The Grand Duke's Soulmate

Beatrice had been crying for days ever since the mysterious letter arrived.

The contents within had laid everything bare—each line detailing the events of years past, revealing, at last, the reason Garin had failed to appear on their wedding day.

And yet, it was not the truth alone that unsettled her.

It was how it had reached her.

The letter had appeared among the collection of anonymous submissions she regularly received—notes left by her workers through a small reporting system she had established.

It was a method she took pride in, allowing her staff to voice concerns, suggestions, or grievances without fear or embarrassment.

Through it, she had refined her operations, improved conditions, and gained the trust of those under her charge.

But this was no ordinary submission.

No one knew when it had been placed there.

There was no name. No signature. No indication of its sender.

The handwriting itself was uneven, almost strained, as though the writer was unaccustomed to putting thoughts into words.

And yet, despite its crude form, the contents were composed with clarity, the tone measured and almost refined.

It was as if the hand that wrote it struggled, but the mind behind it did not.

Rachel had tried. More than once, she had stood outside Beatrice’s chamber, knocking, calling out, urging her to open the door.

But each attempt had been met with silence.

Beatrice had shut herself in and refused to come out. Now, the chief lady-in-waiting could only stand outside with a worn expression, her patience long since thinned by worry.

Footsteps approached, and three ladies arrived: Meredith, Sylvia, and Emily. Their concern was evident the moment they saw her.

"How is she?" Meredith asked quietly.

Rachel only shook her head.

"...She won’t respond," she said, her voice low. "She hasn’t opened the door for anyone."

A heavy silence followed.

Sylvia frowned slightly, her arms folding as she glanced towards the closed chamber.

"And the letter?" she asked.

Rachel exhaled, her gaze lowering.

"She hasn’t let it out of her hands since she read it."

Meredith’s expression turned thoughtful.

"...Do you think it could have come from Sir Skyler?" she suggested.

Rachel looked up at once, her response immediate.

"No," she said firmly. "That wouldn’t make any sense."

The others turned to her.

"If he intended to explain himself, he could have done so at any time," Rachel continued. "We confronted him. We questioned him. We gave him every opportunity to speak. And yet... he chose silence for years. So, I don’t think it would be him."

Sylvia drew in a breath, her expression turning more guarded this time.

"Then perhaps the letter is nothing more than a fabrication," she suggested. "Someone trying to provoke her... or mock her."

Rachel shook her head almost immediately.

"No," she said, her voice firm despite her fatigue. "It’s not that."

The rest focused on her explanation.

"The details are very exact," she went on. "Everything matches—the timing, the order of events, and even the circumstances surrounding that day. It feels as if the person was present, witnessing it happen."

A faint unease crept into her expression.

"But that’s what doesn’t make sense."

She lifted her gaze, looking at each of them in turn.

"It was meant to be a private wedding. Only a handful of people were present—the bride, groom, Eric and me." Her brows knitted. "No one else."

A brief pause followed.

"The only other person who knew of the arrangement was His Highness the Grand Duke, who permitted the union," Rachel added. "But he had already departed for another kingdom at the time, seeking new talent for his knighthood. He wasn’t even present on that day."

Silence fell over them once again. The possibilities diminished, and yet, no answer emerged.

Emily let out a quiet breath, her expression firming.

"Then there’s only one way to know for certain."

The group turned to her at the remark.

"If we want the truth... Lady Perna must face it herself."

Without waiting for a reply, she moved forward and approached the door. She raised her hand and started knocking.

"Lady Perna!" she called out, her voice no longer gentle. "This has gone on long enough. You cannot hide behind that door forever."

No response.

Her brows tightened.

"Come out and face it," she continued, sharper now. "Whatever is written in that letter—whether truth or lie—you’ll only know by confronting it. Don’t shrink away from it like a coward."

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

Then, the faint sound of movement came from within. The quiet sobbing that had lingered behind the door began to subside.

A soft click followed, and the door was opened.

Beatrice stood at the threshold.

Her eyes were swollen, rimmed red, still glistening with unshed tears. Her composure, usually so firm, had fractured—leaving behind only the rawness of what she had endured.

She said nothing, but her reaction told them that she had listened.

Emily stepped forward without hesitation, reaching for her hand.

"Come," she said.

Beatrice did not resist.

"We’ll go to him," Emily continued. "Ask Sir Skyler yourself."

Her gaze hardened slightly.

"He is the only one who can give you the answer you seek."

Rachel watched in silence, hesitation etched across her face. She was unsure whether her sister would truly follow through or retreat once more behind the walls she had built.

Beside her, Sylvia and Meredith were staring in anticipation, both silently urging the moment forward, their hopes resting on the lady’s decision.

Beatrice’s fingers quivered slightly in Emily’s hold, yet she did not withdraw.

***

Inside Garin’s office, a far less composed scene unfolded.

"Hold still."

Ayden’s voice carried a sharp edge as he leaned in, carefully tending to the small cut on Garin’s forehead. The wound itself was minor—hardly more than a scratch—but the healer’s expression suggested otherwise.

"This is exactly what happens when you refuse proper treatment," he muttered, dabbing the area with more force than necessary. "A broom, of all things. Do you even hear yourself?"

Clara stood nearby, arms folded tightly across her chest, her displeasure far less restrained.

"I still cannot believe this," she said, her tone laced with indignation. "To strike you like that in front of others, no less? It is completely inappropriate!"

Her gaze sharpened.

"You are the Grand Duke’s representative. Whether she likes it or not, that position commands respect."

Garin remained silent.

"Who does she think she is?" the knightess continued, unable to hold back. "Just because she is Lady Navin’s sister and has some connection to His Highness, does not place her above protocol."

She scoffed lightly.

"Even if she has grievances, there are proper channels. Decorum exists for a reason."

Ayden gave a firm nod, agreeing with his wife. "She crossed the line."

"That’s enough, you two," Garin said at last, his voice calm but firm. "Let it go."

Neither of them looked convinced.

"It’s not a big deal," he added. "And I don’t feel any pain."

Ayden paused, then let out a short, incredulous breath.

"That’s not the point," he said, setting his tools aside with a quiet clink. "You refused to let me treat this, and yet you allow yourself to be humiliated like that?"

His eyes narrowed, still unsatisfied.

"You only agreed for me to come here because I threatened to report this to His Highness when he returns. What exactly are you thinking?"

Garin exhaled slowly, already feeling the burden of the conversation.

Clara stepped in again, clearly not finished.

"And this isn’t the first time," she added. "You let her get away with it again and again. At this point, it reflects poorly not only on you, but on His Highness as well."

The assistant healer crossed his arms now, his earlier focus on treatment entirely replaced by frustration.

"If you intend to endure it, at least have the decency to admit it. But don’t just stand there and pretend it’s nothing."

The knight remained seated, his posture relaxed despite the barrage.

To him, the entire exchange felt unnecessary. The wound was insignificant. The matter, even more so. Yet, he was subjected to both treatment and lecture alike.

All because Ayden had decided to make a point and backed it with a threat he could not ignore.

Garin rested his elbow lightly against the armrest, his gaze drifting elsewhere as the voices continued.

If anything, the dull persistence of their nagging was far more exhausting than the injury itself.

The steady rhythm of Ayden and Clara’s voices had yet to settle when a knock came from the door.

All three turned to the sound.

Garin straightened slightly and ordered, "Enter."

The door opened, revealing Beatrice at the threshold with Rachel at her side.

For a brief moment, the knight froze.

Surprise flickered across his features, as this was far from anything he had expected. He had not seen her up close since their last altercation.

Even earlier, Beatrice had avoided him, refusing even the briefest exchanges—he was always the one to pursue, and their meetings inevitably ended in conflict.

Yet now, she had come to him. Without warning, without hesitation.