A Touch of Shadow: The Duke's Obsession

Rhaegar sat within the carriage, the pale light of the moon spilling across his face and laying bare the heavy darkness that lingered in his eyes.

He looked at her—steadily, intently, carefully considering his next words.

"Be cautious of late," he said at last. "Do not linger too often at the embroidery house."

Caelith was taken aback. "Why?"

Rhaegar offered no explanation.

He only continued to look at her, as though committing her features to memory, his gaze lingering far longer than words could justify.

"Wait for me," he said quietly. "It will not be long."

Then the carriage rolled forward, vanishing into the embrace of the night.

Caelith remained at the gate, watching as it receded farther and farther into the darkness, until it was swallowed whole. A strange unease rose unbidden in her heart.

There was something... profoundly amiss about him today. He could feel it both with her heart and soul.

When Rhaegar returned to the imperial prison, Sylric Blackmere, one of his assistants, was already awaiting him.

"My lord, we have uncovered something." He presented a ledger with both hands. "Records of goods entering and leaving Ostenton Embroidery House over the years, along with a list of personnel."

Rhaegar accepted it and began turning the pages, one by one.

"The contact Leonard Drias mentioned is unlikely to be Baron Ostenton," Sylric continued. "The Ostenton family has been in trade for three generations—their background is clean. Moreover, Ostenton Embroidery House sees a great many comings and goings each day: embroiderers, patrons, delivery men... any one of them could serve as the intermediary."

Rhaegar remained silent for quite a while, mulling over his assistant’s words.

His gaze moved steadily across the ledger until it halted upon a particular entry.

"This man—surname Viremont. A delivery hand. What is his background?"

Sylric leaned closer to inspect it.

"Evren Viremont. He has been delivering for Ostenton for five years. Ordinarily responsible for transporting embroidered goods beyond the city."

"Investigate him."

"Yes, my lord."

Sylric bowed and made to withdraw, but Rhaegar spoke again. "Wait."

The man stopped at once.

Reclining slightly against his chair, Rhaegar tapped his fingers lightly upon the armrest, his expression unreadable.

"Place Ostenton Embroidery House under watch," he ordered. "Quietly. Let no one be alarmed."

"Yes, my lord."

"Lucas Ostenton..." He paused, as though weighing the name itself. "Keep close watch on him as well."

Sylric hesitated, surprise flickering across his face. "My lord... do you suspect Baron Ostenton?"

Rhaegar gave no reply. He merely gazed out into the heavy night beyond the window, where darkness lay thick as ink, swallowing all trace of light.

"With her being there," he said at last, his voice low and measured. "I cannot afford to gamble."

Sylric understood his words at once. He inclined his head and withdrew without another word.

Silence settled over the chamber.

Rhaegar closed his eyes.

His fingers curled slowly into a fist.

***

That evening, the place Isabella had chosen was a secluded teahouse, tucked away from the bustle of the capital.

By the time Rhaegar arrived, she was already seated within a private room.

A single lamp burned softly, its glow falling upon a table set with delicate tea and pastries. She was dressed in plain yet elegant attire, her hair arranged with meticulous care. When she saw him enter, she rose at once, a gentle, practiced smile gracing her lips.

"Rhae, you have finally come."

Rhaegar took his seat opposite her. "Speak. Make it short."

Isabella faltered slightly, then smiled again, lifting the teapot to pour him a cup.

"Why such haste? At least have some tea first. That is only proper."

Rhaegar did not so much as touch the cup.

For the briefest instant, the smile upon her face stiffened. She set the teapot down and resumed her seat.

"My dear Rhae... have you truly made up your mind?"

"I have."

"There is no room for reconsideration?"

"None."

Isabella fell silent for a few moments. Then—she smiled again.

"Very well," she said softly. "Then I shall help you."

Rhaegar looked at her, a brow lifting in surprise.

"Help me consider how best to speak before His Majesty, so that his anger may be lessened." She lowered her gaze, her voice quiet and subdued. "I know you do not care for me... but neither do I wish to see you punished by the Emperor."

Rhaegar said nothing.

Isabella lifted her head and looked at him.

"Rhae, set your mind at ease. The day after tomorrow, I shall speak to His Majesty myself and tell him that it is I who wishes to dissolve the engagement."

A faint flicker stirred in Rhaegar’s eyes. "Have you truly resolved this?"

Isabella tilted her head.

"I have." She forced a small smile, though it carried a trace of strain. "After all... fruit plucked from someone else’s hold is never sweet."

"Isabella."

She lifted her gaze to him.

"I shall remember this kindness," he said, his voice steady and formal. "Should you ever stand in need, you have but to speak. I, Duke Rhaegar Thorne, will not refuse you."

For a moment, Isabella seemed taken aback. Then she nodded quietly.

"Thank you."

After Rhaegar departed, Isabella remained seated in the private chamber for a long while.

Only when the tea upon the table had long since lost its warmth did she slowly raise the cup and take a sip.

Gradually, the corners of her lips curved upward.

***

Within the imperial prison, Sylric hastened forward the moment Rhaegar entered.

"My lord, there has been movement on Evren Viremont’s side."

Rhaegar took the report from him and turned its pages one by one.

"Yesterday at dusk, he delivered a shipment beyond the city. On his return, he took a detour to an alley in the eastern quarter. He remained there for less than a quarter of an hour before departing."

"Has the alley been investigated?"

"It has. There is a small wine shop, a general store, and several private residences. Evren Viremont entered the general store. He stayed for a quarter of an hour, and when he emerged, he carried an additional bundle."

Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"And the origin of this general store?"

"The shop was opened two years ago," Sylric replied. "The proprietor bears the surname Sunos and speaks with an accent from beyond the capital. His trade appears modest by day, yet by night he receives visitors with some frequency."

Rhaegar fell silent for several moments, his expression unreadable.

"Continue to keep watch on Evren," he said at last. "As for that general store—place it under surveillance as well."

"Yes, my lord." Sylric bowed and turned to withdraw, but Rhaegar spoke again.

"There is more."

Sylric halted at once, awaiting his command.

"At Ostenton Embroidery House, increase the number of men on watch," Rhaegar ordered, his gaze steady, his tone calm yet leaving no room for disobedience. "And pay particular heed to Caelith Emberlyn."

Sylric paused, momentarily taken aback.

"My lord fears that—"

"I do not fear for her," Rhaegar cut in, his voice low and decisive. "I fear that others may move against her."

Understanding dawned at once. Sylric inclined his head and withdrew.

Silence descended upon the room once more, deep and unbroken.

Rhaegar stood before the window, gazing out as the dim horizon gradually brightened with the first light of dawn.

His fingers curled slowly, tightening into a fist.

Whoever dared lay a hand upon her... would pay with their life.