Chapter 29 The Duke Malfunctions
Over the next three months, after Ulrika’s disappearance act following their wild night that completely destroyed his bed – Aric never stopped looking for his mysterious silver-haired lady. Grand Duke Aric Solheim did not guess. He did not speculate. He did not wonder. He investigated. Personally. Discreetly. Relentlessly.
The first thing he did was retrace everything. Every step. Every breath. Every second. From the moment he woke— to the moment he stopped functioning as a rational human being. He stood in the center of his bedchamber now, unmoving, hands clasped behind his back. His sharp silver eyes scanned the room like a battlefield. Nothing was out of place. That, in itself, was wrong.
The sheets had been changed. Perfectly. Too perfectly. Aric stepped forward slowly, gaze narrowing. He reached out and pressed two fingers into the mattress where she had been sitting. There was no indentation. No warmth. No evidence. But— His fingers paused. “…there.” A faint, almost imperceptible crease. Not visible unless you knew where to look. Not something a servant would miss. Not something he would imagine.
He turned. The windows—sealed. The balcony—locked from the inside. The doors—still bearing his personal warding seal. Untouched. Unbroken. Untriggered.
Aric moved. Fast. Within the hour, the entire estate was quietly mobilized. No alarms. No panic. Just… quiet orders. Every servant was questioned. Individually. Separately. Under his direct observation.
“No one entered your Grace’s chambers,” said the head maid, pale but steady.
“Not a soul,” confirmed the night guard.
“We would have noticed,” said another.
“You always notice,” Aric replied calmly.
They swallowed. Because it was true. He trained them that way. He watched their eyes. Their breathing. Their micro-expressions. There was no deception. No hesitation. No fear beyond him. They were telling the truth.
Aric dismissed them. Then summoned the ward specialists. “Check everything.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Ancient runes flared to life across the walls, faint golden sigils revealing the invisible network of protection layered over the Duke’s private quarters. Intrusion detection. Magic disruption. Soul signature identification. Even forbidden spell recognition. Nothing. “No anomalies,” the specialist reported, voice tight. “No fluctuations.” “No forced entries.” “No bypass.”
Aric said nothing. He dismissed them too. Then he searched the records. Every entry. Every visitor. Every scheduled meeting. Every unscheduled incident. Every patrol report. Every anomaly logged in the last month. Nothing. No woman. No suspicious figure. No unexplained presence. No anything. It was as if she had— Never existed.
Aric stood in his study, surrounded by meticulously organized reports that all told him the same thing: There was no intruder. There was no witness. There was no trace. And yet— He reached into his coat. Slowly. Carefully. The note. Still there. He unfolded it again, for what had to be the twelfth time. The handwriting was real. The ink had weight. The paper had texture. It was not an illusion. It was not a dream. It was not something his mind had fabricated. His fingers tightened slightly around the edge. “She was here.” The words left him quietly. Not a declaration. A fact. Because he remembered. He remembered the way she sat on his bed like she owned the world. The way she looked at him—direct, unflinching, dangerous. The way she said: “Hello. I’m here to save your life.”
Aric closed his eyes briefly. His brain, for the first time in years— stuttered. Because none of it made sense. Not tactically. Not logically. Not physically. There were only a few possibilities. He began listing them. Because that was what he did. That was how he functioned.
“One,” he murmured. “A master-level infiltrator.” Someone capable of bypassing elite wards. Avoiding detection. Leaving no trace. Impossible? No. Unlikely? Yes. But if such a person existed— They would not leave behind a note.
“Two.” “A high-tier illusion.” Something capable of fooling all five senses. Sight. Sound. Touch. Presence. Even memory. Aric’s gaze sharpened. “…No.” His voice was immediate. Certain. Cold. “I do not hallucinate.”
He had endured battlefields soaked in blood. War zones filled with screaming, dying men. Sleep deprivation that bordered on madness. Poison. Pain. Interrogation. His mind did not break. It did not fabricate. It did not fail. And yet— He looked down at the note again. “…Three.” His voice slowed. “…was she…” He stopped. For a moment— just a moment— Grand Duke Aric Solheim hesitated. “…a hallucination?”
The word felt wrong. Foreign. Insulting. He did not believe that. But logic— cold, structured, relentless logic— demanded that all possibilities be considered. Even the ones he rejected. Even the ones that made no sense. Even the ones that implied— His hand tightened. “…no.”
He exhaled slowly. Because there was one detail— one single detail— that shattered that entire theory. She knew things. Things she should not know. Things no outsider could know. Things that had never been spoken aloud. And— His expression went completely still. “…twins.”
The word echoed in the quiet room. His hand rose unconsciously to his temple. Because that— That was the breaking point. He had not known. Not consciously. Not confirmed. Not acknowledged. And yet she said it. Calmly. Certainly. Without hesitation. As if it were obvious. As if he were the strange one for not knowing.
Aric sank slowly into his chair. Not collapsing. Not losing control. But— for the first time— his movements were not precise. “…impossible.” His voice was quieter now. Not weak. But… strained. Because the more he thought— the worse it became. Every conclusion led to a contradiction. Every explanation created a new impossibility. Every answer— refused to exist.
He leaned back slightly, staring at nothing. His thoughts— usually sharp, efficient, merciless— were now circling. Looping. Colliding. “…this is inefficient.” That was the first sign. Aric Solheim did not tolerate inefficiency. Especially not in his own mind. And yet— He had reread the same note twelve times. Reconstructed the same sequence nine times. Considered the same three theories— over and over— without resolution. He was— stuck.
His fingers pressed lightly against his forehead. “…unacceptable.” But even as he said it— His thoughts drifted again. To her voice. To her expression. To the absurd, incomprehensible conversation that had somehow resulted in— Marriage. Children. A locked door. His eye twitched. “…what,” he said slowly to the empty room, “…happened.”
Silence answered him. Aric sat there for a long moment. Perfectly still. Perfectly composed. And yet— If anyone had seen him in that moment— they would have immediately realized something was deeply, profoundly wrong. Because Grand Duke Aric Solheim— Was malfunctioning. Not outwardly. Not dramatically. But internally? His logic was unraveling. His certainty was cracking. His understanding of reality was— destabilizing. And worst of all— He had no enemy to point his sword at. No battlefield to conquer. No clear answer. Just— A woman who did not exist. A note that should not be real. And a truth he could not deny.
“…she said she would save my life.” His voice was quiet. Thoughtful. A beat passed. Then— “…from what?”
Silence. But this time— It did not feel empty. It felt like something was coming. Something inevitable. Something that— for the first time in years— Aric Solheim was not prepared for.
He closed his eyes briefly. And for once— Grand Duke Aric Solheim did not reach a conclusion. He simply sat there. Thinking. Failing to understand. And very, very slowly— Losing control of the one thing he had always relied on. His mind.