A Touch of Shadow: The Duke's Obsession

Caelith bent gracefully into a formal curtsey, her voice soft yet composed.

"My lord summons me—may I ask for what purpose?"

Dorian gave a faint smile, as though her question amused him.

"Must there be a reason for a husband to dine with his wife?" he replied lightly. Reaching out, he placed a piece of fish upon her plate with his own hand. "The household has been burdened of late, and you have borne much. Tonight, I instructed the kitchens to prepare dishes you favor the most."

Caelith lowered her gaze to the fish before her. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

She did not lift her silverware.

It was Yvaine who loved fish—not her. She loved pork.

Yet she gave no sign of this, her expression remaining tranquil.

"My health has been unsteady these past days," she said instead, her tone measured. "I fear I cannot accompany my lord in wine. I ask your understanding."

Dorian paused, then spoke again, his voice carrying a trace of justification.

"Yvaine acted in folly, not malice. Yet her reputation has suffered greatly—I had no choice but to send her to the charity hall instead."

"My lord has already made his decision," Caelith replied calmly. "As one within the inner chambers, it is not my place to speak further."

Dorian had nothing else to say.

***

The meal passed without flavor.

Even the most delicately prepared dishes seemed dull upon the tongue, the air between them thick with electrifying tension.

When the servants cleared the table, Dorian did not rise. Instead, he leaned back slightly, regarding his wife with a steady glare.

"I have been occupied with household affairs all day," he said. "It has been wearisome. Perhaps tonight, I shall rest in your courtyard."

The meaning behind his words was unmistakable.

Caelith’s fingers tightened slightly beneath her sleeve.

Toward this man—toward Dorian Valehart—there remained not even the faintest trace of warmth within her heart.

And yet, now he sought intimacy.

It stirred only revulsion.

"My lord has labored greatly," she said gently, her refusal wrapped in courtesy. "But my courtyard is small and ill-suited to receive you. It would grieve me to see you inconvenienced. It would be better if you returned to the front residence to rest."

Dorian’s brows knit faintly. He did not expect her to refuse so plainly.

"What inconvenience could there be between husband and wife?" he said, a note of firmness entering his tone. "We have long been married. It is only proper that we grow closer. After all, our marriage will be in jeopardy if it isn’t... sealed with intimacy."

Ha, she scoffed inwardly, her fingernails digging deeper in her skin. You have already sold that chance to my cousin. Greedy. Disgusting man.

Caelith inclined her head, her voice soft yet resolute.

"My lord, forgive me. My condition has truly been unwell these past days—I fear I cannot attend to you tonight."

She continued before he could respond. "Just days ago, I summoned the imperial physician. He diagnosed me with irregular heart palpitations and instructed that I must rest in quiet seclusion."

As she spoke, she gave a light cough, delicate and restrained.

Dorian reached out, intending to touch her forehead—but she shifted subtly aside, evading his hand.

"My lord need not worry," she added. "I have taken the prescribed medicines. With a few days’ rest, I shall recover."

Though he still harbored desire, Dorian had no wish to share a bed with an ailing woman.

"Very well," he said at last, his tone cooling. "Then you should rest properly."

"My thanks for your concern, my lord." Caelith lowered her gaze, concealing the cold disdain that flickered briefly within her eyes.

"You may go," he dismissed.

"Thank you."

She rose at once, offered a final bow, and withdrew without hesitation.

***

Back within her own courtyard, the silence felt almost tangible.

Caelith entered her chamber alone and seated herself beside the table, pressing her fingers lightly against her temple as she steadied the lingering wave of revulsion.

Just then, a faint sound stirred beyond the window.

Soft. Subtle.

Yet unmistakable.

Her body tensed instantly, all traces of weariness vanishing at once. A flicker of sharp vigilance lit her eyes.

She rose slowly, slipping the silver hairpin from her coiffure and gripping it tightly in her hand.

The window shifted—and in the next instant, a dark figure vaulted soundlessly into the room.

Caelith’s arm lifted, the pointed pin aimed straight at the intruder’s throat.

"Who are you?" She said firmly, though the light tremor of her delicate hand betrayed her fear.

The figure turned.

Candlelight trembled, casting shifting shadows across his features—and she saw his face clearly.

It was Rhaegar Thorne.