Chapter 30: The Green-Eyed Shadow

The Duke’s study door always felt too heavy, as if it knew every foolish and important decision ever made behind it.

The guard outside knocked once, then opened it just wide enough for Mira and me to slip through. The air inside shifted instantly: wax, ink, map leather, and the faint scent of the Duchess’s favorite tea.

The room was large but crowded. Maps of Caeloria and the other continents covered one wall, ink lines like wounds someone had bothered to name. Bookshelves filled the opposite side, competing with the stacks of scrolls on the Duke’s massive desk.

Duke Hayward sat behind that desk, his broad body slouched in the chair, exhaling heavily. His shoulders were wide, his dark mantle rumpled on one side as if he’d only just shrugged off armor.

Near the window, the Duchess sat on a sofa, embroidering something across a hoop of fabric on her lap. Her needle moved quickly, gold and green threads forming a pattern I didn’t yet understand but would inevitably become perfect.

And on the opposite sofa, angled slightly away from the desk, sat Zade Thalorian.

Of course he did.

He wore a black sweater that did absolutely nothing to lighten the mood of the room. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing the black ink running along his arm. Dark trousers, boots still dusted from the battlements. One hand around a cup, the other draped over the back of the sofa.

His eyes were already on me the moment I stepped inside. That stare paused at my face, dipped briefly to the dagger at my hip, then rose again.

Rude.

It’s like he was calculating how much trouble I could cause with just what I was wearing.

“Castella,” the Duke’s voice cut through that line. “Come here.”

I stepped forward. Mira stayed by the door, half-shadowed by the shelves, her expression blank, her eyes absorbing everything.

I stopped before the desk, putting the usual distance between us reserved for moments when the Duke was preparing to lecture me.

“I did not sneak out the window today,” I said first. “If that’s the problem, we can jump straight to the part where I’m right and you’re wrong.”

The Duchess breathed a small sigh. “Good afternoon to you too, dear.”

The Duke raised a brow. “As far as I know, you haven’t gone through any windows today.”

As far as he knew. A phrase that made my spine want to laugh and sweat at the same time.

“But that’s not why I called you,” he continued.

“Of course not,” I folded my arms. “You rarely summon me just to praise me.”

I caught Lord Thalorian raising his cup to his lips.

The Duke ignored it. He leaned forward, thick forearms braced on the desk. “You know the rite will draw far too many eyes to Evrithall.”

“You’ve repeated that three times this week,” I muttered.

“And I will repeat it again until you stop behaving as if that day will be like any other,” his voice thickened. “Envoys from all four kingdoms will stand in this hall. Citizens will fill the streets. The High Priest will pray until his voice cracks. And you, Castella, will stand in the center of it all as Caeloria’s heir—introduced formally to the entire continent. Which means,” the Duke said, “security must be tightened.”

I snorted. “Security already makes me feel like an animal in a pen.”

“That animal needs to reach the altar in one piece,” the Duke shot back. “Not scattered in parts because of Morvane or a stray arrow.”

There was a flash in his eyes when he said Morvane. He had no idea how close I’d already been to their rotting jaws.

The Duke reached for a parchment. “The King and Queen sent a letter this morning. They ordered additional troops for Thaldrun. They also sent several guards for you.”

“Several?” I resisted the urge to touch my dagger.

“General guards,” he said. “To fill corridors and courtyards. That’s Gerald and Lord Thalorian’s concern. But one of them,” he went on, “was sent specifically.”

A thin hush settled against the walls.

“To stand beside Gerald,” the Duke said, eyes locking on mine, “as your personal guard—who will follow you wherever you go throughout the rite. And afterward, if he proves worthy.”

“Another chain,” I muttered.

“If you call them chains in front of them,” the Duke warned, “I’ll have them tie you with actual iron just to make the distinction clear.”

“Fascinating,” I lifted my chin. “Are you planning to humiliate your future queen in front of her new guard, Uncle?”

His eyes hardened at the word Uncle. He hated when I used blood as a shield. But this time he let it slide.

“I’m planning to keep you alive,” he said. “If I have to humiliate you ten times a day to do it, I will.”

The Duchess glanced between us. “Your choice of words is always so delicate.”

I inhaled through my nose—fill, fill, release. “Fine. Show me your new leash.”

“Before that,” the Duke nodded toward the opposite sofa. “Lord Thalorian?”

Zade set his cup on the small table beside him. “He passed every trial this morning,” he said. “His blade is sharp, his mind sharper. He knows when to keep his mouth shut and when to open his eyes. And he didn’t run when Gerald shouted in his ear.”

I squinted. “That’s an important qualification? Not running from Gerald’s shouting?”

“Far more important than reciting all the High Priest’s sermons,” Zade replied.

The Duke gave a small nod.

“One more thing…” Zade leaned back against the sofa, though his gaze stayed locked on my face. “He’s seen Morvane up close before—and came back whole.”

My body stiffened, just slightly.

Of course. That was the real reason. The Duke wanted someone who had already smelled the rot of Nyxthrad and stayed standing.

“Good,” the Duke said, slapping the desk once. “Then.”

He turned toward the door. “Enter.”

The servant outside swung it open wide. Heavy armored steps echoed briefly in the corridor, then a figure filled the doorway.

For a moment, the room shrank.

The armor came first: a white breastplate worn enough to show it had taken blows, not the polished, useless shine of ceremonial suits. Caeloria’s sun sigil burned at its center, raised, the small scratches across it proving he’d done more than stand in parade halls. A short deep-blue mantle hung from his left shoulder, its edges embroidered in gold. A long sword rode his right hip, the hilt wrapped in dark leather.

Then his face.

A strong jaw, shadowed by stubble he clearly hadn’t had time to shave. Skin warm and sun-touched, the kind of complexion earned from battlements, not ballrooms. A straight nose. A mouth set in calm neutrality—not smiling, not frowning.

His hair was jet black, longer than typical Solarian cuts, falling to his nape, slightly untidy but pulled back with a thin leather tie.

And his eyes.

Green.

Not a pure green.

Moss green, flecked with tiny gold sparks like sunlight piercing a forest canopy, touching the ground only in select places. His gaze swept the room once, quick, measuring.

Paused a fraction longer on the Duke, offering a bow.

Then shifted to me.

My chest tightened.

The room folded inward for a heartbeat.

Night sounds.

Nyxthrad’s cold breath. Branches clawing the sky.

A Morvane leaping from the mist—empty eyes, jaw unhinged. My lungs froze.

My footing slipped on the wet stone outside Thaldrun. A stagger. Air against my neck, close enough to taste.

And then—

A blade sliced through the dark like lightning. The Morvane split open. Black blood sprayed.

A strong hand seized my collar. A low voice in my ear, dry but controlled: “If you want to die, pick a less idiotic place.”

That night.

Beyond the wall.

No one else knew.

He bowed in the Duke’s study now, stepping forward, dropping to one knee, fist pressed to the sun sigil over his chest.

“Your Grace. Your Highness. Princess,” his voice—exactly the same as it had been that night.

I forced my body to stay still. Not a flicker in my expression. My fingers pressed into the fabric at my sides until the knuckles tightened.

It was him.

The Duke lifted a hand, granting permission to rise. “Kael Veron,” he said, introducing him to me even though the name was already screaming inside my skull. “Solarian from the capital. Trained at the Sun Academy. Three years on the outer walls of Orend. The last two in the central palace guard.”

The man—whose name I’d only just learned—stood. Straight, but not rigid.

His eyes rose again to meet mine.

No dramatic shock.

Just the faintest flicker—small, quick—in that green.

He knew.

I knew.

No one else in the room knew.

“One thing the Duke forgot to mention,” Zade added, his voice like black metal sliding through silk. “Veron led patrols along the eastern edge of Nyxthrad during the opening hunts. And returned with his unit intact.”

The Duke nodded, acknowledging. “The King and Queen sent him with that note attached.”

Kael didn’t glance Zade’s way. But his jaw tightened slightly, as if the comment tugged at a buried memory.

I found my voice.

“So,” I said, flat and even, “this is the man they sent to make sure I don’t… fall.”