Chapter 17 Orders and Shadows

Chapter 17 Orders and Shadows

“You’re already dramatic,” Zade muttered from the end of the high table.
My head snapped up. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“Hard not to give one,” he said, stabbing a bite of food with lazy precision, “when you’re seconds away from murdering that spinach.”
The spinach did, in fact, look like it had endured interrogation.
“Lord Thalorian,” the Duke warned.
Zade lifted one shoulder. “Just observing, my lord.”
“Observe too closely and you’ll forget your job,” the Duke replied.
“My job?” Zade wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb, ignoring every rule of table etiquette. “I thought my task today was simply to sit here and make half the lords uncomfortable.”
Several lords shifted in their seats. The Thalorian name carried more history than most songs dared to mention.
“Your job,” the Duke said, “is ensuring this rite doesn’t turn into a war in my courtyard. Commander Gerald controls the Solarian. You handle anything that doesn’t follow predictable patterns. Second sight.”
Second sight. Blaer.
My gaze flicked to Gerald. He didn’t look surprised. They had planned this, likely last night, while I slept.
Zade leaned forward a fraction. “And the Princess sits under whose sight?”
“Both,” the Duke answered without hesitation. “Nothing outranks Castella’s safety before the rite.”
Heat flared under my ribs. Trapped. Pinned.
“Castella’s safety,” I cut in, voice cold, “can be discussed with Castella. I’m here. Not carved from marble.”
The Duke turned toward me. His expression, usually reserved for unruly lords, held something else now. Something from years ago, when he used to catch me climbing the outer gate and put me back on the ground rather than scold me.
“You’ll sit at the council soon enough,” he said quietly. “Today, you eat.”
I wanted to throw my spoon.
At the lamb.
At the floor.
At Zade’s head.
Instead, I stabbed a piece of greens, shoved it in my mouth, and chewed. Old rule: eat first, revolt later.
Conversation drifted back to logistics. How many beds needed moving to the southern tower. How long the torch line from gate to altar should be. Whether the eastern bell could ring without shattering.
I kept my head down, but my ears stayed sharp.
“…and inner security?” a lord asked. “One ring of Solarian should be enough. We don’t want the envoys to feel distrusted.”
“We do distrust them,” Gerald said calmly.
“Gerald,” the Duchess warned.
“If we didn’t,” he continued, still not looking at anyone, “we’d be fools. Rite or not, the Remnant is spoken of in every room where priests aren’t listening. Don’t pretend anyone here came only to sing under the altar.”
The word Remnant rattled deep in my bones.
The lord swallowed. “Even so, we shouldn’t offend them.”
“You don’t need to offend,” Zade said, voice flat. “You just need enough men posted on both sides of the wall when someone tries disappearing through it.”
“Thalorian proverbs,” the High Priest sighed. “All of you…”
The Duke rotated his goblet with one finger. “Gerald will place one ring of Solarian inside the hall, one at the entrance, one along the guest wing. Lord Thalorian will fill the spaces between. If there’s a shadow that isn’t ours, I want him to see it first.”
“I’d prefer not to see it at all,” I said under my breath.
“Bold words for someone who likes walking near Nyxthrad,” Zade murmured.
I looked at him sharply. His eyes narrowed, daring me to deny something he never said aloud.
I focused on finishing the last of my food instead, chewing like the act itself might keep my thoughts from spilling everywhere.
Eventually, after too many words and not enough satisfaction, the Duke tapped the table twice.
“We’re done,” he announced. “Lords, you’ll receive your ritual seating instructions tonight. Ladies, don’t fight over dress colors. Elyra doesn’t care. High Priest Ylena, I’ll speak with you in the chamber.”
Chairs scraped. Goblets chimed. Nobles rose in slow waves.
I stood as well. My gown fell neatly into place, though the Duchess would surely find something to critique later.
“Castella.” The Duke’s voice stopped me before I could take a single step.
I turned. “Yes?”
His gaze shifted...to Zade. “Lord Thalorian,” he said, tone flat, “escort my niece back to her room.”
Air thickened in my throat. “Room?” I repeated. “I’m not—”
“To rest,” he added, as if I’d already agreed. “A demanding lesson this morning. A strategic meal. You’ll be no use fainting during the rite because you refused to sleep.”
My brows pulled tight. “I’m not going to faint. I could go to the training yard. Gerald, say something.”
Every eye shifted to Gerald.
The commander rubbed his jaw, thinking. “The training yard is full of soldiers already terrified of the rite date,” he finally said. “If they see you throw one of them during a panic like this, half of them will flee before nightfall.”
I stared at him, betrayed. “You’re choosing sides.”
“I’m choosing the side where this castle still exists,” he replied.
The Duchess patted the back of my hand. “Sleep a little. You bite people when you’re tired.”
“I don’t bite everyone,” I muttered.
“Not yet,” Zade added under his breath.
I didn’t look at him.
The Duke ended the discussion with a short nod. “Done. Lord Thalorian?”
Zade was already standing. His chair slid back without a scrape. He bowed slightly to the Duke, then to the Duchess.
“A pleasure,” he murmured. “Escorting a lion back to its cage.”
I scoffed. “I’m not a lion.”
“No.” His gaze cut toward me, slow and knowing. “A lion doesn’t complain when guarded. It only bites.”
I wanted to throw a plate at his face. Instead, I turned and left the hall. My steps were fast, too fast to be called graceful, my gown sweeping across cold stone. A heavier set of footsteps followed seconds later.
“I’m not going to my room,” I said without looking back.
“But Duke said ‘room,’” Zade replied. “I was given an order.”
“You don’t always follow foolish orders. Your words. Last night.”
“I didn’t say this one was foolish.”
“I did.”
“I’m aware.”
I sped up, heading toward the fork in the corridor, the one leading to the stairs toward the Night Castle. If I turned fast enough, if I slipped through the linen passage behind the supply racks—
“You aren’t even hiding your intent,” he said behind me. “Your aura flickered.”
“My aura?” A disbelieving laugh escaped me. “Since when can you see auras?”
“Since someone decided to walk like an arrow looking for something to stab,” he answered, breath a fraction closer than before. “You’re not the only one who knows how to read people, Your Highness.”
I turned sharply left. A narrow stairwell opened before me, not toward my room, but toward the training tower and the roof.
I took the steps fast, skirt gathered in one hand to avoid tripping. The stone was cold beneath my shoes.
“Princess.” His voice hardened. A warning.
I ignored it. Two steps. Four. Six. My pace shifted into a run. My blood thrashed, lungs full of old stone and dust and chalk.
A faint growl came from behind me.
His steps followed. Steady, heavier, too controlled. He didn’t grab. He didn’t shove. He simply closed the distance.
“You really chose today,” he said as he descended after me, “to test how far the Duke’s orders stretch?”
“I’m only walking,” I shot back, breath uneven.
“You’re running in the wrong direction.”
“‘Wrong’ is perspective.”
The stairs curved. My foot slipped on a slick edge. My hand slammed against the wall, stone scraping skin.
Zade’s pace changed.
Faster.
“I’ll catch you if you fall.”
“I’m not—”
He catch me.
Not dramatically. Not like the stories where time paused and fate gasped.
One moment I was upright. The next, his hand was at my waist, pulling me aside, my back pressing against the wall before the stair could break me.
Air punched out of my chest. A small sound escaped before I could swallow it.
Zade stood close....too close. One arm held my waist. The other braced against the wall beside my head, keeping us steady.
“There,” he murmured, his breath catching my cheek. “I caught you.”
My chest rose and fell too fast. My heart slammed against bone. Heat pooled under his grip, though the stone at my back stayed cold.
“Let. Me. Go.” The words scraped out.
“Maybe after you stop trying to throw yourself down staircases,” he replied.
“I wasn’t—”
“Your steps,” he said, voice dropping lower, “were more like someone running from something. Not a princess eager for a library.”
I stared at him.
Up close, the tiredness was unmistakable. Faint lines between his brows. Shadows under his eyes. A jaw that hadn’t relaxed since morning. His dark hair still a mess, one rebellious strand brushing his temple, refusing polish or presentation.
“You were late to lunch,” I said, grasping at leverage. “Just woke up?”
Something flickered behind his eyes. Quick. Sharp. “No.”
“Up all night?” I squinted. “How much wine did y—”
“No.” Harder, this time.
Silence.
Only breath between us.
Only cold stone and the heat of his hand.
Only his hand on my waist.
He leaned in, not close enough to touch my forehead with his, but close enough that I could see the silver ring on his finger, carved with interlocking chains. Close enough that heat radiated through the thin armor across his chest.
“Duke gave an order,” he said quietly. “I follow it. So why keep trying?”
“Because I’m not a chest meant to be locked and stored in a tower until someone needs what's inside,” I shot back.
One corner of his mouth twitched. “You compare yourself to furniture now?”
“Chest. Lion. Whatever metaphor you prefer. Point is: I don’t enjoy being caged.”
“A tragedy,” he murmured, “for the cage.”
I lifted my hand to shove his chest—just enough to make space. The muscles beneath the armor tensed when my palm met metal.
“Let me go, Zade.”
“I’m escorting you to your room,” he replied, his voice still low, steady. “Not dragging you to an altar. You’re acting like I showed up with chains.”
“If someone’s dragged enough times, they start seeing chains in every hand.”
His gaze flicked to my mouth for one second. One breath too long. “And if someone runs enough times,” he murmured back, “they start thinking every touch is a prison.”
The words landed with a sting and something softer beneath it.
I swallowed. “I didn’t sleep well,” I confessed.
“Neither did I.”
I cleared my throat. “Maybe you should ask the priests for a bedtime blessing, Lord Thalorian.”
“I’d rather face nightmares than a priest after sundown,” he muttered.
“So another thing we have in common.”
“Only one?” His brow lifted.
I shifted, pushing gently against his arm. His hand loosened. Not gone, just less insistent, guiding me onto a wider stair. I still faced stone, but breathing was easier.
“To your chambers,” he repeated, patient as a wall.
“And if I refuse?”
He exhaled, a tired sound, bone-deep.
“If you refuse, I’ll walk half a step behind you until we arrive. And every servant we pass will see ‘Lord Thalorian stalking the Princess of Caeloria, who clearly wants to escape him.’ It’s your choice.”
I pictured it. Paused steps, whispering guards, rumors sprouting like weed-fire. My name already lived on too many tongues. Adding “ran from Thalorian” wouldn’t help.
“You’re blackmailing me,” I muttered.
“I’m following orders,” he corrected. “You’re the one turning it into a game.”
“You enjoy this,” I accused. “This forced escort.”
“It beats sitting in a tower reading brittle reports about Nyxthrad and Velyndor,” he said. “Better than watching the rite from a distance. Yes. I enjoy it.”
My pulse quickened. “I’m not thanking you.”
“Good,” he said. “I wasn’t asking.”
“Debt?” The word slipped out.
His pupils darkened, a fraction. “You remember.”
Night Castle.
Red book.
Forbidden text and the way his voice sounded in the dark.
“That was just yesterday,” I muttered. “Not thirty years ago. I remember… too many things involving you. Unfortunately.”
“Wait until the rite,” he whispered. “You’ll have more.”
The words slipped under my ribs like a key.
Before I could respond, he stepped back. His hand left my waist, though his fingers brushed fabric as they fell, leaving a brief, burning trail.
“We’re going,” he said, voice flat again.
I inhaled, steadying myself, lowering my hand from his chest. The skirt fell back into place. “I’ll walk in front,” I said. “Otherwise I’ll feel like livestock being herded.”
“I’m grateful you chose that option,” he replied. “It would be exhausting to explain to the Duke why I carried you over my shoulder.”
I clicked my tongue and started up the stairs. His steps followed, half a pace behind.
At every turn, I felt him there. Silent, constant, unavoidable. Like the shadow of Thaldrun on the horizon: always waiting when I looked back.
Until we reached my door, heavy wood carved with the sun and its three rays.
Zade stopped. His presence filled the quiet behind me without touching it. “Here.”
“I’m aware.”
“Go in.”
“You sound like the High Priest.”
“Don’t insult me.”
I gripped the handle..and paused. That one rebellious strand of hair still stood at his temple, defiant as ever. “You need sleep,” I said.
“So do you,” he answered.
A dozen sharp replies rose, but none left. Instead, my mouth tugged into half a smile. “Leave before the High Priest sees you hovering like a statue,” I murmured. “She’ll assume you’re praying.”
“Maybe I am.”
“For what?”
His gaze met mine,  “For no more orders involving you and staircases,” he said.
I almost laughed. Instead, I stepped inside and closed the door gently between us.
The wood met my back, cool and solid. My breath escaped all at once.
Outside, I could imagine him standing there for a few seconds longer before walking away to the world of walls, rites, and growing shadows.