The Grand Duke's Soulmate-Chapter 580: A Courage to Claim

Rafe entered his office in a rush. His heart pounded so violently it hurt his chest, throwing his steps off balance. The door slammed shut behind him as he leaned back against it, trembling, his face flushed.

The act felt like an attempt to seal himself away—from the matter pressing down on him, from the guilt gnawing at his conscience, and from the fear that he had already made an unforgivable mistake.

The room was silent, giving away a sense of serenity, yet his thoughts were a tangled haze, clouded by everything that had been said in Elis’s chamber. The conclusion bore down on him deeply.

He had to perform the soulmate magic... and he had to reclaim Callis.

It was the only way to save Elis and her child, and to reunite Kyren and Anna. The demand felt like a weight he could not lift.

The healer had already sent his wife back to her people, in the harshest way, believing it was for the best. That resolve itself had hardened into something immovable.

And now... he was expected to face her again.

Soulmate magic sounded deceptively simple, little more than the uttering of desire.

Yet Rafe knew better. Such power required sincerity—an earnest yearning to be bound once more to the one meant for him.

And it was precisely because he loved her so much that he could not. He would rather not have her at his side if it meant risking her life again.

Furthermore, Callis would already hate him for what he had done. How could she not?

She had begged him again and again to stay. Yet he ignored every word, every plea, and even drove her away with cruel reprimands.

’I don’t like you.’

’I don’t want to see you anymore.’

’I don’t love you.’

His heart ripped itself apart every time he recalled those words...

At least Elis had a reason to reconcile with Kiev, as they had not torn each other apart the way he had with the Mederian princess.

What excuse did he have to return to Callis?

She was not a doll to be treated at will, pushed away when he no longer wanted her, only to be dragged back when it suited him. He knew, without doubt, that reclaiming her would be hard for him—magic or not.

Simultaneously, refusing was challenging because the stakes were high for those deeply important to him, bound by respect, loyalty, and shared pain.

Both the princess consort and the grand duke had suffered immensely. The former from a separation born of clashing convictions and pride, the latter from a forced parting and the loss of a long-awaited, deeply cherished heir.

His burden was also heavy with their distress.

Rafe clenched his jaw and moved forward, stalking towards the rack beside his desk. He reached for the first book his hand found and flipped it open, forcing his eyes to scan the lines.

The healer read without really absorbing any of the words, using the motion as a distraction to keep himself grounded.

Gradually, the flush faded from his face, returning to its usual colour. But his heart still refused to calm, still pounding erratically, heavy with guilt that no page could silence.

A knock came at the door.

Rafe didn’t answer... didn’t turn. He already knew who stood on the other side.

The door creaked open anyway as it wasn’t locked.

Eric stepped inside, closing it quietly behind him. He took in the scene at a glance: the rigid set of Rafe’s shoulders and the book held too tightly in his hands.

The healer was facing away from him, pretending to be engrossed in the text.

Eric’s heavy boots thudded onto the hardened floor. Then, the conversation started—not in a calm manner.

"Go away, Eric!" Rafe exclaimed, flipping another page, eyes lowering to the page.

"Go where?" the second-in-command knight asked. "Semeta? Then you’ll have to take me there."

The joke wasn’t amusing. Rafe turned, his grey eyes scowling at his friend, his mouth twisted into a grimace.

"That’s not funny."

"I’m not teasing you," Eric replied, his tone turning serious. "I’m stating a fact. You know this is inevitable."

Rafe exhaled sharply and turned his face away.

"Even if I wanted to, it won’t happen. Callis and I... we’re not meant for each other," he said, his voice heavy with defeat.

"Now that is a joke," Eric scoffed. "You and her are soulmates, yet you’re telling me you were never meant for each other? What nonsense!"

The healer’s chest heaved, emotion flaring hot and uncontrolled.

"Then what do you expect me to do?" Rafe snapped. "Go to her and say, ’Oh, sorry, my mistake. I yelled at you. Let’s get back together like before, shall we?’ That’s an even bigger joke."

"You lied to her, Rafael," Eric said quietly. "Saying you don’t love her is the greatest lie of all. I know you love her, and you still do. You only said it because you were afraid of losing her, but deep down you want her back."

"That can never happen... She’s not safe with me, Eric. I would only keep putting her in danger," the healer replied quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"Then what’s the point of you waking up before dawn every single day to train like a fresh recruit?" Eric shot back. "You think I don’t know you’ve been breaking yourself at the training grounds in secret—for her?"

Eric folded his arms over his chest, fixing his friend with a piercing gaze. Rafe didn’t respond, staying cold and stoic.

"Fine!" the second-in-command knight shouted. "If that’s your choice, then abandon her! Forget Princess Elisabeth and her child, who desperately need your aid. Forget about the Grand Duke’s grief over not being able to reunite with our lady." His voice grew stern. "Let everyone endure suffering just as you’ve been allowing yourself to suffer!"

Instead of storming out, Eric passed by Rafe and walked towards the wall near the healer’s desk.

His eyes locked onto the object hanging there.

He had noticed it the moment he entered, knowing precisely what it was. But he had simply chosen not to say anything... Not until now. It was time to play a mind game.

"What are you doing?" Rafe asked, unease creeping into his voice as he turned his head, eyes trailing the knight’s movement.

Eric reached for the ugly, blackened pot displayed like a treasured relic.

It was the burnt pot Callis had used during her disastrous cooking lesson with Luke. The infamous attempt had ended in a small explosion, rattling the Gerhard mansion and throwing the household into chaos.

Anryr had offered to discard it. However, Rafe refused and even took it back to the duchy with him.

Panic flashed across the healer’s face the instant Eric lifted it from the wall.

"Don’t touch it!"

He lunged forward, hands reaching desperately, but the knight raised the pot out of his grasp with ease. His larger frame made resistance useless.

"Give it to me! Give it back!" Rafe shouted, even jumping in a futile attempt to reach it.

Eric shoved him back. Rafe’s rear struck the edge of the desk with a dull thud from the impact.

"Why keep it?" Eric sneered. "Why cling to this useless piece of junk? To remind yourself how terrible a cook she was?"

"Shut up!" Rafe roared, terror lacing his fury. "Don’t you dare humiliate my wife! Give it back to me, or I—"

"Or what?" the second-in-command knight cut off. "What will you do, Rafael? Toss aside our years of friendship the same way you rejected your wife?"

The healer’s lips trembled, but no answer came. There was nothing he could say—nothing left to justify, nothing left to deny.

The truth that he desperately wanted Callis back into his arms, clenched his heart more than words could express. His vision blurred, tears brimming in his eyes as he struggled to hold himself together, only to fail.

Then, unexpectedly, Eric tossed the pot at him.

Rafe caught it clumsily before it hit the floor and collapsed to his knees, clutching the pot to his chest as if it were something living that he might lose again.

His breath hitched as he bent over it, shoulders curling inward.

The healer scrubbed at his face with his sleeve, smearing soot across his skin and clothes, but the cries would not stop.

His body trembled, overwhelmed by grief, longing, and guilt—emotions he had suppressed for too long, bursting all at once.

"I love her, Eric!" he cried. "So much that I’m terrified of losing her. What if she dies because of me?"

"No one lives forever," Eric replied quietly. "But in the short span we’re given, we all want to be happy. Wouldn’t you rather live those moments with her, share whatever time you have, instead of suffering alone like this?" His gaze softened. "I’m certain she’s suffering too, just as much as you are. So end this grief, Rafael... for you, for her, and for everyone else."

"But what if she doesn’t want me anymore?" the healer asked, sniffling. "What if she rejects me?"

Eric smiled and stepped closer, kneeling before him.

"Then face her. Fight for her love and make her yield," he said firmly. "She was already fighting for you when she performed the soulmate ritual, knowing it would bind her to you forever, even when she believed you felt nothing for her. She didn’t yield back then, so neither should you."

He paused, watching Rafe silently absorb his words.

"She... she will hate me, won’t she, Eric?" the healer asked at last. "I scolded her so cruelly."

"Of course she will," Eric replied. "What do you expect? If you’re lucky, you’ll only earn yourself a slap or two."

Rafe lifted his head, his face tightening.

Eric chuckled.

"Relax. This is how relationships work. We argue, we hurt each other, and then we reconcile. It’s a cycle. There’s no such thing as a perfect happily-ever-after—only people facing life together. One day you laugh, the next you cry, anger and frustration in between. That’s normal."

Rafe clutched the pot tighter, staring ahead as he thought.

"I’m afraid we’ll just end up arguing again beyond reconciliation someday," he admitted. "And... I still feel unworthy of her."

"Tchk!" Eric clicked his tongue, smiling knowingly.

He could see that Rafe was already giving in. He only needed a final push.

"Do you think I’ve never argued with Rachel?" he said. "You have no idea how many times she’s yelled at me and packed her things, threatening to leave for good."

"Rachel did that?" Rafe asked, startled.

"Plenty of times," Eric replied with a smirk. "Quarrels are inevitable. They are hurtful and bitter. But reconciliation is soothing and sweet. That’s the essence of love."

The healer frowned slightly, unsure how the knight could smile so easily after such experiences.

"And as for this ’unworthy’ nonsense...," Eric continued, cutting into his thoughts, "stop it. Humans aren’t perfect... not you, not your wife. Never tell yourself you don’t deserve her. In fact, there are things you’re far better at than she is."

"Such as?" Rafe asked, raising a brow.

Eric stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"Well... you’re patient, she’s not. You’re calm, she’s lively. You can cook, maybe not deliciously, but she can turn a simple cooking lesson into a battlefield."

"Eric!!" Rafe yelled, slamming his hand against the knight’s shoulder.

Eric didn’t dodge, laughing openly as he took the hit.

Rafe scowled for a moment, then the tension melted, a reluctant smile forming on his lips as the weight in his chest finally eased.

"You’d help me win her back, wouldn’t you?" he asked quietly.

"Of course, Rafael," Eric said without hesitation. "I’ll always stand by you."

"It’s Rafe," the healer muttered. "When are you ever going to change that?"

Eric grinned. "Nah! Never. You’ll always be Rafael to me."

Rafe sighed, but the smile stayed. It had been a long time since he felt this light, and he was grateful for a friend who refused to give up on him.

"All right," Eric said, rising to his feet. "Get up and clean your face. You’ve got soot everywhere. I’m going to gather everyone."

"Gather them for what?" Rafe asked, looking up in surprise.

"To plan our journey to the island," the second-in-command knight replied. "Though we have you and His Highness the Grand Duke, this won’t be a simple voyage. We’ll need a solid strategy."

Rafe nodded. This time, there was no hesitation in his eyes.

Semeta would soon witness their arrival—an entourage driven by love, hope and determination—seeking to reunite three long-separated pairs.