I Woke Up Married to the Cursed King

Chapter 27: Chapter 27: Lord Dunwick’s Wife

Elian invited Lord Dunwick for tea.

Not formally. Just a note, friendly in tone, the consort hoping for a moment of the lord’s time. Dunwick arrived promptly and settled into the chair across from Elian with the comfortable ease of a man who liked people and wasn’t afraid to show it.

He was, Elian discovered within the first ten minutes, genuinely pleasant.

Not politically pleasant. Not the cultivated warmth of a man who had learned that likability was useful. Actually warm — the boisterous, unguarded kind that filled a room without trying to. He had opinions about the tea. He had a story about the eastern trade negotiations that made Elian almost laugh. He talked about Caelian with the particular pride of someone who had watched a child grow into something difficult and extraordinary and felt personally invested in the outcome.

Elian listened and assessed and came to the same conclusion every time.

This man is genuine.

He wasn’t behind any of it. He wasn’t hiding anything. He was exactly what he appeared to be — an old council member who had loved this kingdom and its king for decades and would have been horrified to know what had been walking through his family.

Which made what Elian had to do next harder.

He set his cup down.

"Lord Dunwick," he said. "I need to tell you something about your nephew."

* * *

Dunwick didn’t believe him.

He was polite about it — he was polite about everything — but the disbelief was clear. Spiritual workings, draining spirits, curses placed on children. He listened with the careful expression of a man trying not to show that he thought the consort had lost his mind.

Elian had expected this.

He laid it out methodically. Not the supernatural elements first — the observable ones. Veylan’s pallor. The tremor he’d learned to hide. The way he’d become quieter over the years, more contained, the bright boy that Dunwick remembered slowly replaced by something more muted.

Dunwick went still.

"He was ten," he said slowly. "Maybe eleven. When he—" He stopped. "I always thought it was just growing up. Children change."

"They do," Elian said. "But not like that. Not that specifically."

"There was a period," Dunwick said, more to himself than to Elian. "A few months. He was strange. And then he wasn’t strange anymore, he was just—" He looked at his hands. "Quiet. I thought he’d had a hard time of it. Boys that age."

"He didn’t become quiet," Elian said. "Something made him quiet."

Dunwick looked at him.

"I don’t believe in this," he said. "I want you to know that. I’m a practical man. I’ve never put stock in—"

He stopped.

Because Elian was looking at something over his shoulder.

She had been there since Dunwick arrived. Elian had noticed her immediately — a woman, older, standing just behind the lord’s left shoulder with the specific quality of presence that meant she’d been there a long time. Not attached the way a vengeful spirit attached. More like — standing beside. The way a person stood beside someone they loved.

She was looking at Elian now.

And she was telling him something.

He looked back at Dunwick.

"Your wife," Elian said carefully. "She used to tell you not to eat the salted fish from the northern market. Said it gave you terrible dreams." ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

Dunwick’s mouth closed.

"And there was something — something between the two of you that you’ve never told anyone. Something that happened the winter before she passed."

The color had left Dunwick’s face entirely.

He stood up slowly. "How do you know that."

"She’s standing behind your left shoulder," Elian said. "She has been since you walked in." He paused. "She says you’ve been eating the fish again. She wants you to stop. And she wants you to take better care of yourself because you’ve been skipping meals when the council runs long."

The room was very quiet.

Dunwick stood there for a long moment. Something moving through his face that Elian didn’t look at too closely because it was private.

"She’s here," he said. His voice came out rough.

"Yes."

He sat back down. Heavily.

He was quiet for a long time.

"You didn’t have to go that far," he said finally. "I understand."

"I know," Elian said. "But she wanted to say it."

Dunwick looked at the space behind his own shoulder. Couldn’t see anything. Looked back at Elian.

"What do you need from me," he said.

"Everything you know about who had access to Veylan when he was young," Elian said. "Everyone who came into contact with him around that time. Anyone from the east. Anyone who took a particular interest in him. Anything that seemed strange and then stopped seeming strange because you got used to it."

Dunwick nodded slowly.

"And your nephew," Elian said. "He’s not at fault. Whatever he carried, whatever he passed along — he didn’t know. He was a child when it was placed on him." freewēbnoveℓ.com

"I know," Dunwick said. "I know that." He looked at his hands. "He was such a bright boy."

"He still is," Elian said. "He’s just been carrying something heavy for a very long time." A pause. "I’ve started removing it. It will take time. But he’ll get lighter."

Dunwick looked at him.

Then he straightened. Reached for his tea. Took a long sip.

"Tell me what you need to know," he said. "I’ll tell you everything I remember."

Behind his shoulder, his wife watched Elian with an expression that was entirely, simply grateful.

Elian picked up his pen.

* * *

Behind his shoulder, his wife watched Elian with an expression that was entirely, simply grateful.

Elian picked up his pen.

"Start from when Veylan was young," he said. "Before the eastern role. Before he came to the palace. Who was around him. Who took an interest."

Dunwick thought carefully. His hands had steadied. The grief was still there — it would always be there — but something else had settled alongside it. The specific quality of a man who had decided to be useful.

"His father died when Veylan was young," Dunwick said. "Seven or eight. After that it was just his mother and myself." He paused. "My sister. Veylan’s mother."

"Anyone else who came into his life around that time."

"There was a tutor. Came highly recommended — I arranged it myself, I wanted the boy to have proper education." He stopped. "He left after two years. I never knew why. Veylan had become — quieter by then. I thought perhaps there was a disagreement."

Elian wrote it down.

"Do you remember his name."

"The tutor?" Dunwick thought. "Crane. Or something like Crane. It was a long time ago."

"And he came from where."

"The east, I believe. He had references from one of the eastern academies." Dunwick paused. "I remember being impressed. Eastern education was considered very thorough at the time."

Elian looked at what he’d written.

A tutor. Eastern. In Veylan’s life for two years, right around the age when the draining spirit had been placed. Leaving quietly. Veylan becoming quieter after.

There you are, Elian thought.

Not the master. Probably not the master — a tutor wasn’t embedded enough for that. But a connection. A link in the chain between whoever was running this and the boy they’d turned into a tool.

"The tutor," Elian said. "Can you find out anything more about him?"

Dunwick straightened. "I’ll try. I still have some correspondence from that period. My sister kept records."

"Good." Elian capped the pen. "Lord Dunwick — this stays between us."

"Of course," Dunwick said. With the gravity of a man who understood exactly what he was being trusted with.

He left.

The spirit of his wife lingered for just a moment longer.

She looked at Elian.

Then she went with him.

Elian sat alone in the study.

Crane, he thought. Something like Crane.

He started a new page.

* * *

He walked back through the palace slowly.

Dunwick’s wife had looked grateful. Not the performed gratitude of someone being polite — actual, specific relief. Like a woman who had been waiting to say something for years and had finally found a way to say it.

She stayed for him, Elian thought. All this time. She stayed because she needed him to be okay.

He thought about that.

About the things people stayed for.

About the specific kind of love that didn’t leave even when it had every reason to.

He passed the east corridor.

The sending was in its usual place. Patient. Watching him walk by.

Elian looked at it.

Someone stayed for Caelian too, he thought. In a much darker way. Someone decided that their grief was his debt and they’ve been collecting it for twenty years.

He stopped.

Looked at the sending.

You don’t know why you’re here, Elian thought. You’ve forgotten everything except the purpose. But someone out there remembers. Someone out there is the reason you exist.

And they had access to Veylan.

And they used him.

And now I have a name.

He walked on.

He had work to do.

Dunwick’s wife had given him something today — not information, exactly, but confirmation. That the people in this palace were worth protecting. That the connections here were real even when they were complicated.

He filed that.

Went to find Sable.