Please Be Patient, Grand Duke

Chapter 54.2

“Owen, how much time do we have?”

Owen spoke at Claude’s question.

“We have enough time. Up to around two hours if we can make up the time later in the car.

“Good. Then, let’s stay here for a little while.”

“Yes, Master.”

Ivan was enough to protect the coffin. He was the Duke’s loyal knight. If Ivan were leading the way, there was nothing that would stop his father’s way to the North.

Claude remembered Maximilian’s last moment and slowly calmed himself down. Then he walked back into the house.

The maids busily brought the Duke tea again. But he didn’t touch the tea. Instead, he buried himself into the overstuffed armchair in front of the fireplace.

A few minutes later, a doctor came in hurriedly. At the sound of Pepe and the doctor going upstairs, Claude turned his head towards the stairs.

The lantern’s light that was on the wall shook with the wind. As it got darker outside, the light inside became brighter.

That light tries so hard not to be crushed by darkness, as does like Canillian.

Claude realized how anxious he felt.

His palms were sweaty. His feet refused to leave. And a name was swirling in his mind—Canillia.

“Thank you for letting me know, Sir,” Pepe paused to get control of herself. “Young Master took his medicine just now. Thank you. It could’ve gone poorly. If Young Master is sick—” Pepe sniffled and had tears in her eyes.

He felt it at Cosoar, but the attendees in the Marquis’s household seemed pretty dear to Canillian.

Was it love? Or—charisma of a master?

Canillian’s charisma.

He wiped his face off at such ridiculous thought, scoffed, and stood up.

“And, Canillian?”

“He’s sound asleep. Thank you so much, sir.”

Pepe, looked relieved. The doctor was just descending the stairs. Pepe went to see him out.

Claude pressed down on his eyes and quietly climbed the stairs.

He knew this was shameless. He didn’t want to leave without meaningful interaction with Canillian before going to war. He thought this was his rightful responsibility.

But he was climbing the stairs, yet again, with a heavy heart.

He opened the door with an especially heavy hand.

He just wanted to check—to make sure that the doctor treated him properly, and confirm whether his fever is, in fact, subsiding. He would do quick check, then turn around and leave.

Claude, after opening the door, approached Canillian’s bed. He looked as though his fever had gone; he was sleeping with a peaceful face, wearing only thin pajamas. As if to represent how dire the situation had been, the blanket laid on the floor, hastily folded.

He sat by Canillian, who was sleeping as though having being drugged. Lian’s body made a slight impression on the mattress.

Claude carefully brushed back Lian’s sweaty hair, lightly touching his forehead. His temperature seemed normal.

Claude’s relief was brief. His face hardened as his gaze went below Canillian’s neck.

Under the faint light, the flimsy pajamas coupled with the sweat and revealed the shape of his body.

It wasn’t a mirage.

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There was a jolt inside Claude’s head. He doubted his eyes, frowned, and shook his head.

That moment, Lian started tossing and turning, holding his arm while letting out a sigh.

“Pepe, I’m hot,” Lian murmured.

The soft, delicate body rolled against Claude’s arm; he could hardly breathe.

It isn’t a man’s body. No, it isn’t a man.

Canillian fell back asleep. Twilight came and bathed Canillian in a soft, pretty light.

Claude, flustered, was unable to hide it. He gently pushed Canillian so there was no contact between them.

Canillian’s pajamas shifted and Claude could only curse.

“Damn it!”

He took a deep breath. His ears reddened.

Claude panted as he looked down at her. Then he patted her soft cheek, stood up, and flinched.

Claude was both angry and stunned by the absurdity of it all.

His eyes became narrow as he looked down at the sleeping Canillian. Suddenly, Claude had an epiphany.

‘You—. You deceived me, Kieran,” he said with clenched fists.

He opened one sweaty hand and brushed Canillia’s bangs back.

“Canillia. Vale.”

***

She stared at the ceiling blankly and lifted her sweaty, clammy body. She was thirsty.

Lia weakly rose and left the room. Thankfully, her body was much lighter as if the fever subsided. She stretched while she climbed down the stairs. Pepe ran to her, surprised.

“Are you okay?”

“Ah, Pepe. Water, please.”

“Yes, yes. Okay.”

Lia sat on the sofa where Pepe had been sitting just a moment ago. She felt even better against the coolness of the leather.

Pepe brought a glass of water, sat down by her, and asked, “Are you really okay?”

“Yes. Your care really helped. Thanks. Who would’ve thought that I’d have a fever so suddenly?”

“Ah!”

Pepe, who seemed to blank out for a moment, lowered her head.

“You don’t remember?”

“Remember what?” Lia asked, raising the glass of water to her lips.

“Just a moment ago. The Duke was here. By your side,” said Pepe cautiously.

Lia choked on the water. She coughed and sputtered until her eyes reddened with tears and asked again.

“Wh—What?”

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