Chapter 41: The Duke’s Shadow

Chapter 41: The Duke’s Shadow

The wheels of Orion’s carriage thundered over the cobblestones, their rhythm sharp as a heartbeat against the earth. The black horses snorted, their nostrils steaming in the cold air. Inside, silence hung thick, heavy with a storm that hadn’t yet broken.

Across from him, Henry sat still, his weathered hands folded over a cane. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. He knew that look in Orion’s eyes, the kind that froze armies and burned cities.

Outside, the Hawthorne banner whipped wildly in the wind, a black serpent coiled around a silver flame. The morning light caught on the Duke’s armor beneath his cloak, black steel etched with sigils of old magic, faintly pulsing. His gloved hand rested on the hilt of his sword, thumb brushing the cold silver wolf carved into it.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to see her yet.

But something had pulled him back.

The carriage screeched to a halt, and the door swung open before the footman could even reach for the handle. Orion stepped out, boots striking the ground with a low thud. The air itself seemed to tense around him.

He looked up, and saw her.

Sylvara stood in the courtyard, a blue cloak drawn tight around her slender frame. The morning wind toyed with the hem, revealing a glimpse of her pale dress beneath, soft and trembling like silk caught in a storm. Her hood shadowed her face, but he could see her lips, slightly parted, trembling as if she’d forgotten how to breathe.

And opposite her stood him.

Prince Magnus Ravenlock.

Magnus’s armor glinted gold in the light, his cloak white trimmed with deep crimson. His hand rested easily on his sword hilt, posture relaxed, but that smirk, smooth, dangerous, cut through the air like a blade.

Henry's voice broke the tension. He bowed to the prince; “your highness” then he looked back to Orion “Your grace…”

But Orion didn’t hear him.

Every sound, the clatter of armor, the rustle of banners, the distant caw of a crow, faded into nothing. All that existed was her.

His pulse tightened. He’d told Astrid to keep Sylvara out of sight until the journey was ready, to keep her far from prying eyes. Yet here she was, in the open, before the prince of Aurelia.

Magnus turned first. That lazy, practiced smile curved his lips. “Duke Hawthorne,” he greeted smoothly, voice rich as velvet. “You always make quite the entrance.”

Orion’s steps echoed as he crossed the courtyard. “And you always find yourself where you shouldn’t be.”

The air between them crackled.

Magnus chuckled, unbothered. “I was merely admiring your hospitality. Your lady knight has… exquisite taste in guests.” His gaze drifted, just for a moment, toward Sylvara.

Orion saw it, the way Magnus’s eyes lingered on her, curious, amused, hungry.

The Duke’s jaw tightened. “That ‘guest’ belongs to me.” But he didn’t say it out loud.

Astrid moved. She stepped forward quickly, the metal of her armor clinking. “Your Grace, forgive me,” she said, bowing deeply. “I tried to keep her away from…”

Orion raised one gloved hand.
Silence fell instantly.

His eyes never left Sylvara.

She looked smaller than he remembered. Or perhaps it was that she looked… fragile. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her fingers were white where they clutched her cloak. The faint mark on her cheek was still visible beneath the morning light.

He felt something sharp twist inside him.

He turned slightly toward Astrid, his tone low, calm, but with that dangerous edge that could slice through air.
“Why haven’t you left yet?”

Astrid opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Orion’s gaze flicked toward Sylvara. “You should be getting home,” he said quietly. “Now.”

Home? Sylvara hesitated, her violet eyes flickering between him and the prince. Then she nodded, almost mechanically, and moved toward the white carriage waiting at the edge of the courtyard.

Astrid followed her, whispering an apology. “Forgive me, Master,” she murmured, placing one hand on the carriage door.

She was about to close it when a voice, smooth and mocking, cut through the still air.

“Wait,” Prince Magnus drawled, taking a step forward. “I was asking Lady Sylvara a question before you interrupted us.”

Orion froze.

The temperature in the courtyard dropped.

Her name. Did he just call her name? 
Hearing it leave the prince’s lips, so casual, so familiar, made Orion’s entire body tense. His expression didn’t change, but the air around him did. The guards nearest to him unconsciously stepped back, as though feeling the invisible pressure rolling off their Duke.

He turned his gaze toward Magnus, his tone quiet but cold enough to frost steel.
“She needs to get going,” Orion said. “And also take her treatment. As you can see, she’s not feeling too well.”

Magnus’s lips curved into a half-smile. “Ah, yes. She told me she fell from a tree.” He tilted his head slightly, eyes glimmering with amusement. “I know you’re heartless, Hawthorne, but even I didn’t think you’d let a lady fall from a height. You nearly ruined her pretty face.”

Orion’s brow twitched, though he didn’t move.
A tree?
He turned his head slightly, eyes flicking toward Sylvara inside the carriage. She was staring out the window, her face a perfect mask, too calm, too composed.

But when their eyes met, just for a heartbeat, she looked away.

Fast.

Like a child caught in a lie.

Orion sighed quietly. “I don’t see how that’s your concern, Your Highness.”

“Oh, but it is,” Magnus said with a soft laugh, stepping closer, his boots crunching lightly on the gravel. “Everything about you tends to become my concern eventually. You’re my childhood friend.”

Their eyes locked, dark against gold. The tension between them was like a blade drawn halfway from its sheath, gleaming, waiting.

For a moment, there was only the wind.

Then Magnus’s tone softened, though the smile on his lips didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll let her go for now,” he said smoothly, glancing toward the carriage. “But we shall meet again, Lady Sylvara.”

That smile, casual, predatory, made something dangerous stir inside Orion. The thought of the prince’s gaze on her, of his voice saying her name again, carved through his calm like fire through paper.

Astrid mounted her horse quickly. “We’ll be on our way, Your Grace,” she said.
With a flick of the reins, the carriage began to roll forward, wheels crunching over the stones. Sylvara sat silently behind the glass, her head bowed, her fingers clutching the edge of her seat. She didn’t look back.

Orion watched until the carriage disappeared beyond the gates. Only then did he allow his jaw to unclench.

He turned to Magnus.

“You shouldn’t have spoken to her.”

Magnus chuckled. “Shouldn’t I? You forget yourself, old friend.. Ebonvale doesn’t belong solely to you if not for me, we need someone looking after it, this used to be my home too you know.”

“I forget nothing,” Orion said flatly. “But I remember danger when I see it. And you.” his eyes hardened, “should learn when to stop circling what isn’t yours.”

Magnus’s smile faltered, just slightly. “Yours?” he echoed. “You speak as if she belongs to you. I didn’t think you believed in owning people.”

Orion stepped closer, his voice dropping low. “I believe in keeping them safe.”

“Safe?” Magnus repeated with a quiet laugh. “That’s a strange word coming from the man who’s feared by his own kingdom.”

“Fear,” Orion said softly, “keeps fools alive.”

The air between them thickened, tense as drawn wire.
Somewhere behind them, a crow cawed from the wall, a lonely, sharp sound that echoed through the silence.

Magnus smirked again, though this time it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re still the same, Hawthorne. Cold. Predictable. Always pretending you’re in control.” His gaze drifted toward the distant road where the white carriage had vanished. “But that girl… she’s not ordinary. I can feel it.”

Orion said nothing, though his hands curled slightly at his sides.

“She doesn’t look noble,” Magnus went on. “Doesn’t act noble either. Yet your knight shields her like a crown jewel.” His smirk deepened. “What are you hiding, old friend?”

Orion turned, slowly, his eyes dark as stormwater. “Walk carefully, prince,” he said, voice low and even. “Because you’re beginning to ask questions that could get you killed.”

Magnus laughed lightly, but the humor didn’t last. “You’ve changed, Hawthorne,” he murmured, stepping back. “Or perhaps it’s that woman who’s changing you.”

He swung onto his horse, the reins snapping sharply. The animal neighed and reared slightly, the golden armor glinting beneath the sun. “I’ll be in Ebonvale for a few days,” he said casually, as if the conversation hadn’t turned deadly. “We’ll have to catch up. There’s a banquet at the old palace, you should attend.”

“I won’t,” Orion said without hesitation.

“I thought you’d say that,” Magnus said with a grin. “Which is why I’ll send the invitation to your manor. For her. By then her pretty face might have fully healed.”

The smile he gave was poisonous, slow and deliberate, before he rode off, his laughter echoing faintly across the courtyard until it faded into the distance.

The wind blew harder now. The flags on the battlements snapped violently, scattering the tension left behind. Orion stood alone for a long moment, watching the empty road where the carriage had gone.

Then he turned sharply.
“Henry!” he barked.

The old advisor, who had been watching the encounter from a careful distance, approached at once. “Yes, my lord?”

“Double the guards around her,” Orion said. “No one… no one… approaches her without my permission.”

Henry nodded gravely. “As you command. Shall I inform Lady Astrid as well?”

Orion hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. And tell her, if Sylvara leaves the manor again without escort, I’ll have her reassigned.”

Henry inclined his head. “Understood.”
Henry takes a look at the Duke, his being too easy to read, the prince will use her to get him if he continues like this.