A Touch of Shadow: The Duke's Obsession

Inside the carriage, Dolly hesitated before speaking, "My lady... when we return, if the heir asks about the matter at the Moon Temple... what shall we say?"

Caelith’s gaze remained distant, her voice calm as she replied. "Not a word. You will not speak of this to anyone."

"Yes, my lady."

Silence followed like a dropped axe.

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the events of the previous night. Her fingers moved unconsciously to the sachet at her waist.

How reckless it had all been...

By the time the carriage reached the gates of the Valehart residence, the steward had already come forward, lifting the curtain.

"My lady has returned," he said, falling into step beside her. "Was all well at the temple?"

"It was," Caelith answered lightly.

Her gaze flicked toward the scriptures Dolly carried. "I have completed the copying. See that they are delivered to my mother-in-law."

"At once."

She gave a faint nod and turned away, walking directly toward her own courtyard—neither pausing at the main hall nor seeking out Dorian Valehart.

Back within her chambers, Dolly immediately set the servants to tidying the room.

Caelith sat down before the mirror.

Yet what she saw was not her reflection—but fragments of the night before, replaying again and again in her mind.

Her heart fastened its beat, but it was not a sign of panic... She was happy.

***

Meanwhile, in the main hall, Dorian had been waiting rather impatiently.

When he heard that Caelith had returned yet gone straight to her own quarters without presenting herself, his brows drew together.

He had expected tears, grievance—some appeal for comfort.

Instead... she avoided him.

It unsettled him.

"Steward," he asked, "did the lady mention anything of the temple?"

"Nothing at all."

Dorian’s unease only deepened. The more she avoided the matter, the more suspicious it seemed.

On one side, Yvaine Emberlyn had wept and cried of danger. On the other hand, Caelith remained utterly silent.

After a moment, he rose.

"I will go see her myself."

Not long after, Dorian arrived outside Caelith’s courtyard. The gate stood open; he entered without announcement.

Dolly, seeing him approach, quickly bowed.

"My lord."

"Where is your mistress?" Dorian asked without ceremony.

Dolly lowered her head respectfully. "The lady is inside, resting."

Dorian gave a brief nod and pushed the door open.

Inside, Caelith sat before the mirror, slowly brushing her hair. At his entrance, she rose at once and offered a proper greeting, "Greetings, my lord. I was not informed of your arrival."

There was no trace of grievance upon her face—no lingering fear, no tearful complaint—only calm composure.

That very calmness unsettled him all the more.

"The matter at the Moon Temple," he said, studying her closely. "Have you nothing to say to me?"

"What matter?" Caelith asked evenly, her face marred with genuine confusion.

"You do not know?"

"Apologies, I truly don’t."

Dorian arched a brow and stepped closer, as if about to speak plainly—but before he could, she interrupted softly, "My lord, I spent the entire night copying scriptures at the temple. I am somewhat fatigued and would like rest for a while."

He paused, then spoke again, his tone probing, "Your cousin claimed she went to see you... only to be seized by ruffians, and later found in a back alley..."

Of this, Caelith was already aware.

During the carriage ride, Dolly had recounted the rumors spreading through the streets. Though the news had surprised her, it had stirred no visible reaction.

For she had heard Yvaine’s voice herself at the temple.

And as for Yvaine—disheveled, cast into a back alley... More likely than not, that had been Rhaegar’s doing.

Whether it was vengeance on her behalf—or something else—she did not question it. She did not care.

Yet, deep within, she felt... a quiet satisfaction.

"My lord should be cautious with such words," she replied at last. "It is far more reasonable to believe the words of your lawful wife than the... outsiders."

At her response, something shifted in Dorian’s thoughts.

He recalled it all again––Yvaine’s constant provocations, her subtle manipulations––everything. Perhaps that gentle, yielding demeanor had never been more than a carefully crafted mask.

And Caelith—who neither fought nor grasped, who neither pleaded nor complained—was perhaps the one of truest disposition.

"Have you seen her since your return?" he asked.

"I have not," Caelith answered with a slight shake of her head.

Dorian regarded her in silence for a moment longer, then said, "And how do you think this matter should be handled? I would like to hear your thoughts."

Caelith inclined her head slightly, her voice composed and unhurried. "My cousin has suffered a fright of no small measure. Her heart must be unsettled. At present, the household is crowded, and rumors run freely—hardly a place for her to recover in peace."

She paused, then continued with quiet deliberation, "It would be best to send her to a villa beyond the city for some time. There, she may calm her mind and restore herself away from idle tongues."

The moment her words fell, Dorian lifted his gaze sharply, looking at her with undisguised astonishment.

Never had he imagined she would say such a thing. He was surprised.