Chapter 32: A Blanket of Excuses

Chapter 32: Chapter 32: A Blanket of Excuses

Vaelen departed without another word.

Roxana stood frozen where he had left her.

For a long moment, she felt as though a bucket of ice water had been poured over her head.

Every trace of confidence drained away.

The Crown Prince hadn’t even looked at her properly.

Not once.

Yet somehow, she still managed to gather enough courage to chase after him.

"Your Highness!"

Vaelen had already placed one foot on the carriage step.

At her call, he paused.

Roxana swallowed.

"I have something important to report."

He did not turn around.

Until she added:

"It concerns the Duchess of Draevenor Manor."

That got his attention.

Slowly, Vaelen looked back.

His eyes narrowed.

"The Duchess of Draevenor Manor?"

Something possessive flickered briefly across his expression.

A reaction so quick that even he seemed unaware of it.

Roxana’s heartbeat accelerated.

She had gambled correctly.

Suppressing her excitement, she lowered her voice.

"Please follow me."

A short while later, they stood near the stables.

In the distance, a familiar young man was hauling armfuls of hay with a look of profound misery.

Every few steps, he muttered curses under his breath.

Occasionally, a horse snorted at him.

The horse appeared equally unimpressed.

Roxana pointed discreetly.

"That boy."

Vaelen followed her gaze.

"The one working there?"

Roxana nodded.

"He damaged one of Lucien’s rare writing brushes."

Her tone turned meaningful.

"Ordinarily, a servant guilty of such an offense would have been punished severely."

Vaelen remained silent.

Roxana continued.

"But Her Grace intervened and spared him. Not only that..."

Her voice lowered further.

"She kept him in the manor."

A pause.

"At first I thought she was simply kindhearted."

Roxana carefully studied Vaelen’s face.

"But after seeing Your Highness today..."

She sighed softly.

"...I fear her motives may not be so innocent."

The implication hung heavily in the air.

A handsome young man.

A resemblance to the Crown Prince.

A Duchess once infatuated with Vaelen.

The conclusion practically built itself.

Roxana waited eagerly.

Surely now the Crown Prince would be furious.

Surely he would finally see Elysia’s true nature.

Surely—

A smile appeared on Vaelen’s lips.

Not anger.

Not outrage.

Satisfaction.

The kind of expression a man wore when a suspicion had just been confirmed.

As though he had been right all along.

Roxana stared.

Completely baffled.

By the time Vaelen departed...

And by the time Clara arrived with two guards to forcibly escort her into a carriage...

Roxana still couldn’t understand what that smile had meant.

__

The days that followed passed in a blur.

With the greenstone bangles lost to Vaelen’s ridiculous bidding war, Elysia still needed to prepare a birthday gift for Princess Sylrienne.

Unfortunately, ever since taking over management of Draevenor Manor, she had barely found time to breathe.

Every day brought new ledgers.

New reports.

New problems.

New opportunities to discover exactly how much money Melissa had been stealing.

By mid-month, Elysia was working from dawn until long after sunset.

After considerable thought, she entrusted the gift selection to Maude.

Among everyone in the manor, Maude possessed the finest taste.

Years serving in the palace had practically guaranteed it.

Meanwhile, Miriam had developed an almost alarming admiration for Maude.

Ever since witnessing the woman’s legendary double slap at Rose Hall, Miriam had vowed to learn everything from her.

Now she followed Maude everywhere.

Taking notes.

Asking questions.

Attempting to learn the art of intimidating people with a single look.

Elysia found the entire situation strangely adorable.

Since the weather was especially hot that day, she instructed them to wait until evening before heading into town.

As for herself...

She remained in the study.

Drowning beneath account books.

Soon a knock sounded.

Bran entered carrying a basin of warm water.

"Your Grace."

Without looking up, Elysia replied automatically.

"Come to help Cassiel wash again?"

Bran chuckled.

"Of course."

Elysia was about to nod and return to her paperwork.

Then a horrifying memory surfaced.

Her head snapped upward.

"Wait."

Bran froze.

"What is it?"

Elysia’s face immediately grew hot.

That night.

The blanket.

The discovery.

The panic.

The frantic retreat.

And most importantly—

She had never fixed Cassiel’s clothing afterward.

Bran knew absolutely nothing about any of this.

Unfortunately.

Elysia knew.

Very well.

"The washing..." she began carefully.

"Perhaps I should do it today."

Bran blinked.

"You?"

His expression became alarmed.

"Have I done something wrong, Your Grace?"

"No!"

The answer came far too quickly.

Elysia forced a smile.

"You’ve done an excellent job."

Bran relaxed slightly.

Then looked confused again.

"Then why—"

"Because I’m his wife."

The words came out more firmly this time.

"He is my husband."

Elysia folded her hands.

"Such intimate matters should naturally be handled by me."

Bran looked horrified.

"Your Grace!"

He nearly dropped the basin.

"You are the Duchess! A noble lady! How could I possibly allow you to do the servant’s work?"

The more he protested, the more anxious Elysia became.

If Bran entered that room...

If Bran saw Cassiel’s robes in that state...

She might actually die from embarrassment.

Thinking rapidly, Elysia searched for an excuse.

Then inspiration struck.

A brilliant inspiration.

Or perhaps a terrible one.

"Bran..."

He immediately straightened.

"Didn’t the royal physician say stimulation might help Cassiel wake sooner?"

Bran nodded.

"He did."

"Well then."

Elysia spread her hands.

"You’ve been washing him every day. He’s used to you."

Bran blinked.

She continued confidently.

"You’re no longer stimulating."

The steward looked stunned.

"If I do it today, that’s something new."

Elysia nodded firmly.

"A completely different form of stimulation."

Bran’s eyes widened.

Then widened further.

Then lit up.

"You’re absolutely right!"

Elysia nearly collapsed from relief.

Bran slapped his forehead.

"How did I not think of that?"

She laughed weakly.

Apparently convinced by her logic, Bran carefully set the basin beside the bed.

"Then I’ll leave His Grace in your capable hands."

Before departing, he thoughtfully closed the door behind him.

Click.

Silence settled over the room.

Immediately, Elysia’s confidence vanished.

She stared at the closed door.

Then at the basin.

Then at the bed and Cassiel.

Who looked entirely too peaceful.

"Right."

She swallowed.

"You’re unconscious."

No response.

"Completely unconscious."

Still nothing.

"Good."

Unfortunately, she didn’t sound convinced.

Taking a deep breath, Elysia picked up the cloth and dipped it into the basin.

Warm water soaked through the fabric.

Her hands felt suspiciously unsteady.

Another deep breath.

Then another.

Finally, she sat carefully on the edge of the bed.

The memory from the previous night immediately resurfaced.

Moonlight.

Blankets.

The horrifying mushroom nightmare.

Her face burned.

"Nonsense."

She muttered.

"You’re just helping him wash."

Perfectly normal.

Entirely innocent.

Nothing strange about it.

Absolutely nothing.

With determination worthy of a soldier marching into battle, Elysia reached toward the blankets.

Then immediately squeezed her eyes shut.

If she couldn’t see anything, she couldn’t become embarrassed.

A flawless strategy.

Unfortunately, after several seconds of blindly fumbling with the bedding, she realized she had no idea what she was doing.

Elysia sighed.

Then reluctantly opened one eye.

Just a little.

The tiniest possible amount.

Enough to see what she was doing.

And absolutely no more than that.

Or so she told herself.