The Duke's Unwanted Second Wife

Ciaran and Sylvian sat in the Crown Prince’s chambers.

”I heard Father and Mother argued bitterly,” Sylvian began, keeping his voice low. ”It seems Father is intent on punishing Uncle Xavier’s family as well. Yet, what August declared about our mother remains unproven.”

”August is not lying, Sylvian,” Ciaran replied, his expression grim. ”Our uncle has only held back from speaking our mother’s name because he knows her reputation would be destroyed. That is undoubtedly why our parents clashed. Mother ought to confess her crimes instead of allowing this shadow to loom over us all. The Spencers died for nothing. They bore no fault, save for the fact that their patriarch, Alistair Spencer, knew the truth.”

”So, what should we do? Bringing the truth to light will destroy our entire family, yet keeping it hidden is a grave injustice to the innocent,” Sylvian muttered, his brow furrowed with anxiety.

”Was my mother not an innocent in your eyes?”

The sudden voice cut through the quiet chamber. August stood near the wooden doors, watching and listening them for a while. He began to walk toward them, one hand pressed against his chest to steady his labored breathing.

Sylvian rose from his chair immediately, while Ciaran remained seated, his gaze fixed coldly on their half-brother.

”You should be resting, August,” Sylvian said, his tone softening with concern.

”Answer me first. What do you both truly think of my mother?” August demanded, halting near the sofa where Ciaran sat. His voice trembled with a bitter, long-buried ache.

”I cannot even recall the likeness of her face; I was far too young when she was taken. I, too, deserved a mother’s care. I foolishly believed the Queen might grant it to me, but as the years passed, I received nothing but her cold resentment.”

”Take a seat first,” Ciaran said, gesturing toward an empty armchair.

August slowly lowered himself into the leather seat, his jaw tight as he guarded his injured chest. Sylvian quietly sat back down, the tension in the room thick and suffocating.

”You cannot continue to scream and rage at every turn, August. Have you already forgotten how close that bullet came to ending your life?” Ciaran questioned.

”The King will deliver the justice you seek. But let us speak plainly. Your mother chose to live as a mistress to our father. No legal wife, let alone the Queen of this kingdom, would ever find such an arrangement tolerable. If our mother has crossed into criminality to defend her crown, she will face her punishment. You need not worry about that. But do not expect us to apologize for the reality of your birth.”

Rising to his feet, Ciaran adjusted his tunic and looked down at his half-brother. ”August, you must learn to navigate this court without constantly inviting your own ruin. The sins of our parents ought not to destroy the rest of us. Keep that in mind.”

”You speak as though you harbor a great affection for me, Crown Prince,” August muttered, his tone dripping with bitter skepticism.

”I have never hated you, August. That enmity was entirely of your own creation,” Ciaran replied, his demeanor remarkably calm. ”You chose to reject us as kin, and that fault lies with you alone. For my part, I have always regarded you as a brother. Whatever transgressions our elders committed in the past should not dictate our relationship. That is my final word on the matter.”

August offered no further retort. He simply pushed himself out of the chair, turned, and walked out of the chamber.

”August has always viewed us as his enemies,” Sylvian murmured, staring at the empty doorway.

”Because he refused to accept the station we were given, and the one he was born to,” Ciaran replied. He turned his gaze back to the ledgers on his desk. ”You must retire to your bedchamber, Sylvian. It has been a long day.”

The younger prince nodded, pushing himself up from his seat. Bowing formally to the Crown Prince, he quietly withdrew from the room, leaving Ciaran entirely alone with his thoughts.

~~~~~~

Eilika was brushing her long hair when Damian suddenly appeared behind her, gently taking the comb from her hand. He began to draw it through her silken strands with slow, practiced movements. ”You have beautiful hair,” he murmured, his gaze catching the gleam of a familiar hairpin resting on the dressing table—one he had gifted her not long ago.

”You still wear it,” he noted, a hint of a smile in his voice.

”Of course. It holds my bun perfectly and complements my gowns,” Eilika replied, watching his reflection in the mirror.

Damian’s expression turned solemn as he continued to brush her hair. ”I received word from the palace. Xavier refused to implicate the Queen during his questioning. August completely lost his temper in the open court, which only incensed the King.”

Eilika sighed, her shoulders dropping slightly. ”So, the truth will remain buried forever?”

”Not necessarily,” Damian countered, his stroke pausing for a moment. ”The King has stayed Xavier’s execution. Instead, he ordered the interrogators to use harsher methods to force the truth from him. It seems His Majesty no longer believes a single word his wife speaks.”

Eilika stopped his hand by gently catching his wrist. Taking the comb from his fingers, she set it down on the dressing table before rising to her feet and turning to face him fully.

”I think August is going to lose his battle against the Queen,” Damian affirmed, his expression hardening. ”But more importantly, we must ensure our own safety now. I was discussing the guard rotations with Maurice earlier. Estate security will be tightened significantly from this night onward. I cannot trust my aunt after what has transpired; the rage she directed at us made it abundantly clear how cautious we must be.”

”Hmm. I never imagined the Queen could be this vicious,” Eilika stated. ”To willingly let her own brother take the fall for her crimes... It is so wrong.”

”For the sake of the throne, she would do far worse,” Damian muttered darkly.