The duchess’s words hung heavy in the air, but Linnea, who had been silent all this ti, suddenly lifted her head. Her hollow eyes sparked with sothing fragile and burning. Without warning, she fell to her knees, her voice breaking as she cried, "My Lord, please... take to the General’s mansion. I can feel it—my son is alive. My Sandoz..." Her voice cracked, and tears fell freely from her eyes while her hands clawed at the hem of his robe.
Connor stared at her, heart pounding painfully in his chest. His hands trembled as he reached down, pulling her to her feet. "Stop crying," he said, voice softer than he intended. "Freshen up. I won’t have you seen in such a state at the General’s estate."
He cast a stern look at the two servants. "Dress your Madam properly and fix her hair well. If she arrives at the mansion looking like a beggar, do not bother coming back."
The maids glanced at the duchess briefly before bowing hastily and hurried Linnea away. Connor watched them go, the weight of anticipation pressing heavy on his shoulders.
...
At the General Norse’s Manor.
"Please be seated, My Lord, Madams." The butler spoke respectfully as he gestured toward the cushioned seat in the reception room.
Duke Connor Arces, his wife, Eloisa, and his concubine, Linnea, took a seat. The duke sat stiffly, his gaze fixed on the frosted window. His fingers drumd absently on his knee, betraying the anxiety simring beneath his composed exterior. He felt his palms were clammy and rubbed them against his tunic, then he would shift back to drumming his knees.
A son.
He whispered the word under his breath, barely daring to believe it. But sowhere deep inside, a fire had been kindled—small and flickering, but unmistakably real.
He wanted to believe and hope, but at the sa ti, he was afraid that it was just a hoax and that the boy was not his son. If he was, why wait for two years before returning him?
He tried to rember what Sandara looked like, but he could not. His only mory of her was that of a timid girl whose half of her face was always covered by her bangs.
Beside him, Linnea sat in silence. She had been transford since that morning—her hair was braided neatly, pinned with silver clasps, and her dress, though simple, was pristine and well-fitted. Her thin arms were fully covered by a loose sleeve. She looked better now as her complexion was not as pale as earlier. Yet even with the maids’ best efforts, there was no masking the gauntness of her cheeks, nor the hollowness in her eyes. She clutched the edge of her seat with white-knuckled hands, her gaze never lifting from her lap.
"Behave yourself and sit properly, " Eloisa ordered her in a stern voice. Linnea was scared of the duchess, so she straightened her back while clutching the hem of her blouse.
It did not take long before General Odin and his wife entered the drawing room side by side. They were a picture of a loving couple, and Eloisa clenched her teeth.
"Greetings, Duke and Duchess Arces." Both Odin and Freya bowed slightly to show their respect. The duke had a higher status than they after all.
"Don’t bother with the formality, Odin. We are still friends after all." Duke Arches said, while eagerly looking behind them.
"Freya, dear, how are you doing?" Eloisa asked with practiced ease. "I haven’t seen you for a long ti. I’m sorry I missed your daughter’s coming-of-age ceremony yesterday. I was under the weather." She chuckled softly.
Freya scoffed. Of course, she knew that it was just an excuse. Eloisa did not attend because she had not attended her eldest daughter’s coming of age. But how could she when her husband was still fighting a war, and they were still grieving the death of their daughter at that ti?
"It is alright, Duchess. It is not a big deal," Freya said casually.
Eloisa noticed that Freya seed to be glowing. Although they were the sa age, Freya appeared to look younger than her. She even saw her husband’s gaze linger a little longer on Freya’s face.
"Odin, congratulations on your daughter’s return. I am so happy that she is alive and well." Duke Arces’ words were sincere. If the boy was his son, Odin’s daughter would be his saviour, a benefactor of the entire dukedom of Arces.
"Thank you, Connor. Congratulations also on gaining a son." He tapped his shoulder, and the duke felt his shoulder ache.
Damn! Didn’t he know how to be gentle? Just how heavy-handed was he? His gaze flicked to Freya, and he lanted. How could such a beautiful woman have a rough husband?
"You are still the sa, Odin. You are so heavy-handed. I feel that my shoulder was hit by a big stone. How could your wife handle you?"
Odin’s gaze darkened, and his hand on the duke beca even heavier.
"Ouch! Okay, I spoke out of line. Now let go of my shoulder." Duke Arces cried in pain. Who can bla him? While he trained in swordsmanship, he did not join any war, so his battle skills were diocre.
"Where is my son?" He decided to ask directly, as the general was unwilling to speak.
"He is over there." General Odin pointed to the opposite door, the one that led to the stairs to the second floor.
Duke Arces and Linnea turned their heads at the sa ti.
Beside a beautiful, tall woman, a boy stood, his hand clasped with the woman’s. His dark hair was tousled slightly as though he had been running. He wore simple clothes, well-kept but not extravagant. He looked up at the woman who seed to be talking to him, then turned slowly, his eyes eting theirs.
Linnea gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Her knees gave out, and she stumbled forward, clutching the edge of a chair for support. "Sandoz..." she whispered, voice cracking with disbelief. Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over her cheeks. "My baby... my Sandoz..."
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