The Grand Duke's Soulmate
Chapter 299: A Curmudgeon

Chapter 299: A Curmudgeon

The Count of Medhir’s mansion stood as a magnificent sight, exuding an air of grandeur. The sprawling estate was surrounded by enchanting gardens adorned with golden grass, reminiscent of the vibrant hues of autumn.

The atmosphere held a serene calmness as if time itself had slowed down. The picturesque scenery boasted numerous trees, their branches reaching towards the sky, and several elegant fountains that added a touch of elegance.

Two days had passed since the incident involving the marquess at the festival. Liam, the marquess, had been confined to his bed, receiving proper rest and care.

However, on the third day, an undeniable restlessness took hold of him. Despite his children’s concerns about his condition, he insisted on rising from his bed.

"Father, please, you need more rest," advised Aaron, his eldest son.

Denise, Sylvia’s mother and his only daughter added her plea, "Brother Aaron is right. Your health should be the priority. You must allow yourself more time to recover."

The marquess grumbled, clearly dissatisfied with the opinions of his children.

"I’m already weary and bored, confined within these chamber walls! I want to step outside and breathe in the fresh air! This suffocating environment stifles me!"

His voice carried a tinge of grouchiness, revealing his unease with his children’s cautious approach.

"It’s not that we’re not allowing you to go out, Father. We’re just genuinely concerned about your well-being. We worry that you might be at risk of falling or getting ill," Denise reasoned.

The marquess sneered in response with a bitter tone, "So now you’re insinuating that I’m weak? Is your plan to lock me in this chamber forever?"

Daniel, his second son, interjected, trying to diffuse the tension, "Father, you’re a renowned northern warrior, respected and honoured throughout Cassian. We’re not doubting your strength. We’re simply asking you to prioritise your health and allow yourself more time for a good rest. Once you’re better, we can take a walk together."

The marquess crossed his arms over his chest, seemingly annoyed.

"Just admit it! You all believe I’m old and useless now! You think I’ve become irrelevant!"

Liam’s children fell silent, their mouths clamped shut. They were well aware of their father’s stubbornness. Denying his request would only provoke his anger. Yet, they were reluctant to let him have his way, knowing the fragility of his condition.

"I want to go out!" the marquess declared firmly, rising from his bed.

His sudden movement sent a wave of worry through his children’s faces.

"Father, please reconsider," Denise pleaded.

But Liam ignored her plea and walked towards the door, determined to venture outside despite his children’s reservations.

Denise turned to Chris, her brow furrowed with worry.

"Brother Chris, father is walking without his walking stick. He might fall! Please, do something!"

Without hesitation, the second son sprang up. He swiftly retrieved the marquess’s walking stick, which was leaning against the wall.

Just as he turned around, Liam was already opening the door. His steps halted at the door frame. Drystan, who stood outside the chamber in the hallway, was taken aback by the sight. He quickly bowed in respect towards the marquess.

"Don’t follow me! I’m not a sick old man who requires help!" Liam shouted, his words freezing his children in place. "I don’t need any of you or my walking stick to walk! I can do this on my own!"

"Father!" Denise exclaimed, her worry consuming her.

Yet, she felt utterly helpless in the face of the marquess’s unwavering determination. Having observed the situation closely, Drystan stepped forward to navigate the tense atmosphere.

Over the past few days, he diligently guarded the marquess’s chamber and attended to him, becoming familiar with Liam’s stubborn demeanour and crankiness. Caring for an elderly man with such pride was indeed a challenging task.

"Pardon me, My Lord. Are you heading out?" Drystan politely inquired.

The marquess responded with a stern voice, "Why? Are you going to stop me?"

Drystan maintained his composure and replied, "Definitely not. However, if you wish, allow me to accompany you."

"I already said I don’t need anyone! I’m still capable of taking care of myself!" Liam pressed, his tone resolute.

"Of course you are, My Lord. I’m just following His Highness the Grand Duke’s orders. He personally asked me to accompany you here. As a knight, I must uphold my responsibility. I’m sure My Lord understands this," explained Drystan.

The marquess paused, his previously angered expression shifting. As a knight himself, he perfectly understood the importance of obeying their master’s orders.

"Fine. Accompany me for a walk outside in the garden," he finally relented after a moment of silence.

"In that case, may I hold your arm, My Lord? It would be a great honour for me to serve you," offered the knight.

A smirk formed on the marquess’s lips. He was keenly aware of Drystan’s motive to assist and prevent him from walking alone. However, the knight’s response and how he addressed the matter didn’t discourage or anger him. On the contrary, it made him feel respected.

"Very well, then. Please do so," the marquess agreed, extending his arm for the knight to hold.

"Let’s put on a robe, shall we? It’s quite chilly outside these days," persuaded Drystan.

"Are you saying I cannot endure a mere cold?" the marquess raised an eyebrow at the knight.

"No, My Lord. I’m simply suggesting we take precautions and ensure you are in your best condition, with the best support, ready for any occasion or weather, as a knight would," the knight responded.

Liam smiled once more.

"You certainly know how to use your words to please me, young knight," he remarked. He turned to Aaron and ordered, "Cover me with my robe."

"Yes, father!" the marquess’s eldest son promptly complied.

Aaron quickly retrieved the robe from the rack and approached his father, carefully placing it on him and fastening it around his shoulders.

"Let’s go," Liam declared once the robe was in place.

"Yes, My Lord," Drystan responded.

In a subtle gesture, the knight blinked at the three lords and the countess, signalling that he would take care of the marquess. Relief washed over them as they witnessed how Drystan managed to convince Liam to allow his company.

The marquess, held by Drystan, walked down the hallway towards the foyer. As they departed, Denise placed her hand on her heart and took a deep breath of gladness.

"Thank goodness Sir Mills is here. I wouldn’t know how to handle father these days without him," she expressed.

"Father has been exceptionally stubborn since the incident. Not only does he refuse to take his medicine, he also goes against our advice," Daniel complained.

"Something must be troubling his mind. We all know how stubborn he is, but he usually doesn’t behave to this extent," added Chris.

"I sensed the same. I wonder what it is," Aaron pondered. "Anyway, we should be grateful to His Highness for lending us Sir Mills. He has been a tremendous help."

The marquess’s eldest son recalled how his father had adamantly refused to eat when instructed by the royal healer. He not only sulked but also grew greatly annoyed.

It was Drystan who came to the rescue, successfully coaxing him into eating and taking his medicine regularly.

Whenever the knight and his granddaughter, Sylvia, accompanied him, the marquess would brighten up and transform his cranky demeanour into a softer one. It was evident to them how much their father favoured Drystan’s presence and care.

***

"Can we sit there?" the marquess asked, pointing to the garden seatings under the pergolas.

"Yes, My Lord," Drystan replied respectfully.

Carefully, he led the marquess to the designated spot and assisted him in sitting down.

"Ah... much better!" Liam exclaimed, taking a deep breath.

The scent of autumn grass and leaves filled his senses.

"The air out here is surely different from indoors. It’s fresher!"

"Indeed it is," Drystan affirmed, standing by the marquess’s side.

"Sit down beside me, young knight," Liam ordered.

"Yes, My Lord."

Taking care not to offend the marquess, the knight took his place beside him.

"Grandfather!" Sylvia’s voice called out from a distance.

The noble lady hurriedly made her way towards them, her expression filled with concern.

"Ah... Sylvia! There you are!" Liam’s face brightened when he saw his beloved granddaughter.

As she approached, Sylvia knelt and held her grandfather’s hand.

"Where have you been?" the marquess asked his granddaughter.

"Please forgive me for coming late to attend to you today, grandfather. I was assisting my father with some urgent documents. What are you doing out here? It’s chilly. Let’s go inside," she suggested.

"Nonsense! It’s not that cold! I came out to get some fresh air! There’s nothing wrong with it!" Liam countered.

Sylvia pressed her lips together, worry still evident on her face. When she arrived at her grandfather’s chamber, her uncles and mother informed her that she had just missed the marquess and Drystan, who had gone out to the garden.

"Very well. I will call a servant to bring us some snacks and tea," Sylvia proposed.

Liam nodded happily. The noble lady rang the bell, and a servant promptly arrived. She placed their order, and after a short while, they were served hot tea and delicious treats. She quickly dismissed the servant, allowing a private moment for themselves.

"Tea, grandfather?" Sylvia offered, holding the teapot.

The marquess nodded in agreement.

"Pour some for Drystan," Liam ordered.

Sylvia and Drystan exchanged surprised glances as the marquess suddenly addressed the knight by his first name.

"You don’t mind if I call you by your first name, do you?" the marquess asked the knight.

"Of course not, My Lord. I would be honoured," Drystan replied.

Sylvia remained silent, pouring another cup of tea for the knight as instructed by her grandfather.

"Thank you," Drystan expressed, acknowledging her gesture. She nodded in response. The knight lifted the teacup and took a sip.

With both of them by his side, the marquess smiled warmly.

"The other day, I met with His Highness the Grand Duke, and he gave his blessings for your union," he began, discussing their relationship.

Drystan coughed, the unexpected news catching him off guard as he sipped his tea.

"Are you all right? Is the tea too hot?" Liam inquired, concerned for the knight.

"No, My Lord, not at all! I was just a bit clumsy since I was thirsty," Drystan quickly responded.

The marquess chuckled.

"Call me grandfather. We’re practically family now," Liam insisted kindly.

Drystan’s face reddened, speechless by the marquess’s remarks.

"Once I’m feeling much better, let’s visit Oldmie to meet your family. We should arrange your betrothal as soon as possible," Liam suggested, his words sending a wave of shock through Sylvia.

Her face paled, and her urge to scream and protest overwhelmed her. However, the marquess’s following words halted her.

"I know I’m already old and growing weaker. My madness has reoccurred, hasn’t it?"

Neither could respond, and Liam smiled wistfully, acknowledging his situation.

"How... do you know?" Sylvia reluctantly inquired.

"I’m not so foolish as to be unable to sense it. The expressions on all of your faces say it all. You don’t need to voice it out for me to understand. Secrets aren’t your strong suit," Liam replied, a tinge of sadness in his eyes.

"Oh, grandfather! We’re only worried about you. That’s why we didn’t tell you," the noble lady explained.

"I understand your concern. I’ve been pondering a lot, and I desire nothing more than to see you two get married before my mind slips away completely. Sooner or later, this madness will consume me, and I don’t believe I’ll be able to control myself or recognise you by then," Liam stated with a melancholic tone.

Feeling disheartened, Sylvia gazed at him and said, "You’ll be all right, grandfather! His Majesty has appointed the finest royal healer to treat you. You will recover eventually! I promise!"

The marquess chuckled softly.

"You don’t have to comfort me. I’m fully aware of my condition. It’s evident that I’m deteriorating. Usually, I don’t remember anything during my fits of madness. But this time, it’s different. It seems that I’m struggling to distinguish between reality and illusion."

"You remember what happened?" Drystan asked, his curiosity piqued.

The marquess nodded.

"We were at the festival. After the evening prayer, I conversed with His Highness, the Grand Duke, seeking his blessing for your union. Then, His Highness introduced her to me. He claimed the woman was his wife, but I was certain she was Her Imperial Majesty. I can never forget the person I once served. Almost everything about her was the same. The smile... the voice... the face... However, there were slight differences that confused me."

"What differences?" Sylvia inquired, equally intrigued by her grandfather’s tale.

"Her eyes and hair colour were different. Her Imperial Majesty had red eyes and white hair. Also, I recall her being taller and slightly bigger, not as petite as she appeared. Her stomach was also flat. In my memory, Her Imperial Majesty was heavily pregnant around that time. Strangely, you were there too, Drystan," Liam recounted, his gaze distant.

"I always thought Her Imperial Majesty had black hair and blue eyes. That’s what we’ve been told since childhood," Sylvia recalled, reminiscing about the stories of the last empress.

"When we escaped, Her Imperial Majesty changed the colour of her hair and eyes using magic to disguise herself. Her original distinctive appearance made it easier for the enemy to recognise her, so the Admiral advised her to switch it for her safety. The people of Cassian rarely saw her as we’re far in the north, while she resided in Engarth. Thus, they believed that was her actual appearance. She only resumed her true appearance on the day she departed for the Mederians’ island, her birthplace," Liam explained.

Sylvia and Drystan exchanged glances. The description of the empress matched Kiev and Callis perfectly. Undoubtedly, the Mederian siblings were truly related by blood to the last empress. However, they refrained from discussing this matter with the marquess to prevent him from becoming anxious or overly excited.

"So the lady you saw that night resembled Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Regina?" Drystan asked cautiously to affirm the similarity between Anna and the last empress.

"I’m certain it was her! I thought she might have used magic to change her eye colour and hair again. But that doesn’t explain her stature. That was something she couldn’t alter, even with the use of magic. Furthermore..." Liam paused, a brooding expression on his face.

"What is it, grandfather?" Sylvia inquired.

"The emerald eye colour is scarce, and as far as I know, no magic can produce it," Liam revealed solemnly.

"Why is that?" Drystan asked, intrigued.

"Because it’s the eye colour of the His Imperial Majesty, The Great Khasif, the first Ro’an emperor, who was the strongest among all others. It was the symbol of his power."