The following morning, the pale light of dawn entered the room through the gaps between velvet curtains of the room. Damian stirred awake only to find a slight pressure against his side. As he emerged from the fog of sleep, he realized a slender hand was draped across his waist, holding him with a subconscious trust.

He tilted his head and found Eilika’s face mere inches from his chest. She was still lost in a deep slumber.

’When did she move to this side?’ he wondered silently. He remained still for a heartbeat, watching her, before carefully lifting her hand and setting it aside.

Propping himself up on one elbow, he noticed a few stray hair strands clinging to her cheek. With a gentleness he rarely permitted himself, he brushed them away before quietly slipping out from under the duvet.

As he was sliding into his slippers, he heard the frantic voice of his son.

"Father! Father!"

It was Roman. Damian moved swiftly, reaching the door and pulling it open just enough to slip through. He immediately pressed a finger to his lips, gesturing for the boy to be silent. He glanced back over his shoulder to ensure the noise hadn’t startled Eilika awake, then stepped into the hallway.

"Your mother is still resting. Be quiet," Damian whispered firmly. "And when did you wake up? Have you even bathed yet?"

Before Roman could answer, a servant came rushing around the corner, gasping for air and looking utterly mortified.

"Young Master..." the maid panted, her face flushed with a mixture of exertion and dread. She stammered, "Your Grace, the bath for the young master is ready. I—I apologize profusely for letting him slip away."

Roman stiffened, bracing himself for the sharp scold he usually received when he tested the palace staff’s patience. He threw a quick, defensive glare at the servant, but the reprimand from his father never came. Instead, Damian spoke in a tone that was uncharacteristically soft, almost conspiratorial.

"Do not trouble the servants here, Roman," Damian said, his hand still resting on the boy’s head. "Get ready quickly. When your mother wakes, she will be delighted to see how disciplined you’re."

The mention of Eilika’s approval worked like a charm. Roman’s chest puffed out slightly. "I understand, Father," he replied with a solemn nod. He turned back to the maid, allowing her to take his hand and guide him toward the steaming bath.

Damian retreated into the quiet of the master suite. Glancing at the wardrobe, he noticed how neatly Eilika had organized their belongings the night before; even in her exhaustion, she had maintained order. He selected a shirt and trousers and moved into the ensuite.

After a quick, invigorating bath, he emerged refreshed. He dressed efficiently, smoothing the fabric of his blazer and adjusting his cuffs before running a comb through his dark hair.

Once he had applied a subtle cologne, he was fully prepared for the day’s demands. He crossed the room toward the bed, intending to wake Eilika so they could begin their scheduled meetings, but as his hand hovered near her shoulder, he hesitated.

’I think it is better to let her sleep,’ he decided, withdrawing his hand. He turned on his heel and walked out, leaving her to the silence of the room.

Damian descended the grand staircase, his presence immediately commanding the attention of the staff. The manor was already bustling with the morning household chores.

"Do not disturb the Duchess," Damian instructed the head servant. "She is exhausted from the journey and is to remain asleep until she wakes of her own accord."

With that settled, he moved to the center of the hall and settled onto the plush velvet couch. He opened the morning newspaper until a familiar pitter-patter echoed from the stairs.

"Father! I’m ready!" Roman announced, looking sharp in a small navy waistcoat, his hair still damp from his bath.

Damian lowered the paper just as a servant arrived with a silver tray, steam rising from a porcelain teacup.

"Where is Mama?" Roman asked, skidding to a halt a few meters away, his eyes darting around the expansive hall.

"She is still resting," Damian replied, watching as Roman’s gaze drifted longingly toward the upstairs room. "Eilika is quite tired from the long journey. Your breakfast has been prepared, and you must be hungry; you haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon." He gestured toward the butler to lead the boy to the dining room, but Roman didn’t budge.

"I’ll have my breakfast with Mama," Roman declared stubbornly. He climbed onto the chair across from the couch, swinging his legs with a determined pout.

Damian lifted his teacup and took a slow sip, studying his son over the rim. The boy’s devotion to Eilika was undeniable.

"Very well," Damian said after a moment. "But if she does not wake soon, you will find your stomach complaining louder than your loyalty."

"I am the Duke’s son," Roman declared, straightening his small waistcoat. "I have been taught to wait."

Damian set his cup back onto the saucer with a soft clink, his eyes narrowing slightly as he observed the child’s conviction. "Do you love your mother already? Is she truly that good to you?"

"Yes. Mama is sweet," Roman said, a genuine, bright smile breaking across his face. "I do not know what my own mother looked like, but I think she was just like my mama. I am happy to have her."

Damian’s fingers curled instinctively against the arm of the couch. A pang of surprise, and perhaps guilt, shot through him. He had intentionally kept the details of Roman’s birth mother vague, yet the boy had clearly pieced together his own understanding of the world.

"Father, you should not miss her anymore," Roman murmured, his voice softening as he offered a small pout of concern. "You have my mama now. She is lovely and has a good heart. Doesn’t that make her a good human too?"

Damian remained silent for a long moment, the weight of his son’s innocent wisdom hanging in the air. He looked at the stairs, then back to the boy who sat so expectantly.

"Yes, Roman," Damian said. "It does."

’But I don’t want a wife. I don’t want to fall in love in this life,’ he thought.