The Duke's Unwanted Second Wife

Iliana set down a wooden tray before Sylvian, upon which rested a steaming bowl of hot soup.

”Thank you,” he said, cupping the warm ceramic bowl with both hands to catch its heat.

”I made that bowl not long ago,” Iliana offered, watching him fondly.

”That shows what a wonderful artist you are,” Sylvian remarked, a warm smile touching his lips. He turned the vessel slightly in his hands, examining its craft. ”Did you paint the design on it yourself? Where did you learn to make this?”

”There is a workshop where Uncle Billy teaches pottery and ceramic crafts,” Iliana explained, leaning against the table. ”His son owns a shop in the capital where they sell their wares, so I wanted to try my hand at it. It certainly did not turn out like this on my first attempt, though, this was my tenth try. The nine before it were completely ruined.”

”Oh, I am honored to have my soup in this bowl, then,” Sylvian replied with a warm smile.

”Please drink it before it gets cold,” Iliana told him, turning away.

Sylvian watched her head upstairs before turning his attention back to the bowl. As expected, the soup tasted wonderful. The simple, comforting flavor of her cooking was beyond description. He was so engrossed in the meal that he did not notice Iliana returning until she draped a small crocheted blanket over his shoulders from behind.

He tilted his head back, looking up in surprise.

”This will keep you warm, Your Highness,” she said softly, before quickly taking a seat on the bamboo chair.

Sylvian reached up to touch the soft, looped stitches of the blanket, his eyes meeting hers. ”Thank you. What about you?”

”I have my shawl,” Iliana replied with a reassuring smile.

”That looks far too thin for a night like this,” he observed, frowning slightly.

”It is plenty warm. Finish your soup before it grows cold,” Iliana insisted gently.

Sylvian did not argue further. He returned to his meal, finishing the rich broth shortly after. By the end, he practically scraped the bowl clean with his spoon.

”In the palace, one could never get away with doing such a thing,” he admitted, a genuine smile touching his lips. ”Thank you, Iliana. The soup has truly brought warmth back into my body.”

His gaze fell upon the glass of lukewarm water resting on the tray, and he drank it down in one long sip.

Iliana gathered the empty bowl and glass onto the wooden tray, lifting it to carry back toward the kitchen.

Sylvian watched her as she returned and sat back down on the bamboo chair. Since the chair was a bit far from him, Sylvian reached out and pulled it closer, making Iliana gasp in surprise.

”Your Highness, what are you—” She could not finish her sentence, suddenly realizing how close she was to him.

Sylvian then adjusted the crocheted blanket, draping a portion of it over her shoulders so it covered them both.

”I want us to stay close,” he said. ”That way, I will get warm faster.”

Their shoulders pressed together beneath the shared warmth of the blanket as she stared ahead at the small, flickering fireplace.

”How did you manage to live alone all these years?” Sylvian asked softly, his voice barely carrying over the crackle of the wood. ”Did you never get scared out here by yourself?”

”You get used to loneliness after a while,” Iliana answered, her gaze remaining fixed on the glowing embers. ”And it is always better to be alone than to allow the wrong person near you.”

”You are right,” Sylvian agreed. Resting his head lightly against her shoulder, he continued, ”Did you knit this blanket as well?”

”How did Your Highness know?”

”It was merely a guess,” Sylvian replied.

”I know how to knit, stitch, embroider, and sew,” Iliana listed.

”Where did you learn so much?” Sylvian lifted his head, turning to peer into her eyes.

”These are skills I picked up when I was quite young. My sister insisted that I learn them all. I was stubborn at first and resisted, but eventually I realized one could earn a respectable living through such handiwork when my mother told me,” Iliana explained.

”Did you sell what you made?” Sylvian asked, listening intently.

”Yes. A year before my sister’s wedding, my father found himself short on funds. During that time, my sister and I embroidered garments and knitted sweaters to help bring in money,” she revealed.

”You worked hard, and so did your sister,” Sylvian replied, his tone softening. ”That man is still alive and living comfortably, I assume?”

Iliana hummed at his words.

”Tell me his name and where he resides. I will see to it that he answers for his actions. Consider it a tribute to your late sister, so you have no grounds to refuse,” Sylvian stated.

Iliana stopped blinking, her eyes locked onto his. He had made a similar offer long ago, back when their loyalties and affections were unspoken, and she had turned him down. But now, the situation between them had shifted, and she found herself unwilling to refuse him.

”His name is Alexis Macshaw,” she said softly. ”He serves as an officer in the food distribution office in Varos. I think he might have been transferred since then, but I am not certain where.”

”I will look into it. Your sister will receive the justice she is owed,” Sylvian promised, his voice firm with resolve.

”I trust you,” Iliana replied softly. ”Your Highness must be exhausted from the journey. Why do you not go upstairs and sleep? I have already prepared the bed.”

”Sleep with me,” Sylvian answered, looking into her eyes. ”It is cold tonight.”

”It’s a small bed,” Iliana replied. ”And we can’t share the bed yet.”

”Why? Do you not trust me?” Sylvian asked, ”or yourself?” A grin appeared on his face to tease her.

Iliana’s cheeks flushed in the firelight. She quickly looked away, swatting lightly at his arm with the edge of the shared blanket.

”It has nothing to do with trust, Your Highness,” she muttered, trying her best to keep her voice stern despite the frantic fluttering in her chest. ”It is simply improper. Now, behave yourself and go upstairs to rest before I change my mind about letting you stay here at all.”