A Touch of Shadow: The Duke's Obsession

Chapter 164: Get What We Want

Morning arrived at last.

Caelith opened her eyes and stared at the wooden beams overhead, remaining motionless for a long while.

The fever had broken.

Her entire body was damp with sweat, her inner garments clinging uncomfortably to her skin. When she shifted slightly, a dull soreness still lingered deep within her bones, but compared to the torment of the previous night, she felt considerably better.

Last night...

Slowly, she sat up against the headboard and pressed her fingers to her temple.

The memories were frustratingly vague.

Fragments drifting through her mind like shadows concealed behind a veil of mist.

Someone had held her. Someone had patted her back and stayed beside her throughout the night.

Yet that person had carried a scent she could not place. It had not been the familiar fragrance of cedarwood that always lingered upon Rhaegar.

Nor had it been the cool, restrained scent she associated with him.

It was something else. Something unfamiliar. Something she could no longer remember clearly.

Perhaps it had been a dream. People suffering from fever dreamed strange things all the time.

With that thought, she pushed aside the blankets and rose from bed.

Her legs nearly gave way beneath her.

She steadied herself against the bedpost, standing there for several moments before the dizziness passed.

Outside, she heard the sound of the courtyard gate opening.

Caelith draped a robe over her shoulders and pushed open the door.

Rhaegar stood in the courtyard. The morning dew still clung to his robes.

He wore the same clothing as the day before, the hem stained with mud, making it obvious that he had only just returned from outside the city.

He walked toward her and immediately frowned.

"Why is your complexion still so poor?"

Caelith shook her head lightly. "I’m fine."

Rhaegar reached into his robes and produced a small oil paper parcel.

"Bought it on the way back. Eat it while it’s still warm."

Caelith accepted it and unfolded the paper.

Inside lay several pieces of honey cake, delicate and fragrant, still releasing faint curls of steam.

She looked up at him, her eyebrows drawn. "Weren’t you here last night?"

Rhaegar sat down beside the well in the courtyard and removed the sword hanging from his waist, setting it aside.

"No."

He lowered the bucket into the well. "There was trouble outside the city. I had to ride out during the night."

Caelith’s fingers tightened slightly around the parcel.

He had not returned all night. Then the person who stayed beside her...

"What’s wrong?" Rhaegar asked, noticing her silence.

Caelith quickly shook her head and forced a smile. "Nothing. Is everything settled?"

"We captured a few fugitives."

His tone was casual, as though the matter required no further discussion. Drawing up a bucket of cold water, he splashed it over his face.

"Stay home and rest today. Don’t wander around."

Caelith nodded obediently.

After washing, Rhaegar rose and walked toward her, looking down with a concerned expression.

"Your complexion still looks terrible. You are far too pale."

"I just woke up. That’s normal."

Without another word, he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

The gesture was familiar, tender.

"I’ll return early tonight."

Caelith nodded.

A moment later, he turned and left. The courtyard gate closed behind him.

Silence settled once more.

Caelith stood alone in the courtyard, staring down at the warm osmanthus cakes in her hands.

An unsettling thought surfaced again.

If Rhaegar had not been the one who stayed with her last night... Then who had?

The memory returned.

That unfamiliar scent. The hand gently patting her back. The faint sensation of someone speaking softly near her ear.

It had not been a dream. Someone had truly been there.

Her heartbeat stumbled.

She immediately stopped herself from pursuing the thought further.

Because she already feared where it might lead.

***

By noon, Yvaine arrived carrying lunch.

She entered the room with a tray in her hands, setting the dishes down while talking endlessly as she arranged the chopsticks.

"Sister, your complexion looks much better today. You truly frightened me last night. That fever was so high..."

Caelith sat down and began eating. After a few bites, she suddenly asked, "Did you come by last night?"

Yvaine blinked in confusion. "No. I went to bed early. Why?"

Caelith lowered her eyes. "It’s nothing."

Yvaine studied her face suspiciously. "Sister, is something bothering you?"

"No."

Yvaine clearly did not believe her. Still, she did not press the matter further.

After clearing away the bowls and dishes, she departed.

Once the room was empty again, Caelith leaned back against the headboard.

Her gaze fixed upon the ceiling. The thought she had tried to suppress was becoming clearer and clearer.

And no matter how hard she tried, she could no longer pretend she did not know whose face was beginning to emerge from the shadows of that forgotten night.

The thought would not leave her.

Caelith remembered Erian’s habit of keeping watch through the night. She remembered how he would sit beneath the old locust tree for hours on end, silent and unmoving until dawn. She remembered the calm way he sometimes looked at her.

The quietness in those eyes.

A chill ran through her.

Could it have been him?

***

Over the following days, Marina continued her careful observations.

Her visits to Firefly Pavilion became increasingly frequent. Every time she came, she stayed for hours at a stretch. She bought embroidered goods, asked questions about needlework, chatted with Caelith, and cultivated a friendly relationship with Yvaine.

To anyone watching, she appeared to be nothing more than a kindhearted noble lady with a warm disposition.

Yet her eyes never stopped searching.

And what she discovered pleased her greatly.

Caelith had begun avoiding Erian.

In the past, the two often spoke together. Whenever Erian emerged from the rear courtyard, Caelith would glance up at him, sometimes asking him a question or two.

Now, whenever Erian drew near, she found a reason to leave.

They no longer shared meals.

If she needed something done, she passed instructions through Yvaine instead of speaking to him directly.

Meanwhile, Erian spent most of his days crouched beside the well, staring at the ground for hours without moving.

Marina saw everything.

And gradually, she began to understand.

***

That afternoon, she came again.

After spending some time in the shop, purchasing several handkerchiefs and chatting with Caelith, she made a point of passing through the rear courtyard before leaving.

Erian was still there, crouched beside the well.

A piece of cloth hung forgotten in his hand while he stared into space, lost in thought.

Marina walked over and crouched beside him.

"Mr. Erian."

Erian lifted his head, his expression remained unreadable.

Marina smiled. "I figured it out."

The cloth in his hand paused. "What?"

Lowering her voice, Marina said quietly, "You like Miss Caelith."

Erian said nothing, yet his fingers tightened around the cloth.

That reaction alone was enough. Marina’s confidence grew larger.

"Mr. Erian, I know you aren’t a man of many words. But I have an idea I’d like to discuss with you."

Erian’s brows shot up. "What idea?"

Marina smiled mysteriously.

"This isn’t the place for it. Come to the teahouse in the eastern district at dusk. I’ll be waiting."

She rose gracefully and smoothed her skirts.

"Whether you come or not is your choice."

And with that, she simply left, while Erian remained where he was, watching her retreating figure.

A faint crease formed between his brows.

The eastern teahouse.

At dusk.

***

When dusk arrived, the private room of the teahouse glowed with warm lamplight.

Marina sat by the window, sipping tea leisurely.

Outside, the streets bustled with evening crowds, merchants calling out beneath rows of lanterns.

The door suddenly opened, and Erian stood in the doorway.

A smile immediately appeared on Marina’s face.

"I knew you’d come."

Erian entered and sat across from her, silent as always.

Marina poured him a cup of tea.

"Mr. Erian, let’s speak plainly. You like Miss Caelith." She paused. "And I like Rhaegar."

The fingers resting upon Erian’s knee tightened slightly.

Marina continued. "But they’re together. Neither of us stands a chance while things remain this way."

Erian’s gaze sharpened. "What are you trying to say?"

The woman leaned forward. "We can work together."

His eyes narrowed. "How?"

A smile curved her lips. "You help me get closer to Rhaegar." Her voice softened. "And I’ll help you get closer to Miss Caelith. We both get what we want."

Erian remained silent for a moment. Then he asked, "What do you want me to do?"

"I haven’t decided yet." A faint smile lingered in Marina’s eyes. "But when the time comes, you’ll simply need to listen to me."

Erian studied her for a long while, and her eyes curved sweetly.

Her smile appeared sincere, yet beneath that smile, he sensed something hidden. Something he could not fully grasp.

Slowly, he stood. "I’ll think about it."

Without waiting for a response, he turned toward the door.

Behind him, Marina called out, "Mr. Erian, come find me whenever you’ve made up your mind."

But Erian never looked back.

***

By the time he emerged from the teahouse, darkness had already settled over the city.

Did he want to get closer to her?

Yes. He did.

But what would happen even if he succeeded?

Her heart belonged to someone else. No matter how near he stood, the person she looked at would never be him.

He stopped beneath a quiet wall. Then lifted his head toward the moon. Its silver light poured across the city and illuminated his face.

And suddenly, he remembered that night.

The night she had clung to him. The night she had held his arm and whispered another man’s name.

Rhaegar.

Always Rhaegar.

He knew. He had always known.

Yet knowing changed nothing. Because despite everything, he still could not stop himself.

After a long moment, he pushed away from the wall and continued walking.

But the seed planted by Marina’s words had already taken root deep inside him, like wild grass after spring rain.

Growing.

Spreading.

Quietly beyond his control.