The Duke's Reluctant Bride

Chapter 36: The Reluctant Bride

Believing the fae's words, Clara chose to remain at the top of the bell tower. There was something in Evangeline's voice—calm, ancient, yet sincere—that stirred trust in her heart. She remembered what her magisters once said about them:

"The fae don't always speak plainly, but they do not lie. Their truths run deeper than most can see."

It might be true. Because right now, she had seen no falsehood in those shimmering eyes.

They sat together on the wide stone railing, the wind curling gently around them. The ledge was broad and solid—more like a balcony seat than a true rail—safe enough as long as one didn't lean too far. Still, Clara glanced down occasionally to ensure no one was watching from below—looking for her.

Their quiet conversation drifted between time and memory. Evangeline spoke of an age long faded—an era where she used to live, but no longer did. She described Alysanne not just as a sorceress, but as a woman who carried silence like a crown and light like a sword. Her creator—whom she admired.

Clara listened, her fingers loosely folded in her lap, until a question tugged at her thoughts.

She tilted her head slightly. "Um, Evangeline... may I ask something?"

The fae blinked, then nodded with a warm hum. "Of course, young lady."

Clara's brows drew together, troubled.

"Like you said... my ancestor was one of the greatest mages Veridonia ever knew. And yet—she and I... we share the same eyes. So why didn't anyone know? Why are people unaware of this part of history?"

Evangeline's smile softened, touched with memory—and a sorrow older than the stone beneath them.

"Ah... the golden eyes," she murmured. "Yes... Lady Alysanne said she was born with them."

Clara blinked. "Why? Why are we born with this?"

Evangeline was quiet for a moment, gazing out toward the horizon. The wind toyed with the edges of her dress.

"The truth is, she didn't know either," she said softly. "Not even the gods she once tried to pray to. She possessed strong magic, and though many admired her for it... she chose to be humble and never believed it was a gift. She had lost friends, a family—except for her children."

Clara turned to her, lips parted slightly, as if to ask more—but Evangeline continued first.

"They all saw her strength. Her miracles. But they didn't see the loneliness... or the grief she carried beneath her calm exterior. She couldn't save everyone. Not the people she loved. Not the ones who needed her most. And because of that, she..." the fae's voice dropped, "she believed she was worthless. A mage who could bend the sky, but not fate. People thanked her, but it all felt empty to her—even though they meant it."

Clara's gaze lowered, her fingers curling faintly over her lap.

"...I see."

Evangeline nodded once, her tone reverent. "Golden eyes were never just a rare trait, young lady Clara. They were a weight. Feared in ways that even admiration couldn't erase."

Clara's chest ached. The golden glow in her irises shimmered faintly.

"Then why did no one remember her eyes?" she asked, her voice quiet.

"Because she hid them," Evangeline whispered. "Not with illusion spells or glamours—but with silence. She stopped speaking of them. Refused to let them define her. And in time... people forgot. The world remembers power, but not who their saviors were as people."