A Touch of Shadow: The Duke's Obsession

Erian opened his eyes and continued walking forward.

His footsteps staggered unevenly beneath him, his tall figure swaying slightly as though the wine had already seeped deep into his bones.

By the time Rhaegar returned from beyond the city gates, night had long descended across the capital.

Rather than entering through the main avenue, he chose a narrower path and cut through one of the old alleys hidden between rows of darkened residences. The alley was steeped in shadow, lit only by a single lantern hanging at the far end, its dim golden glow flickering faintly against the ancient stone walls.

When he reached the middle of the alley, he suddenly stopped.

Someone was crouched beneath the wall.

The figure sat buried within the darkness, head lowered so that his face could not be seen clearly. Yet the clothing upon his body was instantly recognizable to Rhaegar.

Erian.

A faint crease formed between Rhaegar’s brows as he strode toward him.

Only after drawing close did he catch the sharp scent of alcohol lingering thickly in the air.

Erian leaned heavily against the wall, drenched in the smell of wine, an empty liquor flask still loosely clutched within his hand.

"Erian?"

Slowly, Erian lifted his head.

Moonlight spilled into the alley from its entrance and fell across his face. His expression was vacant, his eyes half open and unfocused, as though he had drunk himself senseless.

He glanced once toward Rhaegar before lowering his head again.

Rhaegar looked down at him. "Why are you here?"

Erian lazily lifted the empty flask in his hand. "I was drinking."

His words came slurred and indistinct, his tongue seemingly tangled by intoxication.

Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed. "Why are you drinking?"

Erian fell silent for a moment. Then, he leaned backward against the cold stone wall and closed his eyes as though he had fallen asleep.

Rhaegar remained standing there, silently studying him.

Beneath the moonlight, the young man’s face was smudged with dust, his dark hair disheveled by the wind. At first glance, he truly looked no different from an ordinary drunkard abandoned in some forgotten corner of the city.

And yet... Something felt wrong.

Rhaegar stared at him for a very long time.

Erian never moved again. His breathing remained slow and even, calm enough to resemble genuine sleep.

At last, Rhaegar turned and resumed walking. After several steps, he suddenly looked back once more.

Erian was still leaning there motionlessly beneath the wall.

Rhaegar withdrew his gaze and disappeared beyond the alley.

Silence returned once again. Only after a long while did Erian slowly open his eyes.

He stared toward the now-empty alley entrance before gradually straightening his body.

Within those dark eyes remained nothing but clarity. There was no trace of drunkenness left at all.

Lowering his gaze, he looked at the empty wine flask still resting in his hand.

He had indeed drunk. But not much.

The habits carved into him over years of survival had long since seeped into his very marrow. No matter the circumstance, he would never allow himself to become truly drunk.

He rose slowly to his feet and brushed the dust from his robes. Then he leaned once more against the wall and lifted his eyes toward the moon hanging high above the capital.

The night wind swept past him, cold enough to chill the skin. And suddenly, he remembered the way Rhaegar had looked at him moments earlier.

Erian understood that gaze all too well––suspicion and hostility.

Slowly, he lowered his head again and continued standing there alone beneath the moonlight.

By the time Rhaegar returned to Firefly Pavilion, the night had fully deepened.

Inside the chamber, Caelith sat beneath the lamplight, working quietly at her embroidery. The moment she heard movement from the courtyard gate, she immediately set aside the embroidery frame and rose to greet him.

The instant he entered, she noticed the darkness lingering across his expression.

"What happened?"

Rhaegar looked at her silently for a brief moment before answering.

"I ran into Erian."

Caelith paused in surprise.

"Where?"

"In the eastern district." His voice was low. "He was drinking."

Caelith frowned at once. "Drinking? He never drinks."

Rhaegar looked at her with a cold gaze. "Do you know why he drank?"

Caelith shook her head.

Rhaegar did not speak again.

His thoughts drifted back to the scene from earlier that night. Erian leaning against the wall, drenched in the scent of wine, his gaze seemingly dazed and unfocused.

Yet beneath those eyes, Rhaegar had seen everything clearly.

That was not the gaze of a drunken man. It was the gaze of someone perfectly sober pretending to be drunk.

"Rhaegar?" Caelith gently clasped his hand. "What is it?"

Only then did Rhaegar seem to return to himself. He lowered his gaze to her eyes.

"Caelith."

"Mm?"

"Erian..." His voice faltered slightly before stopping altogether.

Caelith waited quietly for him to continue, but he never finished the sentence.

Instead, he reached out and pulled her into his tight embrace, as though afraid that loosening his grip for even a moment would allow something precious to slip beyond his reach forever.

"...It’s nothing."

Caelith rested her face against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath the layers of dark silk.

"You’ve been strange all day," she murmured softly.

Rhaegar remained silent. Only after a long pause did he finally speak again.

"I want to arrange another place for Erian."

Caelith froze slightly at those words. She lifted her head to look at him.

"What do you mean?"

Rhaegar met her gaze calmly. "The Imperial Guard is short of men. His skills are exceptional. He could go there."

Caelith fell silent. She understood immediately what he truly meant––he did not want Erian remaining by her side.

She studied him quietly. Within those dark eyes she saw exhaustion, possessiveness, and something deeper still, something difficult even for her to name.

After a moment of thought, she spoke gently.

"Erian is already familiar with everything here. He handles the deliveries, watches over the shop at night, manages the stock..." Her voice softened faintly as she continued, "And besides... he’s loyal."

Rhaegar looked at her steadily. "You can’t bear to part with him?"

Caelith shook her head. "That’s not it." She lifted a hand and carefully straightened the folds of his collar. "It would simply be troublesome to replace him now."

She paused briefly before smiling again. "Let’s wait a little longer before deciding."

Rhaegar said nothing at first. Then, lowering his head, he pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead.

"...Alright."

Caelith leaned quietly against his chest, relief loosening softly within her heart.

***

Early the next morning, Rhaegar brought Caelith back to the Duke’s Estate.

The carriage stopped before the grand entrance. Rhaegar descended first before turning to offer her his hand. Caelith placed her fingers lightly against his palm and stepped down from the carriage, instinctively lifting her eyes toward the towering crimson gates before them.

The last time she had come here, it had been deep into the night, too dark to properly see anything.

Now, beneath the full brilliance of daylight, the golden plaque above the entrance gleamed magnificently beneath the sun.

Duchy of Northern Lands

The four gilded words shone with imposing splendor.

Rhaegar tightened his hold around her hand. "Don’t be nervous."

Caelith nodded and smiled.

Together, they walked inside.

They passed the shadow wall, crossed winding corridors lined with carved pillars, and neared the main hall when laughter suddenly drifted outward from within.

A woman’s laughter, clear as silver bells.

Rhaegar’s footsteps slowed almost imperceptibly.

Caelith glanced toward him. "Are there guests?"

Rhaegar did not answer. The two of them entered the hall.

Several people were already seated inside.

The Old Madam sat at the head of the room while Rhaegar’s mother accompanied her nearby. On one side sat a middle-aged man dressed in official robes, his features somewhat familiar.

Beside him stood a young lady clad in soft goose yellow silks, smiling sweetly as she conversed with the Old Madam.

The moment Rhaegar saw the man, his expression shifted faintly in surprise.

"Lord Walerick?"

The middle-aged official rose at once and offered Rhaegar a courteous bow, a smile resting upon his face.

"Lord Rhaegar has returned."

Rhaegar returned the gesture with calm politeness.

Caelith stood quietly beside him, her gaze instinctively drifting toward the young lady dressed in pale yellow silks.

The young woman was already looking at her as well. Their eyes met briefly in the middle of the hall.

The young lady smiled faintly before withdrawing her gaze and resuming her conversation with the Old Madam as though nothing had happened.

The moment the Old Madam noticed Caelith, warmth spread across her aged features.

"The young lady is here at last. Come, quickly, sit beside me."

Caelith stepped forward obediently and took the seat near the Old Madam.

The elder woman reached for her hand immediately, patting it affectionately.

"Your complexion is far better than the last time I saw you."

Caelith offered her a soft smile. "Thank you for your concern, my lady."

Nearby, the young lady glanced once toward Caelith before looking toward Rhaegar, amusement flickering gently within her eyes.

"Lord Rhaegar," she said lightly, "this must be..."

Rhaegar gave a slight nod. "Miss Caelith Emberlyn."

The young woman rose gracefully to her feet and offered Caelith a refined curtsy.

"Greetings, Miss Caelith. My name is Marina Walerick. This is my father, Count Philip Walerick."

Caelith stood as well and returned the courtesy. "Greetings, my lady. My lord."

Marina smiled brightly, her crescent-shaped eyes curving with effortless charm.

"I have long heard of Miss Caelith’s exquisite embroidery and wished to make your acquaintance. Today I finally have the opportunity."

Caelith looked at the smiling young woman before her and found herself unable to describe the strange feeling quietly forming in her heart.

Everything about Marina was impeccable.

She was courteous, elegant, perfectly poised.

And yet... Something about her felt faintly unsettling.

Meanwhile, Philip exchanged several words with Rhaegar before the two men rose together and departed the hall, saying they had official matters to discuss.

Caelith watched silently as Rhaegar’s figure disappeared beyond the doorway before withdrawing her gaze once more.

The Old Madam squeezed her hand warmly.

"Child, try this cake. The chef made it fresh this morning."

Caelith accepted the delicate dessert and took a small bite. It was overwhelmingly sweet.

The Old Madam then turned cheerfully toward Marina.

"Lady Marina, you should eat as well. Don’t be shy."

The young woman smiled obediently and picked up a piece, eating in small, refined bites.

Soon, the two women began conversing leisurely again.

They spoke of matters Caelith could scarcely involve herself in. The birthday banquet of some noble matron, the upcoming marriage of a minister’s daughter, which merchant family carried the finest silks, whose cosmetics and rouge were currently most fashionable within the capital.

Caelith sat quietly beside them, listening in silence, offering only the occasional soft response when appropriate.