A Touch of Shadow: The Duke's Obsession

News of Brameroth’s escape spread swiftly.

When Caelith heard, unease stirred within her.

That sensation—the feeling of being watched—had grown stronger with each passing day.

On the street, she would turn without reason. Beneath the corridors, she would feel a chill along her back.

Even while seated at her embroidery, she could not shake the sense that someone lingered beyond the window, watching.

She told herself it was just her imagination. And yet, it felt too real to dismiss completely.

That afternoon, she went once more to the rear courtyard to fetch thread. As she walked beneath the corridor, the feeling came again.

Sudden. Unmistakable.

She turned sharply.

Nothing.

Only embroidered panels hanging from wooden poles, swaying gently in the breeze. She stood there for a moment, then drew a breath and forced herself onward.

When she retrieved the thread and turned back, she suddenly heard it.

Footsteps.

Right behind her.

Very light—so light it seemed deliberately muffled.

She did not turn back.

Instead, she quickened her pace.

Behind her, the footsteps quickened as well.

Her grip tightened around the bundle of thread in her hands as she nearly broke into a run, hurrying back toward the embroidery room.

Only when the door shut behind her did she realize how violently her heart was pounding.

What in the world is going on with me?

***

That evening, she returned home with Yvaine. As they reached the mouth of the alley, Yvaine suddenly clutched at her sleeve.

"Sister..."

"What is it?"

Yvaine’s face had gone noticeably pale. She pointed toward the depths of the alley.

"I... I just saw someone there."

Caelith followed her gaze. The alley lay steeped in darkness—nothing could be seen there. And yet, she knew Yvaine would not speak without cause.

"Come." She seized Yvaine’s hand, and the two of them ran. They did not slow until they reached the old residence.

Only after the door was shut did Caelith allow herself to breathe, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Yvaine huddled beside her, trembling.

"Sister... do you think those people have set their sights on us?"

Caelith bit her lip.

She knew it too––they had been marked.

***

That night, Caelith slept lightly.

She turned over, pulling the covers tighter around herself, yet sleep would not come.

Then—from the courtyard—a faint sound broke the silence.

Caelith’s eyes flew open.

In an instant, she rose and hastened to the adjoining room, gently shaking Yvaine awake.

Yvaine stirred, her eyes half-lidded with sleep. "Sister, what is it..."

"Hush." Caelith raised a finger to her lips, then pointed toward the courtyard beyond.

At once, Yvaine’s drowsiness vanished. Her face drained of color as she drew closer, pressing herself against Caelith.

The two of them remained in the darkness, scarcely daring to breathe.

From the courtyard came another faint disturbance.

Caelith tightened her grip on the hairpin she had seized; beside her, Yvaine clutched a wooden stick. Slowly, cautiously, they edged forward.

Then, from beyond the door came a low, subdued voice.

"Lady Emberlyn, do not be afraid. It is we."

Caelith flinched––she did not recognize that man’s voice.

"We have been sent by Lord Thorne to guard you," the voice continued. "A suspicious figure was seen lingering nearby just now, so we came to investigate. He has already gone. You may rest at ease."

The tension in Caelith’s hand eased.

Men sent by Rhaegar...

She let out a quiet breath.

Beside her, Yvaine stood frozen for a moment, then suddenly spoke up.

"Th-the gentleman outside...?"

A brief silence followed.

"...Yes."

"You... you were sent by Lord Thorne?"

"Yes."

"You... you keep watch here all the time?"

"We take turns. There is always someone present."

At once, a light returned to Yvaine’s eyes. She scrambled up and moved closer to the door, speaking through the wooden panel.

"Then... do you not sleep at night?"

"...We take shifts."

"Then... are you not cold?"

"...."

"Would you care to come inside and take some water?"

"There is no need."

"Then... will you still be here tomorrow?"

"...We will."

"Then in the days ahead, when I go to and from work—may I walk with you? I... I am very afraid."

A brief silence lingered beyond the door.

"...You may."

At once, Yvaine’s face lit with delight, as though she might leap for joy.

Caelith pressed a hand to her brow. "Yvaine," she murmured, lowering her voice, "do not trouble them unnecessarily."

"How is this troubling them?" Yvaine retorted with earnest conviction. "They were sent by Lord Thorne to help us—it is not for our sake, but by his command. If we were to come to harm, how could they answer to him?"

Caelith found herself without reply.

From beyond the door came a faint, restrained chuckle.

Hearing it, Yvaine grew all the more spirited. "Sir, what do you laugh at? Am I mistaken?"

"No," came the answer, touched with quiet amusement. "The young lady speaks quite rightly."

Satisfied, Yvaine turned back, winking playfully at Caelith. "Sister?"

"Yes?"

"Lord Thorne treats you exceedingly well."

Caelith’s lips curved into a faint smile. "Come," she said softly. "Let us return to sleep."

***

Within the imperial prison, the lamps burned bright through the night.

Rhaegar sat at the head of the large desk, before him a thick stack of dossiers. Sylric and Lance stood to one side, their expression far graver than usual.

"My lord, we have obtained a confession."

Rhaegar lifted his gaze.

"Evren Viremont has confessed in full. The girls were indeed abducted and intended for sale in the southern regions. The intermediary is the shopkeeper Brameroth from the general store. However... there is another behind him."

"Who?"

Sylric hesitated. "Each time Brameroth received goods, he first sent word to a certain place. Our men have traced that point of contact..."

He faltered, unable to continue.

Rhaegar raised an irritated brow at him. "Speak."

Sylric drew a slow breath. "It is very likely connected to the palace."

For a moment, the chamber fell utterly silent—so silent that even the faint crackle of the lamp’s wick seemed harsh.

Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed. "Which part of the palace?"

"For now, we know only that it leads within the palace walls. The exact residence... remains unknown," Sylric replied in a low voice.

Rhaegar’s fingers tapped lightly against the table, slow and deliberate—each tap echoing like the tolling of distant thunder.