt.
But when he looked at her—
he smiled. Softly and gently.
"Would you care to stay for supper at Duskmoor Manor?" he asked.
"No, I—"
She meant to refuse.
She really did.
But the moment she opened her mouth—
her voice broke.
Tears spilled down her cheeks without warning, relentless.
She couldn't stop them.
She didn't understand.
Why was she treated like this?
What had she done wrong?
Her family had died for the kingdom.
And she—
was the one left behind.
Abandoned. Discarded.
All the pain she had buried so deeply, so carefully—
broke loose in that moment.
Right in front of him, Cassian sighed softly.
Then, without a word, he took out a handkerchief and offered it to her.
He didn't ask questions.
Didn't press.
Simply stayed beside her.
The entire time.
She cried for what felt like forever.
And he never left.
After that day—
she never saw him again.
But she remembered it.
For a very long time.
…
Back in the present, the King frowned, deep in thought.
He didn't speak.
The hall waited.
It was the Queen who finally broke the silence.
Her voice was calm and measured.
"If she is truly determined to marry Cassian," she said, "then perhaps we should honor her sincerity."
The King glanced at her, then back at Elowen—still bowed.
At last, he sighed.
"…Very well."
He rubbed his temple, looking suddenly tired.
"You have no family left. And Cassian is still unwell. The palace will oversee all arrangements."
Reluctant.
But final.
Elowen raised her head eagerly, a glimmer of hope in her eyes, then bowed again.
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
This time—
she would not repeat the same mistake.
She would not marry Alaric again.
Cassian was the best choice.
For one thing—
He was still unconscious, which alone gave her time.
Time to plan.
Time to take control of her own future.
And in her previous life…
though he had eventually awakened—
neglect and poor care had left him permanently paralyzed. Confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life.
He had shown her kindness—when no one else had.
The least she could do…was return it.
Care for him.
Help him recover.
Maybe—even help him walk again.
And when he woke up—she would ask for a divorce.
He likely wouldn't want this marriage either.
Before everything fell apart, back when Cassian was still healthy, she heard whispers that he had once loved someone.
No one knew who she was.
…
Across the hall, Alaric sat rigid in his seat.
His gaze was locked on Elowen.
Unblinking.
An irritation he couldn't explain gnawed at him.
"She wants to marry Cassian?" Maerwyn muttered under her breath, lips curling. "Elowen really is the dumbest girl alive."
Alaric's brow tightened.
Maerwyn leaned closer, her eyes glinting with amusement.
"Alaric, I'd bet anything—she'll regret this in less than a week."
A faint, cold smile touched his lips.
"That has nothing to do with me."
…
After the banquet, Elowen returned to Hale Manor.
She walked through the quiet garden, past familiar paths overgrown with silence, and into her long-abandoned room.
The moment she stepped inside—
She let herself fall onto the bed.
For the first time in years, she didn't have to think about Alaric.
Didn't have to brace herself for another cold glance, another silent humiliation.
She was home.
The thought settled over her like warmth.
And for the first time in a long time—
she slept.
Deeply and peacefully.
Night after night, her strength slowly returned.
…
A few days later, Hilda—one of the Queen's most trusted attendants—arrived at the Hale Manor.
She greeted Elowen with a warm, familiar smile.
"His Majesty has entrusted your wedding arrangements to Her Majesty," Hilda said kindly. "The Queen has been preparing everything herself. Today, she plans to select an auspicious date—and she hopes you'll come to the palace to assist."
Elowen hesitated slightly.
"I'm not very good with such matters," she admitted. "Her Majesty may choose any date she deems suitable. I have no objections."
Hilda let out a soft laugh.
"Even common families consult the bride after the groom's side chooses a date," she said gently. "You should come, my lady. The Queen mentioned she hasn’t seen you in quite some time—and would like a private word."
<i>A private word?</i>
Elowen paused.
In both her past life and this one—
the Queen never liked her.
They were never close.
But Hilda's tone was sincere.
Elowen found herself unable to refuse.
…
By the time she entered the palace, the sun was already lowering in the sky. Golden light spilled across the cobblestone paths, warm and soft.
Elowen walked quietly, following the servants toward the central wing.
Her gaze stayed lowered, watching the shifting light at her feet.
"Your Highness."
Hilda's respectful greeting suddenly rang out.
Elowen froze. Then slowly lifted her head.
Alaric stood not far ahead.
Tall. Impeccable. Cold.
His brows were furrowed, his sharp gaze fixed on her with unmistakable scrutiny.
That look made her chest tighten.
Instinctively, she lowered her eyes again and stepped back, offering a restrained bow.
"Your Highness."
Alaric's frown deepened.
He knew she liked him.
She had memorized his routines, timed her visits to the Queen just to "accidentally" run into him.
Always with pastries she baked herself.
Smiling. Hopeful.
He had never eaten them.
He gave them away.
Or had them thrown out.
But today, her hands were empty.
No pastry box.
So she came just to see him?
At the banquet, she had boldly claimed she felt nothing for him.
And now here she was, clearly regretting it.
But still playing distant and pretending she had moved on.
Alaric let out a low, mocking chuckle.
"Really, Elowen?" he said coolly, his voice edged with ridicule.
"Is this your idea of playing hard to get?"
His gaze sharpened.
"Honestly… it's kind of boring."