Please Be Patient, Grand Duke

Chapter 46.1

After running right into him, Claude called her name, his tone commanding. She hurriedly tried to push away from him, as her forehead bounced off his broad chest.

“Sir.”

“Are you playing hide-and-seek with the young count?”

“Hide-and-seek? No.”

“Then you’re being chased?”

His questioning sounded almost playful, and she could feel her face blushing bright red as she backed away from his chest.

Tholin, who was following her, saw Claude and stopped walking, his expression dismayed.

Claude casually turned to Tholin. He had questioned her, but he wanted answers from Tholin too.

“No, I wasn’t being chased. We were just…. Having a conversation.”

“You can have a conversation in this distance? You two are something else.”

Claude’s lips had curled up into a soft smile for her, but his eyes were cold as he looked at Tholin. He dusted the dirt off his hands from where he had been touching the stone wall and addressed Tholin.

“Isn’t that so?”

Tholin, who had been slowly stepping backward, stopped moving like he was nailed to the spot. He looked back-and-forth between her and Clause, his face flushed.

“I just wanted an apology for being insulted, but Sir Canillian doesn’t seem to know any etiquette.”

“Etiquette?”

“Yes.”

Lia wanted to defend herself, upset that Tholin could act as though he had done nothing wrong, but she held her tongue. This was the palace after all. She couldn’t afford to cause an even bigger scene, not while the Marchioness was also in the building. She heard the Marchioness’s quiet warning from earlier, telling her to keep her head down and keep playing the part.

Although she had done nothing wrong, it was probably best if she just apologized to soothe Tholin’s bruised ego.

Just as she was about to speak, Kieran’s voice rang out.

“Let us hear it. How my brother insulted the young Count.”

Kieran had joined them at some point and was leaning against the wall. She was so focused on Claude that she didn’t even notice Kieran was around. Kieran pushed himself off the wall and approached them. Her nerves calmed a bit at Kieran’s appearance.

Claude’s eyes narrowed as he watched her smile in relief at Kieran’s approach.

Claude looked down at the tufts of hair curling at Canillian’s collar and over his ears, and at his soft pale skin. Claude couldn’t help but think that Canillian looked like a porcelain doll wearing men’s clothing.

Unlike Canillian, who seemed relieved, Tholin’s face turned white as a sheet as he backed away from Kieran.

“S, Sir Kieran.”

Kieran kept approaching the stammering Tholin, smiling and chastising Tholin by clicking his tongue.

“Tell me. How did my brother insult you? If you have a legitimate grievance, then I’m sure he’ll give you the apology you’re so richly owed.”

Kieran’s cold tone was at odds with his words, and at odds with Kieran himself, who was usually gentle and kind by nature. Tension stretched taut between the two, and Lia realized that she needed to leave before the tension escalated into a full-blown fight.

This was happening because of her, but she felt helpless to step in and fix it. The men’s honor was on the line now, and there was nothing she could think to do except remove herself from the situation.

As Tholin began making excuses with Kieran in front of him, Lia slowly started to step away from the men, inching her way back toward the palace.

Just as she thought she could turn to leave, however, Claude grabbed her arm.

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“Where are you going? You’re in the middle of this whether you like it or not.”

“This is getting out of hand. I do not want anyone to fight. Don’t you think…?”

“So. You’d rather be with the Marchioness?”

Lia was stunned by his directness, but quickly gathered her thoughts.

“That might be better. Aren’t I like kindling to Tholin’s ire? My brother’s anger might also dissipate if I leave.”

She knew it was a shameful stance for a man of honour to simply up and leave, and indeed it felt shameful to just leave the scene even by her own feminine standards, but what other choice did she have? Claude, who was staring at her, started laughing aloud.

At the sound of Claude’s laughter, Kieran and Tholin ceased their stand-off, turning to look at them blankly. The young duke looked like an entirely different person while laughing, his whole face transformed.

“Goodbye, Canillian.”

Claude kindly patted the top of Lia’s head.

Kieran felt uncomfortable seeing this new side of Claude. A side that only seemed to emerge around Canillian.

“Yes, Lian. Go inside,” Kieran said, his tone brooking no argument.

She bowed her head and directed a relieved expression toward Kieran.

“I’ll excuse myself, brother. And… young duke.”

Claude nodded and thoughtfully watched Canillian’s retreating form as Canillian practically ran back into the palace. Claude then turned back to the men, his face the same cold mask of indifference that he usually wore.

Claude turned to Tholin, his tone ice hard in a way that it never was in Canillian’s presence, he said, “Consider this your one and final warning. Do not cross the line, young count.”

Indignant, Tholin trembled at the affront, but just nodded. He idolized Claude.

“I’m sorry.”

Kieran stepped between Claude and Tholin, as he saw Tholin clench his teeth at his sense of injustice for having to apologize.

“The reason you ran out in the middle of our conversation… Was it because of Canillian?”

“No. That was just a coincidence, Kieran.” ????????????????????????d. ????o????

“That was a pretty dramatic exit. Too dramatic to be a coincidence.”

“What are you trying to say? Watch that you don’t grow overly protective.”

Claude’s smile was self-satisfied as he turned away from Kieran.

Kieran knew that look. It was the same look that Claude got when hunting particularly coveted prey.

Kieran called out to Claude’s back, as Claude headed to the garden where the prince was waiting.

“You’re the one being overprotective, Claude.”

Claude stopped at his words.

As he turned left, Claude glanced up at the windows to the long gallery. In one, he could see Canillian had just rejoined the Marchioness.

“Maybe.”

He willingly accepted the accusation, put his hands in his pockets and lifted the corner of his mouth in the hint of a smile.

“There is something fragile about your brother. Like a sandcastle. One wrong touch, one misstep, and everything might fall apart.”