Filed to story: Elowen Hale and Duke Cassian Valebourne Book PDF Free
“Her Grace’s got a good head on her shoulders and a kind heart. She raised the monthly wages for the servants and kitchen hands. Even arranged for chilled pea soup for them every afternoon… Lately, I hear folks whispering. They say since she arrived, life’s gotten better. They call her the Manor’s ‘lucky star.'”
Lucky star.
A faint smile touched Cassian’s lips.
An interesting turn of phrase.
“Oh, and word of your waking reached the palace. The Crown Prince was sent to visit,” Bran added.
Cassian’s head turned sharply. “The Crown Prince was here? Who received him?”
“Her Grace, of course.”
Cassian’s brow furrowed.
“But she didn’t give him an inch of ground,” Bran said, chuckling.
He recounted the exchange between Elowen and Alaric from the other day.
Cassian listened, his gaze deep and thoughtful. His fingers tapped a slow rhythm on the arm of his wheelchair.
Bran leaned in. “His Highness stormed out, puffed up like a bull. I made sure to sing Her Grace’s praises, said you like her and mean to treat her well.”
Cassian raised a brow. “You’ve learned a thing or two over the years.”
Bran chuckled, “Sticking by your side, I had to pick up a trick or two.”
Cassian acknowledged this with a slight nod, then changed the subject. “What of the army?”
Bran’s smile vanished, replaced by a weary sigh. “Since you’ve been gone, the commanders can’t agree on anything. Brawls among the ranks are common. And I’ve heard rumors that the clans to the north and west, hearing you’re lying unconscious, are itching to make a move.”
Cassian considered this for a moment. “Send word. A council of all commanding officers, three days from now, at the Northern Garrison. Mandatory attendance.”
“Yes, Your Grace!”
Not long after Bran finished helping him dress, Elowen returned, directing servants bearing trays of food.
The rich, savory aroma reached Cassian even from across the room.
The servants laid out the dishes. Elowen stood by, explaining, “These are spiced meatballs in broth. This is a ham hock and root vegetable stew. This is almond custard. And this,” she pointed to a small, creamy-looking dish, “is a sweetened walnut and honey paste. For after the meal, to cleanse the palate.”
Cassian sampled each one, his eyes growing progressively brighter with appreciation.
It was, indeed, exquisite.
No wonder her maid, Mira, was always raving about it.
Cassian, a man of simple tastes, found himself taking several extra bites.
He remembered hearing that Elowen learned to cook from her aunt, Isobel.
He also recalled hearing that she used to send her best dishes to the Crown Prince’s Wing.
So Alaric had tasted these flavors long ago.
Lucky bastard.
The thought made Cassian chew with a little more force.
“Oh, my lord,” Elowen remembered something.
“Yes?” Cassian didn’t look up from his stew.
“Princess Maerwyn’s birthday is in three days. There will be a banquet at the palace. The invitation arrived at the Manor some time ago. You were still unconscious, so I took the liberty of accepting it…”
“You are the Duchess. Accepting invitations is part of your duties. There is no ‘liberty’ involved.”
Elowen relaxed slightly. “Will you be attending, then?”
Cassian took a sip of the warm broth. “I have business that day.”
Elowen’s face fell, just a little.
Cassian paused, then added, “But if I finish in time, I will join you as soon as I can.”
Elowen opened her mouth, then shut it.
In her last life, something went down at Maerwyn’s birthday banquet.
Having lived through it once, Elowen had no desire to repeat the experience.
Now that Cassian was awake, his presence by her side would make all the difference.
But he had business that day.
His business probably mattered way more than hers.
That he tolerated her occupying the position of Duchess was generosity enough. To demand more would be to invite his annoyance-a lesson learned all too well from her marriage to Alaric.
So, she swallowed the words and simply nodded, her expression yielding. “Alright.”
She turned to leave.
“Wait.”
Cassian’s voice stopped her.
Puzzled, she looked back. “Is a dish not to your liking?”
Cassian raised a brow. “Did you snack in the kitchen?”
Elowen blinked, then quickly denied it. “Of course not!”
A faint amusement touched his eyes. “Then you worked hard to prepare this feast, yet you stand there watching me eat? Won’t you join me?”
Elowen stared, taken aback.
He’s inviting me to eat with him.
Alaric had never done such a thing. Sometimes, in a foul mood, he’d return to his wing and snap at her, “What use are you as a wife if you can’t even cook a proper meal?”
She’d rush to the kitchen.
She’d memorized his preferences-his fondness for subtly sweet flavors, his aversion to overly spicy food that made him break out in rashes.
If the meal displeased him, his mood would sour further. He might not speak to her for days.
So every time she cooked for him, it was with trembling hands and meticulous care, often emerging from the kitchen sweaty and exhausted. And while he ate, she would stand nearby, serving him-refilling his plate, ladling his soup.
“This ham is too salty.”
“This stew is undercooked.”
She’d listen intently, whispering apologies, “Got it. I’ll do better next time.”
They had never once shared a meal at the same table.
And now, Cassian was inviting her to do just that.
“It’s dull eating alone. Join me,” he said.
Ah. Because it’s dull.
Elowen nodded, understanding that sentiment all too well.
After her family was gone, she, too, had found meals lonely and tedious.
She sat down.
From Cassian’s vantage point, he saw her quiet profile.
Her gaze remained fixed on the dishes, her lashes lowered, effectively shielding whatever emotion lay beneath.
She seemed preoccupied, but since she offered nothing, he didn’t press.
They ate the rest of the meal in a companionable, if silent, peace, the only sounds the soft clink of cutlery against porcelain.
As they finished and dusk began to settle, Elowen sipped from a cup of water, a crucial realization suddenly dawning.
Cassian is awake!
