Chapter 38: The Prince of Aurelia
The fire had burned low, leaving only the soft amber glow of dying embers that painted long, quiet shadows across the room. Rain still whispered against the windows, steady and cold, as if the night itself refused to let the storm go.
Sylvara slept deeply, her head resting against Orion’s bare chest, her breath slow and even. For the first time in days, she looked at peace. The Duke’s arm was wrapped protectively around her, his hand curved at her back as though even in sleep he guarded her from unseen things.
Then came the knock, faint, respectful, but sharp enough to cut through the stillness.
The door creaked open a fraction, and the butler Henry Blackwood stepped in, his expression carved with unease. He didn’t speak immediately. His eyes fell on Sylvara, fragile and small in the Duke’s arms, before lifting to Orion’s face.
“Your Grace,” Henry murmured, his voice low but tense. “The prince is here.”
For a moment, only the fire crackled in reply. Then Orion’s eyes opened. The silver in them caught the firelight, cold, alert, dangerous.
“Why,” he said slowly, his voice thick from disuse, “is he here, all the way from that neighboring kingdom. Aurelia. This late?”
Henry hesitated, clasping his hands behind his back. “The rumor must have reached him, Your Grace. About… you hiding a Velaryn.”
Orion’s jaw tightened. “Who said I was hiding her?”
Henry gave a faint, bitter smile. “Does it matter who said it? The rumor alone will bring trouble.”
Orion’s gaze flicked toward the sleeping woman beside him. Her hair had dried into soft, white waves against his arm. He lingered there for a heartbeat longer, then exhaled quietly.
“What’s our next move?” Henry asked.
The Duke’s tone turned crisp. “The four knights…where are they?”
“They arrived not long ago,” Henry said. “Already posted around the manor. No need to worry about her being taken again.”
“Good.”
Carefully, Orion shifted, sliding his arm from beneath Sylvara’s shoulders. She stirred faintly, a soft sigh escaping her lips, but did not wake. He paused to brush a loose strand of hair from her face, a touch so light it barely disturbed her. Then he stood.
The cool air hit his bare skin, and he reached for his dark tunic, pulling it on in one smooth motion. The fabric clung to his frame, the faint scent of smoke and rain still lingering on him. He fastened his belt and turned to Henry, his expression unreadable.
“I’ll handle the prince.”
Henry’s brows furrowed. “Please, Your Grace… don’t cause a quarrel. The court’s eyes are on you already. One wrong word, and…”
“I’ll try not to,” Orion interrupted, though the edge in his tone made it sound more like a warning than reassurance.
Henry sighed. “That’s what worries me.”
The Duke gave a faint smirk and motioned for him to lead the way. Together, they slipped out of the chamber, the heavy door closing behind them with a soft thud.
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The corridor beyond was dim, the torches burning low. Their footsteps echoed against the polished marble floor as they descended the grand staircase. The sound of rain outside had softened, but thunder still grumbled in the distance, like a beast that refused to sleep.
Henry spoke quietly as they walked. “The prince didn’t come alone. He brought ten guards and a carriage. They’re waiting in the west courtyard.”
“Ten?” Orion’s lip curled slightly. “He must think I’m running a fortress.”
“You are,” Henry muttered. “And he knows it.”
As they turned the corner, the distant murmur of voices reached them, the clipped tones of soldiers, the rustle of wet cloaks, the faint metallic scent of steel in the air. The doors to the great hall stood open, the flicker of torches reflecting off the prince’s crimson cloak.
Prince Magnus Ravenlock stood at the center of the hall like a serpent in silken skin. His blonde hair was slick with rain, his gloved hands resting casually behind his back. Around him, his guards stood still as statues.
Orion’s boots struck the floor with measured, echoing steps as he entered. The air seemed to shift; even the prince’s men straightened.
“Your Highness,” Orion said smoothly, bowing his head just enough to be polite, and no further. “To what do I owe this… unannounced visit?”
Magnus turned, a faint smile playing on his lips. “You make it sound as if my presence is a burden, old friend.”
“Only when it arrives at midnight,” Orion replied.
Magnus chuckled softly, the sound too smooth to be sincere. “I had reason to come. Rumors, as you know, travel faster than horses. And the one I heard tonight was particularly fascinating.” He took a slow step forward, his boots gleaming under the torchlight. “They say the Duke of Ebonvale has taken a Velaryn under his roof. Tell me, Orion… should I congratulate you on your bravery… or question your sanity?”
Henry’s expression tightened. But Orion merely crossed his arms. “You believe every whisper you hear, Magnus?”
“Not every whisper,” the prince said lightly, “just the ones that sound like truth.”
Their eyes locked, one calm and mocking, the other cold and unyielding. The tension in the air was thick enough to draw blades.
Magnus’s gaze wandered briefly to the staircase that led up toward the private chambers. “The manor feels… warmer than usual tonight. I wonder, should I greet your guest myself?”
Orion’s voice dropped low, almost a growl. “You’ll do no such thing.”
Magnus smiled wider, savoring the flash of anger. “Ah. So it’s true, then.”
Henry stepped between them subtly. “Your Highness, please. The Duke has been through much these past days. The storm has not been kind.”
“Nor has his temper,” Magnus murmured, eyes still locked on Orion. “But I suppose I shouldn’t expect hospitality from a man guarding secrets.”
“Careful,” Orion said, taking a deliberate step closer. “You tread close to my patience.”
The prince tilted his head, amused. “And you tread close to treason, my dear Duke. Harboring forbidden blood under your roof? The council will want answers. The king will want proof.”
“Let them come,” Orion said softly. “I’ll give them both.”
A long silence stretched between them, the kind that thrummed like a drawn bowstring.
Finally, Magnus smiled again, turning toward the door. “You always were the stubborn one. Very well. I’ll let you keep your… mystery. For now.” He paused, his tone dropping to a murmur only Orion could hear. “But mark this, old friend. When the crown comes for her, not even you can stand in their way.”
Orion didn’t reply. His eyes were glacial, but his pulse hammered beneath the calm.
The prince gave a final nod to Henry, then strode out, his crimson cloak trailing behind him like a streak of blood. His guards followed, their armor clinking in unison until the doors slammed shut behind them.
The hall fell silent again.
Henry exhaled slowly. “That could have gone worse.”
“It’s not over,” Orion said quietly. “He is a mad prince.”
He turned, glancing back toward the stairs where the faintest flicker of candlelight still glowed under Sylvara’s door.
“Double the guard,” he said. “No one enters that room without my command.”
Henry bowed. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Orion lingered for a moment longer, listening to the storm ease beyond the walls, the tension still tight in his chest. Then, with a low sigh, he murmured, almost to himself.
“If he touches a single hair on her head… I’ll show him what kind of monster I can be.”
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