The Duke's Reluctant Bride

Chapter 24: The Cold That Remains

Pain struck Adeline like a poison through her chest—sharp and unrelenting. She staggered, her hands trembling, struggling to suppress a gasp.

The spell I placed on Lucien... It also allows me to feel his pain. It must be because he's using dark magic. What is happening there?

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to steady her breath. She had no time to hesitate—the Duke was in danger.

Adeline pushed herself upright—her decision was already made. She turned to Quentin, urgency flaring in her eyes as she handed Clara into his arms.

"Quentin, hold Clara for me."

Quentin blinked, startled by the sudden shift. "Duchess, what are you..." he paused as he saw the determined look in Adeline's eyes.

He hesitated, adjusting his grip around Clara's small frame. The girl's hands clung to his coat, her body still weak from the magical outburst. Quentin exhaled sharply, nodding despite his confusion. "Please be careful."

Stepping back, he watched as Adeline lifted a hand, magic beginning to pulse around her.

Thanks to Clara's magic surge earlier, not only was my body healed, but my mana was also restored. This should be enough.

She took a deep breath and raised her fingers, tracing a glowing sigil in the air. Light swirled around her, spiraling in amber arcs, illuminating the night.

"Lumenis porta, viam mihi aperi. Lux viam ducat, meum corpus transferat." (Gate of Light, open the way for me. Let the light guide the path and carry my body.)

The incantation rang through the air, woven with power. The magic coiled tighter, forming a pillar of brilliance that engulfed her. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for the pull of radiant crossing.

Hang in there, Your Grace.

And then, in a single flash of light—she disappeared.

Quentin adjusted his hold on Clara, exhaling slowly. Ivy approached in front of him, her ears flattening against her head, her tail swishing in agitation.

Quentin let out a smile as he noticed Ivy's concern. "I am sure the duchess will be fine, Ivy; now let's go." Quentin muttered, shifting Clara in his arms as he turned toward the approaching lords.

The night was far from over.

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The cold wind brushed against Lucien's face as he confronted Darvok. His eyes darted toward the seal, but his arms screamed in agony, on the verge of giving out. He fought past his limits, yet his swings grew shallow.

Darvok noticed. A low chuckle escaped him as he swung his blade with brutal force. Lucien's sword slipped from his weakening grip, flying across the battlefield before impaling a distant tree with a dull thunk.

Lucien's eyes widened in shock. I'm getting weaker too...

Seeing his guard down, Darvok sneered "Time to end this, Duke of Wintermere." he lunged, driving his sword toward him.

At the last moment, Lucien slammed his hand into the snow-covered ground, raising a wall of ice between them.

Darvok's sword embedded itself in the frozen barricade. He yanked at the hilt, but the blade refused to budge, as if the ice itself were swallowing it. He sneered, a slight irritation creeping into his face.

Before Lucien could move, a pain surged through his body—a searing, venomous agony. His knees buckled as he groaned, his strength draining away. A glowing purple vein surfaced on his neck.