A Touch of Shadow: The Duke's Obsession

Yvaine trembled violently, fear seizing her entire body as she dropped to her knees at once.

"My lord—this concubine has urgent news to report!" she cried. "It concerns Caelith... it concerns a matter of great importance to you!"

Dorian’s brows drew together, displeasure evident in his expression. "Stand before you speak. What sort of conduct is this, weeping like a child?"

Yvaine hastily wiped away her tears and forced herself to her feet. Step by step, she approached the desk, her voice lowered, as though the words she carried were heavy with consequence.

"Caelith said... that of late, you have been in contact with salt merchants from the Kingdom of Miaelin... that there seems to be some grand enterprise underway..."

At those words, Dorian’s face changed at once.

Shock spread across his features.

He rose abruptly, the movement sharp and sudden, his gaze locking onto Yvaine with a piercing intensity.

"She truly said this?" he demanded.

Yvaine nodded quickly, her heart racing, unaware that she had already stepped into a web far deeper than she could comprehend.

"Yes!" Yvaine nodded fervently. "This concubine heard it with absolute clarity—there can be no mistake!"

Dorian’s expression darkened to a terrifying degree.

How had Caelith come to know of his dealings with the salt merchants of the Kingdom of Miaelin?

It was absurd—utter nonsense! Who dared spread such rumors beyond his sight?

Or... had Caelith uncovered something? Had she glimpsed the designs he kept hidden in shadow? Had she been snooping around like a lousy fly, eager to sabotage his work out of her spiteful nature?

Or worse—had she deliberately fed this information to Yvaine, knowing it would reach his ears?

For a long moment, silence weighed upon the chamber, making Yvaine feel even more restless and afraid.

At last, Dorian mastered himself. His expression cooled, though a storm still lingered beneath the surface. He stepped toward the bookshelf, withdrew a lacquered box, and handed it to Yvaine.

"You have done well. This is your reward."

Yvaine accepted it at once, opening the lid with eager hands. Inside lay a delicate peach-blossom hairpin and a long, purple silk ribbon.

Her eyes shimmered, fingers nearly trembling with excitement.

"Many thanks, my lord," she said, her voice bright with relief. "I shall continue to sound her out."

"Go now," Dorian said with a dismissive wave.

Once she had left his study, his most trusted attendant entered swiftly through the door.

"Send word at once," Dorian commanded, his tone low and sharp. "Investigate whether, of late, any salt merchants from the Kingdom of Miaelin have been in frequent contact with the capital. I want to know who dares fabricate such rumors against me."

"Yes, my lord." The attendant bowed deeply and departed without delay.

Left alone in the vast stillness of his study, Dorian sat in silence, rapping his fingers over the smooth surface of his desk.

The message brought by Yvaine had come too suddenly, too precisely. It bore the scent of design—of someone testing him, probing for weakness.

He could not afford to lose composure. Not now. He had to approach it with care.

***

Elsewhere, within her own courtyard, Caelith sat by the window, her needle moving steadily as she continued embroidering the unfinished handkerchief.

Dolly stood beside her, pouring freshly brewed tea. "My lady... will Lady Yvaine truly report this to the lord? I have a bad feeling about all this."

"She will," Caelith replied calmly. "Yvaine covets favor and thrives on vanity. She is eager to prove her worth before Dorian. The words I gave her carry weight enough to stir him up."

Dolly hesitated. "But... what if the heir does not believe it?"

A faint, cold smile curved Caelith’s lips. "If he does not believe it, that is all the better. Doubt breeds unrest. Doubt invites suspicion. My goal is to make Dorian distrustful of everyone."

She believed in this scheme. After all, these stratagems—every word, every step—had been taught to her by Rhaegar.

And now, reflecting upon it, she saw clearly: nothing she had done lay beyond his foresight.

"Prepare the carriage," she said at last, setting aside her needlework. "We are going to Firefly Lane."

"Yes, my lady."

Before long, Caelith arrived once more at Firefly Lane.

Beneath the pear tree stood Rhaegar, his hands clasped behind his back as he inspected the branches.

Today he wore robes of deep black, his figure sharp and commanding, like a blade drawn from its sheath—dangerous, unyielding, powerful.

"You have come early once more," he said. "Should I take it as you are ready to begin?"

"I am," Caelith replied softly.

"Were you not to come and learn self-defense?" Rhaegar stepped forward, taking her hand as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "Why just stand there, unmoving?"

Led by him, she walked into the center of the courtyard. "The lessons may wait. There is something I must tell you first."

"As you wish." He drew closer, his gaze intent, unwavering. "Speak. I am listening."

Steeling herself, Caelith took a quiet breath and recounted everything that had transpired over the past days—from Yvaine’s feigned repentance and offer to act as her informant, to the calculated rumor she had released.

"I have done as you advised," she said. "I gave the message to Yvaine. With her nature, she will surely carry it to Dorian."

Before she could say more, Rhaegar reached out and gently pinched her cheek.

"You have done well."

Caught off guard, Caelith felt warmth rise to her face.

"There is only one thing you must remember," he added.

"What is it?"

His fingers pressed ever so slightly, his tone sharpening. "Yvaine cannot be trusted."

"I know."

"You know—but you may not yet understand fully," Rhaegar said, cutting her off. "She will feign helplessness before you, and innocence before Dorian. Do not assume she will relay your words exactly as spoken."

The realization struck her at once.

She had thought Yvaine, eager to earn favor, would repeat everything without alteration.

But Rhaegar’s words laid bare the truth—Yvaine had never been an honest player.