A Touch of Shadow: The Duke's Obsession

"Yes, Your Grace," Lance Illian responded at once before withdrawing.

When he had gone, Rhaegar looked down at Caelith, bitter remorse tightening his chest.

Had he perceived Yvaine’s scheme sooner, Caelith would never have suffered such a calamity.

Her face was flushed an unnatural red, her breathing uneven. Rhaegar forced himself to steady his thoughts, suppressing the dangerous stirrings within him. He could not—must not—use such a method to counter the poison while she was not in her right mind. And this place was far from safe.

After a brief moment’s consideration, he bent and lifted her into his arms.

The instant her body touched his chest, he felt the heat of her skin—scalding, fragile, boneless in its weakness. She seemed almost to burn against him, exuding a perilous allure that tested even his iron restraint.

Without hesitation, he carried her out of the charity hall and into a waiting carriage, then ordered the driver to return at once to Firefly Lane.

Before long, they arrived at a familiar place.

Rhaegar carried her straight into the inner chamber and laid her carefully upon the bed.

Caelith’s consciousness was in disarray, her brows knit tightly. Her hands moved restlessly until, without awareness, they caught hold of his sleeve.

Rhaegar watched her flushed face, then reached out to gently wipe the fine sheen of sweat from her brow.

She seemed to respond instinctively to the touch, tilting her head faintly, as though seeking the coolness of his fingertips.

His gaze darkened.

Turning away, he went to a cabinet and retrieved a small white jade vial. From it, he poured out a single pill. He did not know whether it would fully counteract the poison coursing through her—but there was no other choice. He had to try.

"Open your mouth. Take the medicine," he said in a quiet tone, lifting her slightly.

But Caelith, lost in her haze, would not comply.

"Ugh," she groaned, his every touch burning her to the bone.

Rhaegar exhaled softly, a trace of helplessness flickering through his otherwise composed demeanor.

At last, he placed the pill in his own mouth, then bent down and pressed his lips to hers.

Gently, he parted her lips and transferred the medicine into her mouth.

As their lips met, Caelith’s fingers tightened in his clothing, clutching his collar. The sensation sent a sharp pulse through him, his throat tightening.

He withdrew at once, forcing distance between them before his restraint could falter or break down completely.

After the medicine had been administered, Rhaegar remained seated at the bedside, his gaze fixed upon her with unguarded intensity.

Gradually, the tension in her brows began to ease.

"Rha––" she murmured softly, a single tear running down her face. "Rhaegar..."

***

Meanwhile, in a private room of a teahouse—

Yvaine Emberlyn reclined by the window upon a cushioned couch, a round silk fan idly turning in her hand as she sipped her tea. A faint smile curved her lips.

From time to time, she cast a glance toward the direction of the charity hall, clearly awaiting news.

Charlotte stood loyally at her side.

"My lady, rest assured. Those two men were entrusted to you by your father. They are reliable and will certainly complete the task."

"You are right. I refuse to believe Caelith can escape this," Yvaine said coldly. "And remember—spread word of it afterward. I want to see how a woman who has lost her chastity in the holiest of places can still hold her place in the capital."

"Yes, my lady," Charlotte replied.

"You may leave," Yvaine said with a casual wave of her hand, her gaze drifting once more toward the distant charity hall.

Charlotte bowed and withdrew, leaving nothing but cold silence in her absence.

The moment she stepped out and closed the door to the private room, she saw a man in the distinctive uniform of the Shadow Guard ascending to the second floor.

A chill ran down her spine, freezing her on the spot.

Instinctively, she lowered her head at once, not daring to meet his gaze, lest he detect anything amiss.

Yet before she could retreat, the man began striding toward the very room Yvaine occupied.

Panic seized her. She turned, intending to call out a warning—but before a single word could leave her lips, the guard moved with startling speed. A sharp blow struck the back of her neck, and darkness swallowed her whole.

Lance Illian glanced briefly at the unconscious Charlotte on the floor.

If Charlotte was here, then Yvaine Emberlyn must be inside.

Without hesitation, he pushed open the door.

At the sound, Yvaine did not even turn.

"Is there news already?" she said lightly. "Has that wretch been ruined beyond recovery?"

"Lady Yvaine seems to be in excellent spirits," Lance replied coolly as he stepped inside.

Her head snapped up, her eyes widening at the sight of the intruder. "Who are you? How dare you intrude upon my private chamber! Guards! Charlotte!"

"Have you truly forgotten what you have done?" Lance’s gaze was cold as steel asd he cut through her panic. "Call for help all you want––no one will help you."