The Duke's Unwa Chapter 76: Pour out in her arms

Chapter 76: Pour out in her arms

Eilika drifted along the narrow dirt ribbon that cut through the heart of the tulip field, her fingers grazing the velvet petals as she passed.

The vibrant colors seemed to glow against the backdrop of the clear sky.

They continued their ascent until they reached a solitary, ancient tree crowning a small rise, its heavy branches casting a wide circle of cool shadow over the blossoms.

"What tree is this?" Eilika asked, turning back to him with a look of wonder.

"It is a Cedar of ham," Damian replied, his eyes tracing the rugged, horizontal reach of its limbs. "They are known for their endurance. This one must have stood here for centuries, watching the seasons change."

"It’s magnificent," Eilika murmured. "The shade makes it a perfect spot to rest."

She began to lower herself toward the grass, but Damian quickly reached out, his hand catching her arm. "Wait!"

Before she could ask why, he reached into his coat and withdrew a silver-silk handkerchief. With a fluid motion, he snapped it open and smoothed it over the ground to protect her gown from the earth. "Now," he said softly, "you may sit."

Eilika felt a surge of warmth that had nothing to do with the sun. She was deeply touched by the quiet, gentlemanly care he showed in these small moments. She settled onto the silk and looked up at him, her eyes soft. "Won’t you sit as well?"

He nodded and lowered his tall frame beside her, resting his back against the rough, sturdy bark of the trunk. For a moment, neither of them spoke, content to simply listen to the rustle of the wind.

"I went with my mother to a garden just like this once. I must have been only four or five," Eilika said softly, her gaze drifting over the swaying tulips.

"It is the only clear, vivid memory I still hold of her. On the first anniversary of her passing, when I visited her grave, I found it completely covered in wild flowers. It was the only one in the entire graveyard that looked that way. She must have been a truly good soul for the earth to remember her like that, don’t you think?"

Eilika let out a long, shaky sigh as the memory settled over her like a heavy shroud.

Damian watched her, the stoic lines of his face softening. He realized then that beneath her grace, a part of her still yearned for the mother she had lost too soon. He knew all too well that the void left by a loving parent is a hollow space that no amount of time or title can ever truly fill.

"Nature has a way of honoring those who cared for it," Damian said. "If the flowers sought her out, then she must have been exactly the woman you remember."

"The first time I met Roman, I saw a reflection of my own past in him," Eilika said. "I felt that same desperate yearning I once had toward my stepmother. He looked so fragile, torn between being too scared to hope and too hopeful to let go. Growing up without his mother nearby, it must have carved a hollow in him that words can’t quite reach."

Damian looked at her, truly struck by the depth of her empathy. "I suppose I never looked at it quite that way," he admitted. "I convinced myself he was growing up well enough, surrounded by servants and tutors. But I see now how much was missing. You have already brought a light to his face that I haven’t seen in years."

"I will be the best mother I can be for him," Eilika affirmed, her eyes shining with resolve. "I want him to grow up and say, with pride, that his mother did everything for him."

In that moment, the weight of his own mother’s insistence finally made sense to Damian. She had been right; no one else could have stepped into this role. Eilika didn’t just occupy a position; she knew how to wrap a soul in the kind of love that healed old wounds.

"Eilika," he said.

"Hmm?" she murmured, tilting her head.

She watched in quiet confusion as Damian’s fingers went to the collar of his shirt, undoing the top button.

Her breath hitched slightly, wondering why he did that. Just then, he reached inside and pulled out a fine, shimmering chain that had been hidden beneath his clothes. Hanging from it was a small, intricate jade pendant that seemed to catch the fading light.

Damian held the delicate chain in his palm, the pale green jade catching the soft sunlight. "This has been a charm for me for many years," he said, his voice steady. "I want you to have it."

He leaned forward to drape it around her neck, but Eilika gently caught his wrist. "It clearly holds great meaning for you, Damian. You should keep it."

"My father gave this to me when I turned ten," he explained, not pulling his hand away. "He told me that unless I found someone truly worthy of this charm, I must never part with it. I believe I have finally found that person."

Eilika’s eyes widened, her fingers trembling slightly against his skin. "You are trying to give me a piece of your father’s legacy. I cannot accept something so precious, Damian. It belongs with you."

"You see," Damian continued, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "jade pendants like this are traditionally worn by women. My father always longed for a daughter, but that was a wish that never came to pass. He bought this from a merchant and entrusted it to me, told me that one day, when I took a wife, I should pass it on to her. I hope you understand what I am trying to say, Eilika."

He didn’t wait for her to refuse again. He moved behind her, his fingers brushing the nape of her neck as he fastened the clasp.

Damian looked away, his jaw tightening as he stared into the distance. "I never felt the need to give it to Liliana," he admitted. "She was my past, Eilika. And as much as I cherished her, I’ve realized she took my peace with her when she left."

Eilika watched the turmoil in his eyes, realizing just how much he was struggling to untether himself from a ghost. "You think of her so often that she has become a fixture of your mind," she said gently.

"I have a friend who is a doctor; he once told me the brain is a strange thing. It dwells most on our deepest fears. Perhaps that is why you still see her because your mind is haunted by the ’what ifs’ and the grief you haven’t let go of."

"Maybe," Damian whispered, the word caught in his throat. "I promised her eternity, yet she met her end while she was with me. I was supposed to protect her."

"Don’t say that, Damian," Eilika urged, reaching out to rest her hand over his on the silk handkerchief. "No one could have predicted what happened. It was not your fault. If you are carrying her demise as a personal failure, you must stop. You cannot heal if you are constantly punishing yourself for a tragedy you couldn’t control."

The rain began to fall in earnest now, drumming against the thick canopy of the Cedar of Lebanon, but Damian seemed oblivious to the cold.

"I promised her father that I would keep his daughter happy," he said, his voice fracturing as his eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. "But what did I do? Within one year of marriage, she was gone. I failed them both."

Eilika felt the depth of his pain. She remembered how, in the beginning, she had thought his behavior erratic, perhaps even a sign of a fracturing mind.

But as the layers stripped away, she realized his suffering was a silent, suffocating weight that no one in the palace could truly grasp.

He hadn’t just lost a wife; he had lost the future he had built his entire identity around protecting. He had wanted to grow old with Liliana, and share a lifetime of peace.

Without a second thought, she moved forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling his trembling frame into a firm embrace. She could feel the tension in his shoulders, the rigid armor he wore every day, finally starting to give way.

"It’s alright, Damian," she whispered. She reached up, gently caressing his back as she held him. "You fought so hard. You gave her everything you had. But we have no control over life and death, no matter how much power we hold. This is the bitterest truth of all, but it is not your burden to carry alone anymore."

Damian didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned his forehead against her shoulder, his breath hitching as he finally let the grief of five years pour out in her arms.