The Duke's Unwanted Second Wife

Roman sipped the fresh juice the shop manager had ordered from a nearby high-end restaurant. Although Eilika had initially refused the gesture, Roman’s sudden, quiet interest in the drink had changed her mind.

While the boy was occupied, Eilika’s attention drifted to a shirt displayed nearby. It was a deep, rich wine color, and she couldn’t help but think how well it would suit Damian if he ever joined them for an informal outing.

”Your Highness, you have been admiring that piece for some time. I must say, it is one of the most premium shirts we have received from our designer this season,” the sales assistant noted with a polite, observant smile.

”It is quite striking. Please, let me see it,” Eilika requested.

She reached out to touch the fabric, finding it remarkably soft and of superior quality. As she ran her fingers over the material, a faint smile formed on her lips. She could already envision Damian in the deep hue, the color only enhancing his features. It was far from the formal white, black and charcoal grey he usually wore in the mansion.

”I’ll take this as well,” she decided, promptly paying for the garment. Roman’s new clothes had already been carefully folded and boxed, and now only the wine-colored shirt for Damian remained to be packed.

She walked over to Roman, who was perched near the window, still contentedly sipping his juice.

”Finish quickly, dear. It is time for us to leave,” Eilika said gently. Just then, the heavy door of the boutique opened and a soldier entered, offering a bow.

”Your Grace, your sister is outside. She has requested to be let in,” the soldier informed her.

Roman looked up at his mother, the straw still in his mouth as he drained the last of his drink.

”The safety protocols are clear; we cannot allow unauthorized entry while the shop is secured,” Victor, the lead bodyguard, pronounced firmly.

Eilika didn’t hesitate. She knew Rosaline’s penchant for dramatic public encounters all too well. ”Tell Rosaline she is welcome to visit me at the mansion later. Currently, I am occupied with my son.”

The soldier bowed and exited. Through the glass of the storefront, Eilika caught a fleeting glimpse of her sister standing on the pavement, her expression unreadable as the guard delivered the message. Eilika turned back to Roman, smoothing his hair.

”Mama, who is your sister?” Roman asked, his head tilting with genuine curiosity.

”I will tell you all about her later,” Eilika replied, gently redirecting his attention. ”For now, let’s go and find some snacks for you.”

She was determined to let him experience the small joys of the market. She wanted Roman to understand the world beyond the mansion’s walls, hoping that seeing how others lived would help him grow into a man who could empathize with his people.

One of the bodyguards gathered the neatly packed boxes and carried them toward the carriage, while Eilika led Roman toward a nearby stall where the scent of toasted nuts and honey-glazed pastries filled the air.

As they walked, she could feel the weight of the wine-colored shirt in her own small bag, a secret gift for Damian that felt like a quiet bridge between the life she was building and the man she was beginning to understand.

Eilika’s eyes momentarily drifted to the street, catching a final glimpse of Rosaline being ushered away by the guards. She felt a sharp, protective instinct tighten in her chest. She knew her sister well; Rosaline was the type who wouldn’t hesitate to aim her cutting remarks even at a child if it meant unsettling Eilika.

”Mama, look at that tall statue!” Roman’s voice broke through her thoughts. He pointed toward a graceful marble figure of a woman holding a quill. ”The market is so beautiful here!” he exclaimed, his face alight with genuine wonder.

Every few steps, Roman found something new to marvel at, his finger pointing toward stone monuments and carved archways. Eilika patiently explained the history behind each one as she navigated the crowded thoroughfare with her security detail.

When they finally stepped into the city’s most renowned bakery, Roman hurried toward the glass display, his eyes wide as he scanned the rows of golden croissants and glazed tarts.

”Mama, this red one! It looks delicious,” Roman said, pressing his finger against the glass near a vibrant raspberry-glazed pastry.

”The Young Master has excellent taste,” the baker said with a respectful bow. ”Shall I offer a sample to the Young Master, Your Grace?”

Eilika looked down at Roman’s expectant face. ”Do you want to eat it here, Roman, or would you like to take it home and share it with your father?” she asked, giving him the choice.

”At home,” Roman decided.

”Please pack four of those,” Eilika instructed the baker. ”And two boxes of the chocolate donuts as well.” She turned back to the boy. ”Roman, is there anything else you’d like?”

Roman scrunched his brows together, his eyes darting between the glazed tarts and the sugar-dusted buns. ”Everything looks delicious. I’m confused,” he admitted with a small sigh.

Eilika smiled at his earnestness. ”Take your time. Look at them all carefully.”

Roman tilted his head, then looked up at her with a sudden spark of realization. ”Mama, which one is your favorite? We should buy those,” he stated, determined to include her in the treat.

Eilika felt a surge of warmth at his thoughtfulness. ”I’ve always been fond of the lemon tarts,” she replied, pointing to the delicate, pale yellow pastries.

”Then we will take the lemon ones too!” Roman declared to the baker, his confusion vanishing instantly.

Once the boxes were tied with silk ribbons and handed to the waiting bodyguard, they made their way back to the carriage.

Roman noticed the crowds gathered to catch a glimpse of them, kept at a distance by the line of soldiers maintaining the security perimeter. The afternoon sun had become scorching, and the heat began to flush the boy’s cheeks.

Noticing his discomfort, Eilika immediately opened her silk umbrella, tilting it to shield him completely from the glare.

Under the cool shade of the umbrella, Roman looked up at her and smiled, feeling secure as they stepped into the waiting carriage.

~~~~

Damian fixed a cold, steady glare on the Earl of Westerfield. ”Benedict, do not insult my intelligence by claiming ignorance. Your officials have been extorting the farmers under the guise of taxes that exist in no legal record.”

Benedict’s posture stiffened, though he kept his voice carefully deferential. ”Your Grace, had this reached my desk, I would have intervened immediately. Now that the matter has been brought to my attention, I will see those officials suspended and ensure your mandates for fair collection are strictly enforced.”

”Intentional or not, it happened under your seal,” Damian replied. ”I expect a full audit of Westerfield’s ledgers by week’s end. If one more sheel is taken without a decree, it won’t be just your officials facing the magistrate.”

Benedict bowed low, masking the tension in his jaw. ”It shall be as you command, Your Grace.”

Damian stood, his shadow stretching across the polished map on the table. He was far from finished.

”Netham falls under your jurisdiction, does it not?” Damian demanded. ”Why are the farmers in the hilly regions still without a functional water channel? How do you explain such incompetence to me?”

Benedict’s composure faltered. He glanced sharply at his secretary, who stood in the corner clutching a stack of ledgers. The secretary’s face went pale, his eyes darting toward the floor.

”Your Grace, I will look into the matter immediately,” Benedict replied, his voice slightly more strained than before.

”Looking into it is not a ’legitimate explanation,’ Benedict,” Damian countered, tapping a finger against the region of Netham on the map. ”Those channels were funded two seasons ago. If the water isn’t flowing, the gold certainly is, and I want to know exactly whose pockets it’s filling. I expect a detailed report on the irrigation project by tomorrow morning. Do not make me ask a third time.”

Benedict bowed lower this time, the weight of the Duke’s authority pressing visible tension into his shoulders. ”It will be on your desk, Your Grace.”

”Now, you’re dismissed,” Damian said coldly.

Benedict bowed deeply, his face pale, and hurried out of the office with his secretary trailing behind him. The heavy oak doors clicked shut, leaving a tense silence in the room.

”Your Grace, the nobles are going to get anxious at your sudden interest in such small affairs,” Louis remarked, finally closing the flaps of his fan with a sharp snap.

”Louis, they should be scared of the consequences. Villages and their people are no small affairs; they are the foundation of this kingdom’s economy,” Damian affirmed, his gaze returning to the maps on his desk. ”Varos will only truly prosper if every district, no matter how remote, is well-structured and functional.”

”I understand your vision,” Louis advised, his tone shifting to one of genuine concern. ”But these nobles are already looking for reasons to undermine you. You are disrupting their pockets, Damian. You need to be careful.”

Damian didn’t look up, but his jaw tightened. ”Let them look. If they spend more time watching me than governing their lands, they’ll only give me more reasons to strip them of their titles.”

Just then, the doors opened and Maurice walked in. He formally bowed to Damian first before looking at him.

”I’ve found out who’s tried to dysfunction the motorcar of the Duke the night he went to the ball with Duchess.”