Chapter 142: When Fear Took the Bait

Chapter 142: Chapter 142: When Fear Took the Bait

That too from a mere maid!

The hatred in her heart towards Elysia burned brighter.

Meanwhile, seizing the chance to change the subject, Ilara said, "The matter at hand today is selecting a wedding date. Why dwell on old history?"

Elysia readily agreed, going along with the Queen.

"Just now, Lady Deborah chose the sixteenth of November, right? That’s only a few weeks away. It feels far too rushed."

Ilara thought it over.

"It is a bit hurried."

Elysia glanced at Deborah.

"Lady Deborah, your marriage to the Crown Prince is a certainty. There is no need for such haste." She paused, letting the words settle before adding, almost gently, "Unless you think something is going to go wrong midway?"

A flicker of unease stirred within Deborah.

Had anyone else said this, she might have shrugged it off.

But it was Elysia.

After all, Elysia had been madly in love with Vaelen since childhood, and until the victory banquet, she had been the woman everyone expected him to marry.

Now, as the Duchess of Draevenor, her proximity to the King was higher than it had ever been — and a change of heart wasn’t impossible, especially if the Duke agreed to it.

Word around the court claimed Cassiel had long harboured a beloved of his own. If that was true, it wasn’t so difficult to imagine him letting Elysia go without much of a fight.

Deborah’s fingers curled slightly in her lap.

No.

She could not take that risk.

"The twenty-second of February seems favourable," Elysia suggested, before Deborah could speak up.

She glanced at the two dates on the tray before continuing calmly, "Though it’s next year, it allows ample time for preparation. A wedding assembled in haste rarely reflects well on either family — and Lady Deborah deserves a ceremony remembered for its grandeur, not its speed."

The suggestion sounded, on its surface, like a compliment.

Ilara nodded slightly, entirely persuaded.

"That is true. A rushed wedding does invite talk."

Deborah’s throat tightened.

She understood, with sudden clarity, exactly what Elysia had done.

To object now would mean admitting, in front of the Queen, that she had a reason to fear delay.

But to say nothing would mean watching her wedding slip a full season further away, into a future that felt, the longer she considered it, disturbingly unguaranteed.

Ilara was already turning towards the senior maid, prepared to confirm it, when Deborah suddenly blurted out.

"No!"

The sharpness of her response made Ilara frown and turn towards her.

Deborah immediately realised that she had reacted too quickly.

But there was no way to take the word back now.

"Your Majesty, I implore you. The wedding date must be the sixteenth of November!"

Seeing that Deborah had taken the bait, Elysia remained completely composed.

She picked up her cup again and gently swirled the liquid inside.

She did not drink.

She merely watched the tea move in slow circles, as though the matter had nothing to do with her — as though she had not spent the better part of the conversation quietly walking Deborah toward exactly this outburst.

Suppressing her impatience, Ilara gently asked, "And why is that, my dear?"

"Because... because..."

Deborah’s mind raced.

She needed a reason.

Any reason that sounded convincing enough.

"Because the twenty-second of February..."

She lowered her gaze.

"I once had a seer read my fate. He specifically mentioned that that date is bad luck for me."

Her voice became softer.

"I’m worried... the bad omen will rub off on His Highness." ℯℯ𝘭.

The excuse was weak.

Ilara was not fully convinced.

She studied Deborah for a moment before looking at the two dates again, clearly weighing whether the matter was worth pressing further.

Deborah quickly softened her voice.

"Your Majesty, please trust me."

She clasped her hands together.

"With the palace and my family preparing together, everything will be ready swiftly. It won’t feel rushed."

She continued pleading with Ilara for quite some time — reasons layered upon reasons, each one a little more elaborate than the last, until even Deborah herself seemed uncertain which of them she actually believed.

Elysia listened quietly.

She did not interrupt.

There was no need.

The slightest nudge, and Deborah had done the rest of the work herself, building her own cage out of nothing more than fear — the suggestion that something might go wrong if she waited.

Eventually, Ilara relented.

"Very well."

Her gaze moved towards the maid.

"Set the wedding for the sixteenth of November."

Elysia’s hand, which had been slowly swirling the cup, paused briefly.

A slight smile touched her eyes.

The Corvis estate was even farther from the palace than Hartwell Manor.

In her past life, Elysia’s wedding had been soaked by a torrential downpour.

The bridal procession had already been a complete mess.

And on the sixteenth, with wind, rain, and thunder—

That would be total chaos.

Especially for Vaelen, who so despised rainy days.

Perhaps a significant portion of his hatred for her in that life had stemmed from that wretched, muddy wedding day, though he had never once said so directly. Some grudges did not need to be spoken aloud to be nursed for years.

She wondered what gossip would circulate now, with that kind of a storm raining down on a royal procession. A little rain had been enough to brand her a bad omen for years. What, then, would people say about a storm?

Elysia lowered her eyes, concealing the faint amusement within them.

She had not forced Deborah to choose the date.

She had merely made Deborah afraid of choosing anything else.

Just then a maid entered the hall.

"Your Majesty, Your Grace."

She bowed before announcing, "The Crown Prince is here."

Elysia looked towards the entrance.

Outside, Vaelen had arrived in a confused rush, braving the rain.

Only as he stood at the entrance of Everbloom Hall did he seem to realise just how impulsive his decision had been.

He looked down at his dampened robes and shoes.

His brows immediately furrowed.

He hated the rain.

He hated the uncomfortable feeling of wet fabric and soaked shoes even more.

Yet the servants had already seen him and announced his arrival.

It was too late for second thoughts.

He had to enter.

Vaelen stepped into the hall.

"Greetings, Mother."

He paused.

Then, almost reluctantly, added, "Greetings, Aunt."

Seated above, Elysia looked surprised.

Did the sun rise in the west?

Vaelen had greeted her voluntarily.

She stared at him for a moment.

Then she remembered.

No.

It’s raining today.

There is no sun.

Ilara smiled.

"What brings you here at this hour? Did you hear Deborah was in the palace and come to see her?"

Hearing this, Deborah immediately lowered her head in shy delight.

Just as I predicted.

The moment His Highness learned I was here, he came...

Vaelen hesitated briefly.

Then he offered a slight smile, not denying it.

Elysia observed him thoughtfully.

Vaelen hated rain.

On a day like this, and not at the usual time to pay respects, he had come all the way from the Crown Prince’s Wing to Everbloom Hall.

It’d be hard to believe if he said it was not to see his fiancée.

He must have genuine feelings for Deborah.

Elysia mused.

But it was none of her concern.

Vaelen disliked her, and she disliked him — perhaps even more so.

Being in the same room with him felt distasteful.

Elysia set down her cup and stood.

"Your Majesty, if there is nothing else, I shall take my leave. The manor has a lot waiting for me."

Ilara immediately made a show of urging her to stay.

"I had you come today since it’s been so long and I wanted to chat. It’s rare for us to find the time. Why not stay a bit longer?"

Elysia smiled.

"Another time, perhaps."

She lightly placed a hand against her knee.

"My old injuries are aching terribly in this weather. I need to get back and put on some medicine. I beg Your Majesty’s understanding."

The moment she mentioned her knees, Vaelen’s brow furrowed.

A sharp change came over his expression.

His gaze instinctively fell towards her legs.

The memory of her injured, splint-bound legs flashed through his mind.

Ilara nodded. At this point, she could no longer push Elysia to stay.

Elysia gave a slight curtsy.

"Your Majesty."

She turned to leave.

Vaelen could not help but let his gaze follow her legs as she walked away.

"Your Highness."

Deborah’s soft voice drew his attention back.

He turned towards her.

"Her Majesty and I just settled on a wedding date."

She smiled.

"It will be the sixteenth of November."

Vaelen was distracted.

His attention still seemed to linger on the Duchess who was leaving.

He just perfunctorily stated, "Sounds good," but otherwise showed no reaction.

Deborah’s smile faltered.

She bit her lip.

"Your Highness..."

Vaelen did not immediately respond.

His mind was clearly elsewhere.

Then, suddenly, he turned towards Ilara.

"Mother."

He paused.

"I just remembered there’s something I haven’t taken care of."