The Duke's Unwanted Second Wife Chapter 12: Damian Being The Cold Man

This was the first ti Eilika had ever sat inside a motorcar. She had heard of such machines, but she never imagined the Duke possessed one. In her mind, she thought only the King or the Princes could afford such a marvel, but then again, the Duke’s wealth was said to rival the throne itself.

To her surprise, the ride was remarkably smooth, the cushioned seats absorbing the jolts of the road in a way no wooden carriage ever could.

"I suppose you know how to dance," Damian said suddenly, breaking the silence.

"Y-yes. But I have never danced at a function before. I took the required classes, of course, but I have never actually attended a ball," Eilika lied softly. The mory of her eighteenth birthday flashed in her mind, standing in a crowded ballroom for hours while n looked through her as if she were not even there, and laughing at her for coming to the ball while carrying a mark on the cheek.

Damian fell quiet. Eilika felt her nerves flare as they drew closer to their destination, her heart hamring against her ribs until his voice cut through the tension again.

"If you are nervous about the mark on your cheek, you needn’t be."

She tilted her head to look at him, her eyes searching his for a trace of mockery. "Those who do not carry such a mark can never truly understand," she murmured.

"It is remarkable that you chose not to hide your face tonight," Damian stated. "It shows that you do not see it as a weakness. So, remain as you are. Keep that confidence."

Eilika gazed at him in disbelief, her breath hitching. She wondered if she had heard him correctly was this a genuine complint from the man who had ignored her ever since their wedding took place?

She then lowered her head, taking a slow, deep breath to steady her fraying nerves. The smooth ride ended all too soon as the motorcar glided to a halt in front of a sprawling, grand estate. Through the window, she watched a line of traditional carriages being parked in the distance, noble couples erging from them.

The door was suddenly pulled open, and Damian stood there. Eilika gathered the shimring folds of her gown and carefully stepped onto the red carpet. She reached for Damian’s hand to steady herself; his grip was firm as he helped her up, then he tucked her hand securely around his arm.

As they began the ascent up the grand staircase, the eyes of arriving guests began to prickle against her skin.

"The Duke did not ntion this party during the day," she whispered.

"I forgot," Damian replied.

"Really?" She let out a soft chuckle, though there was no humor in it. "It seems to be a rather significant event for you to attend and even bring along."

"It is," Damian replied, his gaze fixed forward as they reached the massive gilded doors of the ballroom. "And as you are now my wife in na, I am required to bring you."

They halted for a fleeting mont before the gilded doors. As they stepped inside, the opulence of the ballroom took Eilika’s breath away; the ceiling was a masterpiece of frescoes, and the chandeliers hung like frozen rain, cast in gold. With Damian’s strong arm supporting her, she felt a flicker of safety, a shield against the world.

"Stay here. I must greet the Crown Prince," Damian said, his tone shifting back to business. Before she could even part her lips to protest, he withdrew his arm and vanished, leaving her anchored to the spot.

The sudden coldness where his arm had been made Eilika’s heart sink. She stood exposed under the harsh brilliance of the chandeliers, feeling the weight of a hundred gazes turning toward her. The whispers began almost instantly that felt like needles against her skin.

"Is that the new Duchess?"

"Look at her face... I thought the rumors were exaggerations."

Her brow furrowed in distress. Desperate to escape the spotlight, she began to navigate the edge of the room, searching for a shadowy corner or a heavy velvet curtain where she could hide until the Duke returned.

"Ahh!" Eilika gasped as she bumped into a woman in her haste to find a corner. She apologized quickly, taking a few stumbling steps back, only for her head to collide with a firm, broad chest. She spun around, her face flushing with heat.

"Forgive ," she stamred, looking down. A wave of stifled laughter rippled through the nearby nobles at her clumsiness, making her want to vanish into the floorboards.

"It is quite alright, Lady Eilika," a warm, lodic voice replied.

Surprised that he knew her na, she looked up and realized the man before her radiated high noble status. His uniform was immaculate, and his smile lacked the cold edge she was used to seeing in the Duke’s mansion. "Pardon ... I didn’t recognize you," she admitted.

"I am Damian’s second cousin and the Crown Prince’s younger brother, Sylvian Van Kingsley."

Eilika’s eyes widened in shock.

Van Kingsley. It was the royal surna.

The realization hit her that she had married into the royal bloodline without even knowing it. She quickly dropped into a deep, trembling curtsy. "Your Highness, please forgive my ignorance."

"Rise, Duchess. There is no need for such formality in a hallway," Sylvian said with a lighthearted wave of his hand. "My brother is currently occupied talking with our eldest brother, the Crown Prince. I was actually present at your wedding, you know. Damian being the cold man he is didn’t even show up to his own altar, that was truly a bitter thing to witness."

"I... I am sorry. I had no idea you were there," Eilika murmured.

Sylvian signaled a passing waiter, taking a glass of fresh fruit juice from the silver tray and handing it to Eilika. For himself, he snagged a glass of bubbling champagne.

Eilika took a slow sip of the juice, her brow furrowing as she looked toward the dais.

’Why nobody told about his true origins? Wait! Does anyone even know that he’s the cousin to the princes,’ she thought when her eyes t Damian’s, who suddenly smiled at her, leaving her in confusion.