A Touch of Shadow: The Duke's Obsession

When she bent over her embroidery, her profile was one of utter concentration—serene, intent. When she smiled, her eyes curved like crescent moons, soft and bright. And when she looked upon Rhaegar Thorne, there was a light she could not conceal. Luminous... burning... as though, in that moment, the whole of her world had narrowed to him alone.

He had never seen her look at him that way.

Not once.

He raised the cup again and drank.

The wine was even more bitter now.

***

The next day, under the pretense of business, he went in person to deliver an embroidery sample to Caelith.

The moment she saw him enter, she instinctively took a step back.

He set the sample down—but did not leave.

"Lady Emberlyn."

She lifted her head.

"I have heard of Rhaegar’s attempt to withdraw from his engagement."

She winced, caught off guard.

"The Emperor, in consideration of his family’s generations of loyal service, has not yet pursued the matter," he continued. "But have you considered what lies ahead? A man such as him—even if he withdraws from Lady Tanmin... what then?"

Caelith remained silent.

"He is the only son of the Duke of the Northern Lands, the Commander of the Imperial Guard. It is not within his power to take but a single wife in this lifetime." Lucas’ gaze was steady, earnest. "Even if he himself wished it—would the Emperor permit it? Would his father? Would the court?"

Caelith’s fingers tightened within her sleeve.

"But I am not the same," he said, stepping closer. "I am a merchant. I am bound by no such strictures. Whom I marry—that is mine alone to decide."

Caelith looked at him, struggling to remain composed.

"Lord Ostenton, what the future holds, I cannot foresee," she said softly. "But he knelt for me for two days and nights—until he coughed blood. For my sake, he would cast aside even his life." Her gaze did not waver. "Such a man... I will not betray, not in this lifetime. Not in the next one."

Lucas stood motionless, words failing him. At last, he gave a quiet nod.

"Be it, then."

With that, he turned and left.

***

That night, Caelith and Yvaine had already retired.

The old residence lay steeped in stillness. Only the wind stirred faintly through the courtyard. Moonlight slipped through the narrow gap of the window, casting a slender silver line across the floor.

The window gave a soft creak.

A shadow slipped inside, landing soundlessly beside the bed.

Rhaegar stood there for a moment, looking at the figure curled beneath the covers, and a faint curve touched his lips.

Then he lay down, gathering Caelith into his arms from behind.

Half-asleep, she sensed that familiar warmth and instinctively nestled closer into him.

"...Why do you always come in through the window..." she murmured, her voice thick with drowsiness.

"I missed you," he replied softly against her hair. "Is that not reason enough?"

She did not answer—only drew nearer, as though seeking the comfort of his presence.

Rhaegar tightened his hold slightly, resting his chin atop her head.

Then, footsteps sounded in the courtyard.

Rhaegar’s eyes flew open, his hand already moving toward the blade at his waist.

The steps were heavy, uneven—like those of a man unsteady with drink.

They halted at the door. Then came a knock.

"Lady Caelith... Lady Caelith, it’s me..."

Caelith froze. That voice—it belonged to Lucas Ostenton.

Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed, cold and sharp in the darkness.

Outside, Lucas’ voice was slurred indeed. "Lady Caelith... are you asleep? I... I have something I wish to say..."

Caelith turned, her eyes wide with unease, looking toward Rhaegar.

He did not move.

He only looked at her, and that gaze sent a chill down her spine.

The knocking continued—soft, but persistent.

"Caelith... I know you must be asleep... but I cannot rest... if I do not speak tonight..."

Caelith bit her lip, uncertain, caught between impulse and restraint.

Suddenly, Rhaegar shifted, pressing her gently but firmly down against the bedding.

Her body tensed, a startled breath catching in her throat.

He lowered his head, his lips close to her ear, his voice no more than a whisper meant for her alone.

"Let him hear."

She blinked, confused. "What do you—"

"Let him hear," he repeated quietly, "to whom you belong."

Before she could respond, he lowered his head, his breath brushing the curve of her neck.

The contact was deliberate—possessive, unmistakable—leaving warmth in its wake.

Caelith trembled, biting down hard upon her lip to keep from making a sound.

His hand slipped beneath the edge of her sleeve, warm against her skin, steady and insistent.

Outside, the knocking had not ceased.

"Lady Caelith... I know the one you favor is him... yet I only wish to ask—just one question..."

Rhaegar’s movements stilled. He lifted his head and looked at the woman in his embrace.

In the darkness, his eyes shone with a startling intensity.

"Shall you answer him?" he murmured softly. "Let me hear how you refuse him."

Caelith glared at him, her voice low and strained. "That is enough..."

"Not nearly."

He bent his head again, his breath warm against her, his nearness deliberate, as though staking a silent claim that could not be mistaken.

Her breathing faltered.

Outside, Lucas’ voice continued, heavy with alcohol and unrest.

"Lady Caelith... I have thought on this the entire day... from dawn till now... yet I cannot understand—where am I lesser than he?"

A faint curve touched Rhaegar’s lips. In the dark, that smile carried a chill sharper than steel. He leaned close once more, his voice no more than a whisper against her ear.

"Tell him," he said, "why you favor me."

Caelith bit her lip, saying nothing.

His hand tightened slightly at her waist—a silent insistence.

She nearly gasped.

"Speak," he murmured, a trace of laughter threading through his tone, though it was more daunting than any threat. "Or I shall remain—and let him hear us till dawn."

Caelith drew in a steady breath, forcing her voice into calm.

"Lord Ostenton... the one in my heart is only him."

For a moment, silence fell beyond the door.

Rhaegar’s eyes gleamed.

He lowered his head and brushed a fleeting kiss against her lips.

"Say it again."