A Touch of Shadow: The Duke's Obsession

Erian crouched beside the well, washing clothes in a wooden basin. His hands moved steadily through the familiar task, but every so often, he would pause and lift his gaze toward the room where Caelith rested.

Marina noticed. Every time. Very little escaped her sharp eyes.

She walked across the courtyard and stopped beside him.

"Mr. Erian."

The young man looked up, but said nothing.

Marina lowered herself into a crouch beside him, studying his expression.

"Mr. Erian, your feelings for Miss Caelith..." She tilted her head slightly. "Could it be that you..."

His hands stilled. Water dripped soundlessly from the cloth clenched between his fingers.

Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet hers. The look he gave her was cold––cold enough to make the air between them seem to freeze.

Marina only smiled. "There’s no need to be nervous. I’m merely asking because I’m curious."

She rose gracefully and brushed the wrinkles from her skirts.

"Mr. Erian, when you care for someone, you have to fight for them." Her voice remained gentle, almost casual. "Otherwise, all you can do is stand aside and watch someone else take them away."

Erian froze.

Marina grinned at the subtle shift in his eyes. In that instant, she understood everything.

Without saying another word, she turned and walked away.

Erian remained where he was, crouched beside the well. The half-washed cloth still hung forgotten in his hand. His gaze followed her retreating figure until she disappeared from sight.

Only then did he lower his head and return to his work. Yet something had already taken root within him, without warning.

After Marinae left, Erian stayed by the well for a long time.

The cloth in his hands had been clean for quite a while. Still, he continued scrubbing it.

Again.

And again.

His thoughts kept returning to the words she had spoken.

When you care for someone, you have to fight for them.

Care for someone? What did that mean?

He thought of Caelith.

Her smile. The way she lowered her head while embroidering, sunlight settling softly across her lashes. The way she stood beneath the moonlight and spoke to him in that gentle voice. The times she slipped food into his bowl and urged him to eat more.

The day she discovered his injuries, her eyes reddening with concern even as her hands remained steady while tending his wounds.

The way she watched Yvaine’s bridal procession disappear into the distance, insisting she was happy while tears quietly traced paths down her cheeks.

He wanted to keep looking at her. Always.

As long as she remained within his sight, he felt strangely content.

Was that what it meant to care for someone?

He didn’t know. But there was one thing he understood. The way Rhaegar looked at him had changed.

That gaze... He recognized it. It was the look one man reserved for another he considered a rival.

Slowly, Erian set the cloth back into the basin and rose to his feet. He crossed the courtyard in unhurried steps and stopped outside the rear doorway.

From there, he looked toward the room.

Caelith was still leaning against the headboard. Her eyes were closed. The color had yet to return to her face.

For a long moment, Erian stood there in silence, watching her. Watching as though nothing else in the world existed.

Then he turned and walked back to the well. He sat down once more... And resumed his silent vigil.

Perhaps he still did not understand what love was. But he understood something else. He never wanted to see her unhappy.

Whenever she suffered, a dull ache spread through his chest. It hurt more than any wound he had ever endured.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze to the sky. The heavens stretched endlessly overhead, a brilliant expanse of blue. White clouds drifted lazily across the horizon, carried by a gentle breeze.

Suddenly, he remembered something Osvald had once said to him:

"Erian, one day you’ll meet someone you’ll want to spend the rest of your life with."

At the time, he had not understood those words.

Now... Perhaps he understood a little.

But she would spend her life with someone else. Not him.

His gaze lowered once more.

And he remained sitting there.

Alone.

***

Caelith could not remember when she finally drifted into sleep. She only remembered the relentless pounding inside her head. Every inch of her body felt as though it were burning.

One moment, unbearable heat soaked her skin with sweat. The next, an icy chill seeped into her bones, leaving her trembling.

She kicked the blankets away. Then dragged them back over herself.

Again and again. Until even that small effort exhausted her.

Eventually, she no longer had the strength to move.

Through the thick haze of fever, she vaguely sensed someone entering the room.

Soft footsteps crossed the floor. Quiet, measured.

The figure approached the bed and stopped beside her. A moment later, a hand settled gently against her forehead.

Cool. Wonderfully cool. Like a drop of rain falling onto scorched earth.

Almost instinctively, she leaned into the touch. The hand stiffened, as though its owner had intended to withdraw.

But she refused to let it go. Weakly, she lifted her hand and caught hold of those fingers. Then she pressed them against her burning cheek.

"Rhaegar..."

His name slipped from her lips in a faint murmur. The figure beside the bed did not answer.

Caelith forced her eyes open. Her vision was blurred. The room swayed before her. She could not make out the person’s features.

Only a dark silhouette standing beside the bed, watching her from the shadows.

"You came back..."

Her voice was hoarse, worn thin by fever and exhaustion.

Still, no answer came.

Caelith reached out blindly until her fingers found the sleeve of his robe.

She grasped it tightly.

"Don’t go..."

Despite her weakness, the pull carried surprising force. As though she feared that the moment she loosened her grip, he would disappear once again.

The pull caught him off guard.

He stumbled forward half a step, one hand shooting out to brace against the edge of the bed.

Immediately, Caelith wrapped both arms around his.

Then she pressed her burning cheek against his sleeve.

"So cool..."

Erian froze. Every muscle in his body went rigid beneath her touch, as though he were fighting some invisible battle within himself.

Caelith paid no attention. Instead, she nestled closer, rubbing her fever-warmed face lightly against his arm.

"You’re so cold..." she murmured. "It feels nice..."

His breathing grew uneven. He could feel the heat radiating from her skin through the fabric of his sleeve.

It was scorching.

Far hotter than it should have been.