"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." Elizabeth's voice trembled as she attempted to wipe away her tears, only for fresh ones to replace them. "I-I don't know why I'm crying! I-I can't stop it! I'm sorry..."
The Duke stood from his chair and fetched a handkerchief from his pocket. Gently, he eased Elizabeth's shaking hands away from her tear-stained face and tenderly wiped at her cheeks as tears continued to stream down and began to breathe loudly—in, out, in, out, in, out.
Elizabeth was initially puzzled until she was struggling to catch her breath. It wasn't until she mirrored the Duke's rhythmic breathing that she found relief, her chest rising and falling in harmony with his.
"Never feel the need to apologize to me for crying, Elizabeth," the Duke spoke, his voice even softer than usual. "I shouldn't have exposed you to all that so suddenly. Forgive me for startling you. But I believe you need to understand the sacrifices that power demands sooner...rather than later. Cry, Elizabeth, for as long as you need—there's no shame in shedding tears, especially for the sake of others."
Elizabeth's tears poured down her face as her mind swirled with all her emotions. She had long recognized her propensity to tears, driven by her deep empathy for others' pain, but these tears felt primal—beyond comprehension. She felt as though her tears belonged to her and someone who was her—yet not me—a paradox of emotions too vast to contain.
In his attempt to offer some comfort, the Duke gently brushed the top of her head. However, instead of soothing her, it triggered another wave of tears she struggled to contain. Elizabeth instinctively buried her face into the Duke, unaware of how closely she had pulled herself into his embrace.
Nor the calming effect it was already having on her mind.
The Duke didn't mind being so close to Elizabeth, as his sole concern was Elizabeth's well-being at that moment. He didn't care whether it took hours or a lifetime—he would wait until her tears ceased while tenderly brushing her hair, offering the only silent comfort he knew.
Gradually, Elizabeth's cries dwindled into silence, eventually fading away altogether. She moved back, and the Duke turned away, allowing her the privacy to compose herself while swiftly tidying his attire to spare her any further embarrassment.
"Are we alright now?" the Duke questioned softly, his voice filled with genuine concern as he sat down.
"Yes, I'm sorr—I mean, I'm okay now," Elizabeth replied, her voice still having a bit of a tremble.
Attempting to summon a smile, the Duke could see she found it challenging as traces of pain lingered in her puffy eyes and intermittent sniffling. The Duke couldn't help but feel guilt for causing her such pain once more. Desiring to shift their focus to a more uplifting topic, he sought out a simple question that might momentarily lift her spirits.
"Elizabeth...what's your favorite flower?" the Duke questioned, landing on one such question.
"W-What?" Elizabeth replied, puzzled by the unexpected question.
"It's my question. I want to know what your favorite flower is," the Duke repeated, a faint smile playing on his lips as he settled into his chair.
"Is that really what you want to ask?" Elizabeth questioned. "It seems rather trivial given...everything you just shared."
"Elizabeth, the things you hold dear are not the least bit trivial. Not to me, at least," the Duke reassured, noticing a faint blush coloring Elizabeth's cheeks—she was coming back alive. "So! Which flower is your favorite? Oh, wait, you do have one?"
YOU ARE READING
The Duke's Secrets
FantasiaFor a decade, the Northern Dukedom of Blakemore has endured the iron-fisted rule of Duke Dominic Samael Blakemore, a ruthless ruler who conceals his face behind a menacing horned mask. Those who have seen him described him as a towering and slender...
