Chapter 47: The Duke’s Absence

Chapter 47: The Duke’s Absence
The moment Sylvara’s fingers brushed Orion’s chest, the silence between them broke like a ripple through still water. His breath hitched, sharp and uneven, before he stepped back, his face shadowed, his eyes unreadable.

He said nothing.

Not when she whispered that he couldn’t keep her forever. Not when her gaze lingered on him, searching for something soft beneath his walls. He turned instead, he took his shirt… his cloak catching the edge of the candlelight, and left without a word, his footsteps echoing down the corridor like fading thunder.

And just like that, he was gone.

\---

Days Later

Days passed in silence.

The sun rose and fell over the white mansion, painting the marble floors in warm gold by morning and silver by night. But Orion had not returned. The heavy echo of his presence, the sound of boots against stone, the low timbre of his voice, the quiet weight of authority, was gone.

Sylvara felt it more than she cared to admit.

She told herself it didn’t matter. That it was better this way. That she preferred the stillness to the confusion he stirred in her. Yet each night when she lay awake, she could still feel the ghost of his heartbeat beneath her palms, could still hear his voice, low and steady, when he’d said no.

Now, that word haunted her dreams.

\---

She sat by the wide windows of the tea room that morning, wrapped in a soft gown the color of mist. The fabric brushed her ankles like whispering silk, and her long white hair.. spilled over her shoulders like moonlight. The bruises on her cheek had faded to the faintest shadow, pale reminders of what once hurt.

The tea room overlooked the gardens of Ebonvale, a realm of emerald hedges and white roses that seemed to stretch into forever. The air was warm and sweet, carrying the hum of bees and the faint rustle of wind over the fountain. The sky was clear, a vast, endless blue that reminded her how small she was, and how far from the forest she’d once called home.

She lifted her cup slowly. The scent of chamomile drifted upward. Her reflection wavered on the tea’s surface, her violet eyes, her calm face, but she didn’t drink.

Astrid, her silent knight, stood near the doorway as always. Even the soft clink of her armor had become familiar. She was like a shadow now, steady, constant, loyal not to Sylvara but to the Duke’s command.

Sylvara sighed. “You don’t have to stand all day,” she said quietly.

Astrid didn’t answer, though her expression softened briefly.

Sylvara turned back to the window. She thought of the Dark Forest, the rough bark beneath her fingers, the smell of rain-soaked soil, the distant cries of creatures that lurked in the mist. There, she had run and survived. Here, she was safe, but trapped. The only danger was silence.

She traced the rim of her cup with a fingertip. “Freedom,” she whispered to herself, “wasn’t supposed to feel like a cage.”

The sound of approaching footsteps broke her thoughts. Measured. Steady. Familiar.

“Hello, my lady.”

Henry’s voice carried a calm warmth that always seemed to fill a room before he even stepped into it. He stood in the doorway, hands clasped neatly behind his back, his usual black coat buttoned to the throat. His silver hair gleamed faintly in the sunlight that poured through the windows.

Sylvara turned her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “Henry.”

He smiled gently. “I see your injuries have healed.”

Her gaze flicked to the faint scar on his hand. “So have yours.”

“Ah,” he said with a soft chuckle, rubbing his knuckles. “The Duke insists I’m not as young as I think I am.”

Sylvara didn’t smile, though a faint amusement touched her eyes.

Henry looked out the window. “Did you sleep well? The view is rather splendid today, isn’t it?”

Sylvara didn’t answer, only lifted her cup again, her posture graceful but distant.

Undeterred, Henry cleared his throat. “I have something for you, Lady Sylvara.”

That caught her attention. She turned, brows slightly raised. “For me?”

“Yes.”

He stepped forward, his demeanor oddly lighter than usual, less formal, almost… nervous. It was strange to see him like this. Henry was usually composed, the embodiment of calm intellect.

Now, he looked like someone who carried a secret.

He reached into his coat.

Sylvara’s eyes widened the moment she saw what he held.

Nestled in his gloved hands was a small, trembling bundle of white fur, soft, round, with long ears that twitched at the sound of her gasp.

“Kerry…” Sylvara’s voice broke, a whisper threaded with disbelief and joy.

She stood so quickly the chair scraped against the floor. Her tea cup clattered against the saucer, forgotten. She rushed forward, hands trembling as she took the bunny from Henry.

“Kerry! You’re… you’re alive!”

The bunny shifted in her arms, its little nose twitching as if sniffing to confirm that she was real. Sylvara pressed her cheek against its soft fur, laughter breaking free from her lips.

“Oh, you’re heavier… oh no, you’re so…  fat!” she exclaimed softly, half laughing, half crying.

Henry smiled, his usually stoic face softening. “The Duke said I should deliver this to you, Lady Sylvara.”

Sylvara looked up at him, her eyes bright with tears she didn’t try to hide. “He, he sent her back?”

Henry nodded once.

Something fragile stirred in her chest. He remembered.

For days she had convinced herself he had forgotten. That the Duke’s world was made of soldiers and orders, not memories and sentiment. Yet here was proof of the opposite.

She blinked rapidly, smiling through her tears. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Henry tilted his head slightly, watching her. “My apologies, my lady, but it seems the Duke… grew rather fond of Kerry.”

Sylvara looked up sharply. “What?”

Henry coughed, already regretting his words. “He, ah… fed her. Quite generously, it seems.”

Sylvara’s mouth fell open. “He… fed her?!” She looked down at the bunny, whose round belly was proof of the overindulgence. “Oh, Kerry, no! You don’t stop eating when you’re full, do you? You could’ve died!”

Henry winced slightly. “The Duke was worried she might starve, so he may have… overdone it.”

Sylvara groaned, hugging the bunny closer. “Of course he did. He always overdoes everything.”

But even as she scolded the absent Duke, her voice trembled with something softer. Gratitude. Warmth.

Kerry nuzzled into her arm, letting out a soft squeak. The scent of lavender and rose oil clung faintly to her fur, proof she’d been bathed, perhaps by Orion’s maids.

Sylvara smiled faintly. “You smell nice, little one. Maybe living with him wasn’t all bad.”

Henry bowed slightly, amused by the scene. He turned to leave, but her voice stopped him.

“Wait,” Sylvara called softly, her voice like a bell through the quiet room.

Henry paused mid-step and turned. “Yes, my lady?”

“You said the view was wonderful,” she said, her tone gentler now. “Then… sit with me.”

She smiled, small, sincere, the kind that reached her violet eyes. Her arms cradled Kerry close to her chest, the little bunny nestled against the folds of her pale-blue gown. Strands of white hair slipped over her shoulder, catching the sunlight like threads of silver.

For a moment, Henry forgot to breathe. If the Duke ever saw her like this… unguarded, warm, radiant in her simplicity… he would surely lose his composure. There was no doubt about that.

Almost without realizing it, Henry found himself taking the seat beside her. It wasn’t until he felt the chair creak under his weight that sense returned to him. ‘What am I doing?’ he thought, straightening slightly, clearing his throat.

But when he glanced out the window, his thoughts quieted again. The garden stretched before them, bathed in soft gold. The fountain murmured, the air smelled faintly of roses, and for the first time in years, Henry realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d simply sat like this, at peace.

“You seem thoughtful,” Sylvara said softly.

He smiled faintly. “It’s been a long time since I allowed myself to be.”

She tilted her head, hugging Kerry close. “You and the Duke… you’ve known each other long?”

“Since he was a boy,” Henry said, his voice lowering, touched with memory. “I served his father before him. The old Duke was a difficult man… but he respected loyalty.”

Sylvara turned her gaze back to the gardens. “And Orion?”