The Duke's Unwanted Second Wife

"Damian, did you not bring your wife tonight?" the Crown Prince, Ciaran Van Kingsley, asked.

"I have," Damian replied.

"Then, bring her to us. The Crown Princess will be happy to make her acquaintance," Ciaran said, glancing toward his wife, Evangeline. She was several yards away, the center of a lively circle of friends, her laughter blending with the orchestral music.

Seeing Damian remain motionless, Ciaran lowered his voice, his expression sharpening with a touch of brotherly reprimand. "Now that you are married, you shouldn’t hesitate to stand beside her. I heard the rumors that you weren’t even present at your own wedding altar. A scandalous move, even for you."

The Crown Prince lifted his glass and took a slow sip of champagne, his eyes tracking the movement in the room. "Thankfully, you had the sense to attend this gala. Don’t make your wife a feel low among the people, Damian. It reflects poorly on the family."

"I am not related to the royal family," Damian said.

"Don’t say that," Ciaran countered, unmoved by the Duke’s icy demeanor. "Even though your father was removed from the palace, the King was careful not to deprive you or your mother of your rights. Varos might be a small territory, but your administrative abilities are admired by the King. You carry the blood of royals, Damian, whether you care to acknowledge it or not."

Before Damian could retort, the ballroom plunged into darkness. A collective gasp rippled through the ballroom as the hundreds of smaller wall lamps flickered out simultaneously. The only light remaining was the massive golden chandelier at the center of the ceiling.

"Please excuse me, Your Highness. I suppose the dance is going to start soon," Damian said, bowing his head before turning to leave.

By the time he reached Eilika’s side, the official dance had begun. The Crown Prince and Princess had taken their place in the center of the floor, moving in perfect unison to the gentle notes of the piano.

"Prince Sylvian. It is a pleasure to see you," Damian greeted. He glanced at Eilika, who was still clutching her glass of juice as if it were a lifeline.

"Brother, you are elder than me," Sylvian reminded him with a playful smirk, though his eyes remained sharp. "There is no need for such stiff greetings."

"Not in title," Damian corrected. "Thank you for keeping my wife company in my absence." He turned his full attention to Eilika, extending his hand. "Shall we dance, Eilika?"

Eilika had many questions to ask him, but seeing the atmosphere she chose silence.

"Hmm," she gave a nod. She placed her glass on the nearby round table and finally looked at him.

Damian led her to the center of the ballroom, weaving through the swaying couples until they were under the direct glow of the great chandelier. Eilika’s fingers tightened around his, her gaze darting toward the faces in the crowd.

"Stay relaxed and keep your eyes on me," Damian commanded.

As she looked up, her heart gave a sudden, traitorous thump. At this proximity, the harshness of his features softened into something breathtaking. She noticed a tiny detail she had missed in the chaos of the previous day, a small, dark mole resting just to the left of his lips.

Eilika began to move with him, her steps finding the rhythm as her nerves finally began to steady.

"The Duke didn’t tell me he was related to the royal family," she said. "I don’t understand the meaning of this dance, either. You wanted to hide me from the world, yet you brought me here."

"If it wasn’t necessary, I wouldn’t have bothered," Damian replied. Without warning, he lifted her hand, guiding her into a swift, elegant twirl. Before she could catch her breath, he drew her back sharply, her back hitting the solid warmth of his chest as he held her in a protective embrace.

"They were laughing at me," Eilika murmured, her eyes momentarily downcast as she remembered the snickers in the hallway.

Damian frowned to hear that. He pulled back slightly, forcing her to face him again as they continued to glide across the floor.

"Then do not give them the satisfaction of your silence," he stated firmly. "You are the Duchess of Varos. Have you never heard the saying that scars leave beautiful traces?"

Eilika shook her head slowly, her steps faltering for a fraction of a second. "How can a scar be beautiful? It is a mark of something broken."

"It has a deep meaning," Damian replied, his gaze intense as he guided her through a graceful turn. "The point is this: do not let them dictate your worth. If you consider yourself beautiful, then you are. The opinions of others should be nothing more than noise to you."

Eilika looked directly into his dark eyes, her gaze unwavering. "And what of your opinion? Do you find me beautiful, Duke?"

"My opinion should not matter to you either," he replied, keeping that stoic attitude.

Eilika felt a disappointment, but before she could retract the question, the music reached a crescendo. Damian pulled her closer for the final sequence of the waltz, his hand firm against the small of her back.

"You’re beautiful. There is no doubt in that," Damian replied, the honesty in his voice causing Eilika’s heart to flutter wildly. "But then again, as I said, my opinions should not matter to you."

"Thank you... For calling me beautiful," Eilika whispered, feeling overwhelmed suddenly. The years of cruel remarks and isolation seemed to melt away under his gaze. Her nose turned a faint pink and her eyes grew misty with tears.

At that exact moment, the music reached its final note and the orchestra fell silent. The ballroom held its breath, but it was shattered when the clumsy couple dancing beside them lost their balance.

The force of the collision sent Eilika stumbling forward. With no time to react, she was thrown against Damian’s chest. Her hands flew up to his shoulders for support, but the momentum carried her further until her lips pressed firmly against his.

"Sorry!" Eilika quickly moved back, pressing a hand on her mouth before running away from the ballroom.