A Touch of Shadow: The Duke's Obsession

Dorian shot to his feet in alarm. "Rhaegar! What is the meaning of this—?"

Caelith’s heart jolted under the ribcage.

For the briefest instant, she nearly turned to look at him.

But she did not.

Her fingers dug fiercely into her palm, nails biting into pale flesh, forcing herself into stillness.

Rhaegar lowered his gaze to the blood welling in his hand, his voice calm—strangely too calm.

"A slip of the hand. The cup was too thin."

He took the cloth Lance offered and pressed it over the wound without another word.

Dorian hurriedly ordered the servants to clear the table and sent for a physician, but Rhaegar merely waved him off.

"No need. It is nothing."

Across the hall, behind a screen, someone had seen everything.

It was Yvaine.

Having heard of Rhaegar’s visit, she had come in secret, hiding to watch. And what she saw—she did not miss a single detail.

Caelith’s gentleness toward Dorian. Rhaegar crushing the cup in his hand.

Slowly, a cunning smile curved upon her lips. That look in Rhaegar’s eyes... was wrong.

That was not the gaze of a man upon his friend’s wife.

It was something darker. Deeper.

Restrained—yet possessive.

The kind of gaze a man reserved only for a woman who belonged to him.

Her eyes shifted to Caelith.

Though she smiled, the warmth did not reach her eyes. And from beginning to end—she had not looked at Rhaegar even once.

Too posed.

Too controlled.

As though she were hiding something.

Yvaine let out a soft, knowing laugh.

So... you have a weakness as well, Caelith. Who would have thought that your weakness... is the Empire’s strongest man.

When the banquet ended, night had already fallen.

Rhaegar rose to take his leave.

"Forgive the disturbance today," he said coolly to Dorian. "I shall take my leave."

Then—he paused. At last, his gaze fell upon Caelith, but it offered her nothing but a splash of cold.

"My lady... take care of your health."

Caelith lowered her eyes, her voice composed and distant.

"Thank you for your concern, Lord Rhaegar."

That was all.

Nothing more.

Rhaegar turned and walked away. Within his sleeve, blood still dripped in hot rivulets. The cloth was already soaked through.

Yet he seemed not to feel the pain. He felt nothing at all.

Caelith remained where she stood, watching his figure recede beyond the doorway.

His back was straight. His steps steady.

No different from when he had arrived.

And yet... she knew.

He was angry.

Angry enough to crush porcelain in his bare hand. Angry enough to bleed without care.

Something in her chest felt hollowed out, aching with a quiet, empty pain.

Still, she did not call him back.

***

That night, Caelith sat by the window, bathed in pale moonlight.

Dolly entered softly, placing tea beside her.

"My lady... you were clearly worried for Lord Rhaegar. Why then..."

"Dolly," Caelith interrupted gently, "you would not understand."

Her gaze lowered. In her hands lay the handkerchief she had been embroidering—the pair of peonies, nearly complete.

"I cannot spend my whole life relying on him," Caelith said softly. "If one day he no longer wants me... what then? If his heart truly belongs to someone else... what then? I’ve made the mistake of indulging my sins. A wise woman would know when to end it."

Dolly hesitated. "But Lord Rhaegar treats you—"

"He treats me well," Caelith interrupted, lifting her gaze toward the pale moon beyond the window. "But to him... Lady Tanmin matters more."

Dolly parted her lips, yet no words came.

Caelith set the half-finished handkerchief aside, her voice quiet, almost distant.

"Rest now. Tomorrow... there will be other matters to attend."

***

In another courtyard, Yvaine lay awake beneath her canopy, staring upward in thought.

What she had witnessed today... was far too intriguing.

Caelith... you made me suffer in this household, she thought, a slow smile forming. And now... your weakness lies in my hands. How shall I use it?

Charlotte, standing nearby, spoke cautiously, "My lady... what do you intend to do?"

Yvaine closed her eyes, the smile lingering faintly upon her lips.

"No haste. Let us observe a little longer. Such leverage... must be used at the perfect moment."

***

Meanwhile, word reached Isabella Tanmin that Rhaegar had been in a foul temper these past days.

Officials of the Shadow Guard had been scolded so harshly they scarcely dared lift their heads. Several case files had been thrown back for revision.

When Lance came bearing items, even his face was pale.

"My lady, you cannot imagine—these past few days, my lord has been like a different man. Whoever approaches him meets misfortune."

Isabella frowned. "What has happened?"

Lance hesitated. "This subordinate... does not know."

She pressed further, but learned nothing more, and at last dismissed him.

Seated by the window, she pondered for a long while.

Then she recalled—Rhaegar had gone to the Valehart estate days before, and returned with an injury to his hand.

If he had gone there... he must have seen Caelith.

Could it be that something had happened between them?

Two days later, Isabella deliberately sought out Caelith at a silk embroidery shop.

"Lady Caelith!" she called brightly, stepping forward with a smile. "What a coincidence—you are here choosing threads as well?"

Caelith paused at the sight of her, then inclined her head slightly, her manner polite—but distant.

"Lady Isabella."

Something tightened in Isabella’s chest. At the riding grounds before, Caelith had been reserved, yes—but not like this.

Now... there was a clear distance, a guardedness.

Her suspicion deepened.

Something had happened.

"Since we have met like this," she said lightly, "shall we sit for tea? There is something I would like to speak with you about."

Caelith hesitated only a moment. Then she nodded.

In a private room within the teahouse, the two women sat facing one another.

Steam curled upward from the teacups between them.

The fragrance of tea filled the air, yet the silence that lingered was anything but gentle.