Chapter 43: The Duke’s Truth

Chapter 43: The Duke’s Truth
The words slipped from Sylvara’s lips before she could stop them. “I’ve heard everything.”

Astrid froze mid-step, her face tightening. The sound of her boots echoed softly in the wide marble corridor. She didn’t say a word.

Sylvara turned her gaze toward the tall windows, where the light poured in pale and cold. “He’s been looking for a Velaryn because he can’t get an ordinary woman pregnant,” she said quietly, her voice low but heavy with something between anger and sorrow.

Astrid’s throat bobbed. Her lips parted as if to respond, but nothing came out.

Sylvara gave a faint, bitter smile. “So you’re saying he built this for me?” she asked, her tone trembling. “No. It wouldn’t be for me if I was the first Velaryn he found. It would have been for someone else. Another woman. Another prisoner. Another... breeder.”

Astrid’s eyes dropped to the floor.

Sylvara let out a shaky breath and looked around the grand white hall. “It’s just sad,” she whispered. “I’m the only Velaryn left in this world, and yet, somehow, he found me.” She shook her head and laughed softly. “It looks like everything goes well for him, doesn’t it?”

Astrid still said nothing. She only bowed, her voice tight when she finally spoke. “Please, my lady… come inside.”

Sylvara followed her into the next room.

It was like stepping into another world, walls painted pale green, draped with gold vines that shimmered faintly under the lanterns. White curtains billowed softly in the breeze, carrying the scent of jasmine. Every inch of the room felt alive, designed to ease her, to charm her.

Sylvara’s fingers brushed the velvet chair by the window. “Is he trying to make me comfortable?” she murmured. “Or trying to make me forget I’m trapped?”

Astrid didn’t answer. She bowed again and left silently, the door clicking shut behind her.

\---

The days that followed were oddly quiet.

The maids here were different. They spoke softly, their eyes kind, their touch careful. They dressed her in silk gowns dyed in shades of blue, silver, and ivory. They smiled when they brushed her hair and bowed when she looked at them. For once, she didn’t sense fear, only pity.

That night, Sylvara couldn’t sleep. She sat by the wide arched window, her legs curled beneath her, a yellow shawl draped over her head like a crown. A bowl of fruit rested by her side. She picked a pear, biting into it slowly, her eyes lost in the stars above the gardens.

It was quiet, too quiet.

Then something shifted in the air.

She felt it before she saw him.

Her eyes lifted, and across the glass. on the ledge of the other tower, stood Orion.

Her breath caught.

He was standing in the moonlight, hair damp, cloak dark with rain. His sword hung low at his waist, glinting faintly. He looked like he had stepped out of a storm.

“How long have you been standing there?” she whispered, pressing her hand to the glass. “And how did you get up here? This high up… did you climb?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he moved, and before she could blink, the window was open.

Cold night air swept in, carrying the scent of rain and steel. Orion stepped inside, landing soundlessly on the marble floor. His boots were wet, his dark hair dripping onto his collar.

Sylvara stepped back. “How did you climb that?”

He smiled faintly. “Why? So you can escape?”

Her brow furrowed. “I can’t climb that high,” she muttered.

“Oh?” His tone was teasing, his gaze sharp. “But you can climb trees.”

He leaned down until their faces were almost level. She had to look up, he was so tall it was infuriating.

Her pulse quickened. She remembered something, the prince, his questions, his mocking tone, and her jaw tightened. “You’d rather I told him I was hit by a…”

“Shh.” Orion pressed a finger gently against her lips.

Sylvara froze, eyes widening. His touch was soft, his breath warm. She caught his wrist and pushed it away. “Why are you here?” she demanded. “It’s late.”

“Because,” he said simply, his voice low, “I wanted to see you before I go to bed.”

Before she could reply, he lifted her hand and kissed it lightly. The touch was brief, but she felt it long after he let go. He turned, picked up her glass of apple juice, and took a slow sip.

Her glare sharpened. “Or perhaps you came here to sleep with me”

The Duke choked mid-sip, coughing so hard the juice nearly spilled.

“What… where did you… how do you even know things like that?” he managed between coughs.

Sylvara didn’t flinch. “You want me to give you a child,” she said clearly, “because Velaryn's body is different. We can bear children easily, even if the man…” She hesitated, then pointed straight at his pants. “…has problems in his…”

Orion froze, utterly stunned by her boldness. Where in the world had she even learned to speak like that?

“What is it called?” Sylvara asked, her tone calm, almost curious.

He blinked, unsure if he’d heard her correctly. “What… what are you talking about?”

She pointed again, unflinching. “The thing you use to… produce children.” Her face was so serious, so innocent, it almost disarmed him.

Not the quiet, cold chuckle she was used to. But a deep, genuine laugh filled the room. He bent slightly, shaking his head, trying to catch his breath. “Gods, Sylvara…” he said between laughs. “It’s called a penis.”

Her eyes blinked once. Then she frowned. “That’s a ridiculous name.”

He stepped closer, still smiling, his shadow falling over her. Leaning down, his face hovered inches from hers, close enough for her to feel his breath against her lips.

“Do you want to see it too, Sylvara?” he murmured, his tone low and teasing.

But she didn’t move, she only looked up at him, her violet eyes steady, unafraid.

She froze, but didn’t move back.

Her eyes lifted to meet his. “No,” she said quietly. “I just wanted to know what it’s called.”

The smirk faded from his lips.

The air between them thickened, something tense, dangerous, unspoken.

For a long moment, neither moved. Rain drummed softly against the window. The world outside felt far away.

Then, just as his fingers brushed against the edge of her shawl again.

Knock, knock.

“Apologizes Your Grace,” came Henry’s voice through the door. “The council awaits your reply.”

Orion drew in a slow breath, straightened, and stepped back. “Go to bed,” he said quietly.

Sylvara’s voice was soft but sharp. “And you?”

He turned to the window, his cloak fluttering in the cold air. “I’ll return,” he said, glancing over his shoulder, eyes shadowed. “When I’m ready to hear the rest of what you think you know.”

Then he was gone, out into the dark.

Sylvara stood there for a long moment, her heart beating too fast, her fingers trembling.

Finally, she muttered under her breath, “Penis… how absurd.”

But even as she said it, her lips curved into a faint, unwilling smile.