Filed to story: Elowen Hale and Duke Cassian Valebourne Book PDF Free
So Leonhart stepped in.
As he took her hand and led her forward, laughter and well-wishes rose all around them. Amid the noise, he leaned closer, lowering his voice.
“Elowen… Alaric won’t be coming today.”
She paused, just for a fraction of a second.
Of all things to bring up-today?
“He’s… unwell,” Leonhart continued. “Ever since I returned from the palace, he’s been sick. Still hasn’t recovered. The palace ordered it kept quiet…”
He hesitated, as if there was more he wanted to say.
Elowen sighed softly and cut him off.
“Leonhart,” she said gently, “I stopped caring about His Highness a long time ago. I know you mean well-but the past is the past.”
She looked ahead, her voice steady.
“Eyes are meant to look forward. Not back.”
The words lodged in his throat.
Elowen lifted her hand and gave his arm a light, reassuring pat, her smile soft. “It’s my wedding day. Let’s be happy, alright? And next time we meet… remember to call me Aunt.”
Leonhart lowered his gaze, a strange mix of emotions tightening in his chest-bittersweet, complicated.
Outside the Hale Manor, the procession was already waiting.
Music filled the air-drums beating, horns ringing bright.
The escort from the Duskmoor Manor had arrived early.
This was a royal marriage, decreed by the King himself and overseen by the Queen. Every detail was immaculate-lavish beyond reproach.
And yet…
Elowen couldn’t shake the feeling-that this procession was grander than the one she had walked in her previous life.
As though the Duskmoor Manor had been waiting for this day… for a very long time.
–
Because the Duke remained unconscious, the ceremony was kept brief.
After the essential rites were completed, Elowen was led toward the bridal chamber.
As she passed beneath the courtyard gates, her gaze flicked to the guards stationed on either side-hands firm on their sword hilts, expressions sharp and unyielding.
She had heard the stories.
Her father used to say-the number of enemies who wanted Duke Cassian dead spoke louder than any praise.
The bridal chamber was vast, elegant, draped in pristine white.
In her previous life, the Crown Prince’s chambers had been far simpler.
After the ceremonial wine, Alaric had left her there-alone-to entertain guests.
He never returned.
She had waited for hours in silence, the heavy ceremonial crown pressing down until her neck ached, her breath growing shallow beneath its weight.
That would not happen again.
Elowen’s gaze shifted to the bed.
Cassian lay there, motionless, eyes closed.
The Valebourne bloodline was famed for its beauty.
Alaric was refined-polished, flawless.
Cassian…was something else entirely.
Sharp. Striking. Dangerous.
Like a blade still in its sheath-silent, but lethal.
A broad-shouldered man stepped forward and bowed deeply. “Bran Holt at your service, my lady.”
Elowen recognized him immediately-Cassian’s most trusted lieutenant… and now, his keeper.
He had lost his left eye. Usually, he wore a leather patch. Today, for the wedding, it had been replaced with a strip of gold silk-an oddly festive touch.
Rumors about this guy had always been wild.
Some claimed Bran stood nine feet tall.
Others said he feasted on human flesh.
Yet the man before her bowed with absolute respect.
“His Grace has been asleep for over half a year,” Bran said carefully. “He’s grown a bit thinner, but otherwise, he’s in good condition. He takes his medicine daily. In this heat, we bathe him every other day.”
Elowen said nothing.
Bran mistook her silence for reluctance and hurried on. “Please don’t worry, my lady. Everything is handled. A separate chamber has been prepared for you, just across the hall-“
Elowen shook her head.
Bran stiffened. “Then… would you prefer another courtyard?”
Since the Duke’s fall, many attendants had been assigned to his care. But most were negligent-skipping medicine, cutting corners, assuming a man who could neither see nor speak would never know.
Once, the Duke had been revered.
Now-he was pitied.
Or worse… despised.
Bran assumed a noble lady from Hale Manor would feel the same.
“No need.”
Elowen’s voice was soft, calm as a spring breeze.
Her gaze rested on the man lying on the bed.
“The Duke and I are husband and wife now. There is no such thing as separate chambers.”
She paused, then added gently-
“From tonight onward… I will share his bed.”
Bran froze, eyes widening in shock.
“It’s getting late,” Elowen said with a faint smile. “I’ll go freshen up.”
Without another word, she turned and walked away.
She did not see it-the faintest movement.
At Cassian’s side, his fingers twitched.
Just once.
The dressing table had been set up in the adjoining chamber. It was clearly brand new-darkwood, finely crafted, its surface polished to a rich, glossy sheen that caught the light. A clear mirror rested on the tabletop, beside an intricately carved wooden casket.”You’re so gorgeous, my lady. It’s such a shame His Grace couldn’t see you on your wedding day.”
Mira, Elowen’s dowry handmaid, gently let Elowen’s hair down, her movements careful and unhurried. Her voice was light, almost wistful.
Elowen curved her lips into a faint smile. “There’s nothing to regret. Beautiful women are everywhere in this world. I’m nothing special.”
She was only seventeen.
Cassian was ten years older than she was.
In those ten extra years, he must have seen countless women-some alluring, some sweet and bright, some bold enough to leave an impression. Compared to them, her face probably seemed painfully ordinary.
And besides, even surrounded by beauty, Cassian had never married. Rumor had it that his heart already belonged to someone else.
