A Touch of Shadow: The Duke's Obsession

"My mother," Caelith replied softly.

"And your mother’s name?"

She hesitated, the question catching her unprepared. "...She passed away many years ago."

At once, something in the old woman’s gaze shifted—growing layered, unreadable.

"A fine hand indeed," she said at last. "A rare one."

She turned to leave. At the threshold, she paused briefly. "Lucas, your judgment does you credit. This young lady’s skill is indeed exceptional."

Lucas smiled lightly. "Naturally."

The old woman departed.

Caelith remained where she stood, momentarily at a loss.

Lucas approached and spoke in a low voice, "My godmother—Lady Lian. She has been at the embroidery house for thirty years. What she says... is as good as law."

***

That afternoon, Caelith was summoned to the rear courtyard.

Lady Lian’s quarters were modest, yet immaculately kept. By the window stood an embroidery frame bearing a half-finished design. At a glance, one could tell it was the work of a master—each stitch fine and precise, the colors harmoniously chosen, the kind of craftsmanship that only decades could refine.

Lady Lian gestured for her to sit and poured her a cup of tea.

Caelith felt a flicker of unease beneath her composure. "Madam—"

"Call me Lady Florentine," the old woman said, her gaze softer now than it had been that morning. "That child, Lucas—you know, I watched him grow. His father died young, his mother is frail. The burdens of this embroidery house, inside and out, all rest upon his shoulders."

Caelith did not understand why she was being told this, and so she listened in silence.

Lady Lian took a sip of tea and continued.

"He is now three-and-twenty, yet still unwed. I have a daughter—two years his junior—who has cherished him since childhood."

Caelith froze.

Lady Lian looked at her steadily. "You are a clever girl," she said. "You understand what I mean."

Caelith fell silent for a few moments before finally responding, "Lady Florentine, you may rest assured," she said at last, her voice calm. "I hold no improper intentions toward Lord Ostenton."

The old woman studied her for a long while.

Then—she suddenly smiled. There was something strange within that smile—something difficult to name. A trace of relief... and yet, perhaps, a hint of regret.

"I know."

Caelith blinked in surprise.

"There is someone else in your eyes," the woman said quietly. "I can see it."

Caelith did not know how to respond.

Lady Lian reached out and patted her hand. It was a rough hand, worn by years of labor—calloused, marked with the tiny scars of countless needle pricks.

"I have not called you here to trouble you," she said. "I merely wished to see what sort of girl could draw that child to the embroidery room day after day."

She paused.

"You are very good. Your skill is excellent, and your nature is steady. It is a pity..."

The room fell silent.

Then Lady Lian rose, signaling that the audience had come to an end.

When Caelith stepped out into the courtyard, her thoughts were in disarray.

***

Yvaine Emberlyn, still an apprentice, had a quick tongue and knew well how to please her instructors; thus, she was often dismissed earlier than others. Seeing Caelith return, she brought in a tray of food.

Yet Caelith took only a few absent bites before setting it aside, sinking once more into quiet thought.

Yvaine watched her carefully and asked, with some hesitation, "Dear sister... what troubles you today?"

"Nothing," came the short reply.

Yvaine did not dare press further. She gathered the bowls and spoons and quietly withdrew.

***

Rhaegar knelt before the Imperial Study for an entire day and night.

By the second evening, his body had begun to tremble.

The stone beneath his knees was soaked through with cold sweat, then dried again by the wind, leaving behind darkened stains. His lips were cracked, his face pale to the point of alarm—yet his back remained straight, unyielding, like a blade driven into the earth.

Eunuchs and palace maids passed by in silence, casting furtive glances, yet none dared approach.

Isabella came once. She stood at a distance, watching him for a long while, before she was gently urged away by her attendants.

At dawn on the third day, the Duke of Northern Lands, Xarion Thorne, arrived as well.

He stood behind his son, silent for a long time.

Then he stepped forward... and knelt beside him.

Rhaegar’s lashes trembled faintly.

"Father..."

"Silence." Xarion’s gaze remained fixed upon the tightly shut doors of the Imperial Study, his voice hoarse. "In all my life, I, Xarion Thorne, have never begged of any man. Today... I shall beg once—for you."

He bowed deeply, his forehead striking the ground.

"Your subject, Xarion Thorne, humbly petitions for an audience with Your Majesty."

The doors opened. A eunuch stepped out and bowed low.

"Your Grace, Lord Thorne—His Majesty summons you within."

When Rhaegar rose, his body swayed.

Xarion reached out to steady him and murmured under his breath, "Endure."

Rhaegar gave a faint nod and followed his father inside.

Within the Imperial Study, the Emperor sat upon the high seat. Isabella stood to one side, her eyes swollen and red, as though she had only just been weeping.

Rhaegar knelt once more.

"Your subject, Rhaegar Thorne, pays homage to Your Majesty."

The Emperor regarded him in silence for several moments.

"Lord Thorne," he said at last, "you have knelt for two days and two nights—merely to dissolve this engagement?"

"Yes."

"Do you understand that this marriage was sanctioned by my own word?"

"I do."

"Then you still dare speak of withdrawing?"

Rhaegar lifted his head and met the Emperor’s gaze. "Your subject would not deceive his sovereign. There is already another in my heart—I cannot take Isabella as my wife."

Isabella’s tears fell anew. "My dear Rhae... can you truly be so unfeeling?"

Rhaegar did not so much as glance at her.

She bit her lip, and suddenly stepped forward. "Your Majesty, this subject has something to say."

The Emperor turned his gaze upon her.

Isabella drew a steadying breath and took another step forward. "Your subject... wishes to marry Rhaegar Thorne regardless."

A hush fell over the chamber.

Rhaegar’s’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

Isabella lowered her head, her voice trembling. "I have admired him since childhood. This marriage... I accept it willingly and wholeheartedly. I shall not accept dissolution."

The Emperor regarded her, then turned back to Rhaegar.

Kneeling below, the man remained utterly still.

"Rhaegar—what say you?"

He raised his head. "In my heart, there is but one."

"Who?"

"...Caelith Emberlyn."

The color drained from Isabella’s face.

The Emperor’s expression darkened as he looked upon him. "Rhaegar—you would cast aside my will for the sake of a disgraced, titleless widow?"

Rhaegar gave no reply. He lowered his head—and suddenly coughed.

What spilled forth was blood.

Bright, vivid red, striking against the golden tiles of the Imperial Study with shocking clarity.

Isabella’s eyes widened in alarm.

Xarion, too, paled at once and hurried forward to support his son.

"Your Majesty!" he cried, dropping to his knees, his voice trembling. "I have but this one son. Should any harm befall him, I... I..."

He could not continue.

The Emperor looked upon the blood staining the floor and fell into a long silence.

The Thorne family had served the throne with unwavering loyalty for generations. Such a house could not be brought to ruin over a marriage. And Rhaegar—having knelt for three days—had, in truth, already shown due respect to imperial authority.

"Rhaegar."

The young duke lifted his head. Blood still stained the corner of his lips, and his face was pale as paper.

"I shall grant you a chance."

At once, a faint light stirred in Rhaegar’s eyes.

"Of late, there has arisen in the capital a case of human trafficking. If you can resolve it within half a month, the matter of dissolving this engagement... may yet be reconsidered."

Rhaegar bowed deeply, his forehead striking the ground. "Your subject accepts the decree." 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

He rose at once and turned to leave.

As he passed by Isabella, he did not so much as spare her a glance.

The woman remained where she stood, her fingers tightening silently within the folds of her sleeve.