The Duke's Unwanted Second Wife

”August, you can answer my questions now, can you not?” King Nyxen asked, his gaze fixed intently on his son.

”Yes, Father.” August looked at the troubled, weary lines etched into his father’s face. ”Were you truly scared that I might lose my life?”

King Nyxen gave a slow, heavy nod. ”The physicians exhausted all their efforts to save you. There were moments when you wouldn’t even wake.” He fell silent, refusing to let his vulnerability show any further.

”She killed my mother,” August said, the raw pain evident in his strained voice. ”Xavier admitted that Alistair Spencer was assassinated solely because he discovered the Queen was behind my mother’s death. I am not lying, Father. I—I will present the evidence to you soon.”

”If you discovered such a dangerous truth, you should never have spoken of it so loudly that you turned yourself into the Queen’s immediate target!” King Nyxen scolded, entirely disregarding his son’s fragile state. ”Do you not understand the nature of this palace? How could you act so foolishly, August? You lost control over your emotions and allowed them to sway you.”

August stared at the his father’s stoic facade. For as long as he could remember, he had viewed his existence through the cold lens of court politics.

He thought the King valued him solely for the royal blood in his veins. In the ruthless hierarchy of the palace, it always appeared that his half-brothers commanded the King’s genuine warmth, leaving August with nothing but formal duty.

Yet, this display of concern upended years of resentment. Beneath the rigid armor of the crown, his father held a deep love that required no grand proclamations.

King Nyxen rose to his full height. He turned toward his personal valet, who had managed the King’s private affairs for more than forty years.

”See to his recovery,” the King commanded. ”I leave him under your charge.”

The aging servant bowed low. From the bed, August could only tilt his head slightly, his gaze tracking his father’s retreating figure until the doors of the chamber clicked shut.

”Your Highness, do you wish to drink water?” Thomas asked, approaching the bedside.

”Yes,” August replied, his throat dry. ”And Thomas, I would like to see Eilika.”

”Your Highness, you must not speak the Duchess’s name so casually,” Thomas replied mildly. He moved to the side table and lifted the heavy glass carafe. He poured a small portion into a silver spoon, tasting it first according to long-standing palace protocol. He stood in silence for several seconds, waiting to ensure no poison had been introduced to the pitcher, before finally filling a clean goblet.

August furrowed his brows. ”Then I want to see Damian,” he stated.

Thomas did not answer immediately. He stepped forward, carefully supporting August’s shoulders to help him drink. Only when August pulled away, his thirst quenched, did Thomas set the silver tumbler back on the table.

”You must rest for a while, Your Highness,” Thomas explained politely, smoothing the linen sheets. ”The Duke and the Duchess have traveled a great distance to reach the capital. They require rest as well, and are likely in their quarters.”

August closed his eyes, the exhaustion of his body pulling him into a deep sleep.

When he finally woke, the chamber had grown a bit darker. ”Thomas,” he called out, his voice raspy from sleep.

Instead of the valet, it was Damian who rose from a high-backed chair in the corner. He struck a flint, lighting a lamp that cast a glow across the room.

”Didn’t I tell you to stop acting so foolishly?” the Duke demanded, turning a stern, piercing gaze upon August. ”Can you not manage a single task without failing?”

August shifted slightly against his pillows. ”I wanted to talk to Eilika,” he stated flatly.

”Stop invoking her name so carelessly within these palace walls,” Damian snapped, his jaw clenching as his hands tightened into fists at his sides. ”Do you intend to draw unnecessary danger to her? She is my wife, the Duchess. Learn to show the proper respect when you speak of her.”

August fell silent for a moment.

”Did you bring it?” he asked finally. ”I never anticipated learning the truth behind my mother’s demise. I admit... I lost control when Xavier spoke of it.” The words of Xavier started ringing in his head.

”The Queen will never acknowledge it,” Damian muttered, his fury barely contained beneath his composure. ”I managed to secure the documents you were investigating, the ones you kept hidden from me. You could have consulted me just once, August. But you choose not to trust me.”

A sharp throb in his shoulder interrupted the tension, followed closely by his stomach growling that was audible in the quiet room. August looked up, meeting the Duke’s hardened gaze. ”Send for Thomas. I need to eat. Then, scold me all you want.”

Damian pulled the embroidered bell cord, and within moments, Thomas slipped quietly back into the chamber.

”His Highness is hungry,” Damian directed, his voice adjusting to a measured, polite tone for the servant. ”Instruct the kitchens to prepare a light meal for him.”

Thomas bowed low and withdrew, leaving the two men in silence once more.

”You are their cousin,” August said, finally breaking the quiet to offer the explanation he had withheld. ”Naturally, your loyalties would lean toward them. That is why I kept it from you. Besides... I wanted to untangle this conspiracy myself. I wanted to prove my worth to my father.”

Damian’s frown deepened. ”I stand by the truth, August, regardless of blood,” he replied coldly. He turned toward the door. ”Never mind. I suppose I never expected you to trust me anyway.”

Without waiting for a response, the Duke pressed open the door and stepped out into the corridor.

August rolled his eyes. He tried to sit up, but gave up when the pain on his shoulder increased.

Just then, the Crown Prince and Sylvian entered the chamber with Damian behind them.

August’s features darkened the moment his half-brothers stepped into view. ”I have no desire to speak with either of you,” he said.

Damian quietly closed the door behind him, remaining near the threshold, while Ciaran and Sylvian advanced toward the bed.

”Damian and I have reviewed the records you were investigating,” Ciaran began, stopping at the foot of the bed. ”Uncle Xavier’s signature is indeed on those ledgers. A formal inquiry will be initiated against him soon.”

August stared at the Crown Prince, genuine astonishment breaking through his defensive facade. A bitter, incredulous chuckle escaped his lips. ”You intend to act against your own mother, then?”

”I am aligning myself with the facts of the matter,” Ciaran replied.

”And why would you do that?” August challenged. ”The Queen will be stripped of her titles and forced from court if her complicity in this crime is proven.” He shifted his gaze, fixing a sharp look on Sylvian now.

”Must you always rely on that insolent tone?” Sylvian interjected, his brow furrowing as he reprimanded his half-brother.

”Sylvian,” Ciaran murmured, raising a hand to steady his younger brother. He kept his gaze fixed on August, his expression unreadable. ”The outcome depends entirely upon the testimony Uncle Xavier delivers before the high court.”

”And why would he confess now?” August retorted, his irritation rising. ”He lied before the entire assembly yesterday without flinching. Do the two of you truly possess the nerve to drag your own mother’s secrets into the light? Do you have the spine to force a confession from Xavier?”

”August, control your temper,” Damian finally intervened, stepping forward. ”You will only delay your own recovery with this defiance.”

”I have always aligned myself with the truth, August. You may harbor resentment because I am the King’s legitimate heir and hold the succession, but I give you my word: if your mother was murdered at my mother’s behest, justice will be served,” Ciaran stated. He turned on his heel, preparing to leave the chamber.

”I bear no malice toward you for the crown,” August retorted, a bitter laugh cutting through the room. ”Who in their fucking right mind would covet a piece of gold that brings nothing but ruin?”

Ciaran paused near the bed’s lower side as he looked at him. ”Mind your tongue, August. Remember where you lie and use modest words while speaking with me.”

The Crown Prince then exchanged a brief look with Damian before stepping out into the corridor, Sylvian following closely at his heels. The door clicked shut, leaving an uneasy silence in their wake.

”I am in no mood for another lecture on courtly etiquette,” August muttered, preempting the Duke before he could speak.

Damian did not take the bait. He stepped closer to the bedside. ”If this formal inquiry is launched, do you truly understand the consequences?”

”It will shatter whatever peace remains within these walls,” August stated.

”Worse,” Damian countered. ”The Queen will silence her brother to protect herself. Xavier will not survive long enough to take the witness stand. If we want the truth, we must secure him before she acts.”

August’s eyes narrowed. ”Then do it.”

”You must ask properly, August,” Damian replied.

August swallowed his pride. ”I beg of you, then. Keep him alive. I cannot drop to my knees in this state, but once I am recovered, I will give you whatever deference you crave.”

A smile touched Damian’s lips. Without another word, he turned on his heel and left the chamber.

”Your Highness, I have brought a soup for you,” a maidservant announced while Valet Thomas walked beside her.

”Taste it first,” August ordered sternly.