A Touch of Shadow: The Duke's Obsession

Chapter 48: Dreams

She lifted her gaze—just slightly—and found it resting upon the line of his throat, the subtle rise and fall of his Adam’s apple.

For reasons she herself could not fathom, she swallowed dryly.

The motion was small, instinctive, but betraying.

The moment she realized what she had done, a flush surged to her face. Mortified, she quickly lowered her head, not daring to meet his eyes.

How could she have behaved so... improperly?

If he had noticed, he would surely mock her without mercy.

Yet Rhaegar had noticed.

He felt every shift in her breath, every tremor of her body—yet he chose not to expose her fluster. Instead, he lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss to her hair.

Then lower still—until his lips found hers.

Caelith leaned back against the cool, stone wall, her body yielding despite herself as he drew her into the warmth of his kiss.

Her breath grew uneven, shallow—a soft, helpless tremor escaping her lips.

"Rhaegar... don’t... please, let me go..."

"I won’t," he murmured.

"They’ll see us..."

"Then be still," he replied softly, yet with quiet command. "If you do not wish to be discovered... do not struggle."

His words wrapped around her like a spell.

Slowly, she closed her eyes.

She stopped resisting.

His lips trailed from hers to the side of her neck, each touch dissolving what little composure she had left. Reason blurred, drowned beneath a tide she could no longer restrain.

"Why were you looking at me?" he asked again, his voice hot against her skin.

"I... I wasn’t looking at you," she whispered, breath unsteady. "I was looking at... your jade pendant..."

He knew.

Of course he knew what she truly wished to ask.

But he had no intention of answering—at least, not yet.

Instead, his hand rose, brushing gently along her cheek, his touch slow and deliberate.

"What is there to see in a pendant?" he murmured. "Why not look at me instead?"

Her heart faltered.

"You... are you Rhae?" she asked at last, the question slipping free before she could stop herself.

A faint smile curved his lips.

Releasing her at last, he stepped back just enough to look at her fully.

"Rhae?" he echoed lightly. "Who is this Rhae? Tell me—between him and me... who is better?"

"What...?" She blinked, caught off guard.

Before she could gather her thoughts, he moved.

With a swift motion, he turned her around. Her back met the cool surface of the wall once more, but this time she faced away from him.

His arm circled her waist from behind, firm and unyielding, drawing her back against him.

There was no escape.

No distance left between them.

Only his presence—close, inescapable—and the unspoken tension that lingered, heavy in the dimming light.

His hand pressed firmly against the small of her back, his chin resting lightly upon her shoulder as his voice dropped to a low murmur.

"Can you not answer? Tell me—am I better, or is that Rhae of yours better?"

Caelith parted her lips, intending to reply—but the words refused to come.

Seeing her hesitation, Rhaegar let out a soft, amused laugh. His hand began to wander upward from her waist, slow and deliberate.

"Why so silent?" he teased. "Have you forgotten him... or do you simply think I fall short of him?"

"No," she said at last, her voice barely steady. "I..."

She tried to explain, but before she could finish, his lips descended once more, silencing her.

His breath brushed against her neck as he lingered there, his voice low and dangerous.

"You heal rather quickly," he murmured. "Not a trace left behind."

At once, memory surged—of the carriage in the rear alley, of everything that had passed between them.

Heat flooded her face.

"Since it fades so easily..." he continued softly—and then, without warning, he bit down gently yet firmly at the curve of her neck.

A sharp gasp escaped her.

"Then I shall leave another mark," he whispered. "So you remember—you belong to me. Only to me."

The air behind the screen grew thick, heavy with charged tension—until suddenly—

"My lady! Where have you gone?" Dolly’s voice rang out from the far end of the corridor.

Caelith startled, pushing against him at once.

Rhaegar released her, the heat in his gaze slowly receding, though not entirely gone.

"Compose yourself," he said quietly.

She nodded, her hands hurriedly straightening her garments, though her fingers trembled slightly.

She reached up instinctively, trying to hide the mark upon her neck with her hair—but it was too vivid, too fresh to conceal.

Without a word, Rhaegar stepped forward and adjusted her high collar himself, neatly covering the telltale trace.

"Three days," he murmured. "Firefly Lane."

With that, he turned and strode away from behind the screen.

Left alone, Caelith remained still for a moment, forcing her racing heart to calm.

Only when she was certain her composure had returned did she step out.

Dolly immediately hurried over, concern etched across her face.

"Miss, where did you go just now?"

"I escorted Commander Thorne out of the estate," Caelith replied evenly. "Come—we shall return."

"Yes."

By the time they reached her courtyard, night had fully fallen.

In the distance, thunder rumbled low and heavy.

Before long, rain began to fall—soft at first, then steadily stronger.

Caelith stood by the window, gazing out at the darkened sky.

"It’s raining again..." she murmured, a trace of quiet weariness in her voice.

Dolly quickly moved to secure the doors and windows. She knew well—her mistress disliked the rain, and feared the thunder even more.

"You may retire," Caelith said softly, gesturing for her to leave. "I have no need of attendance tonight."

Dolly hesitated. "My lady, the storm may grow heavy. Perhaps I should remain and keep watch?"

"It is nothing more than rain," Caelith replied. "Go and rest."

Seeing her insistence, Dolly dared not argue further.

"If you are frightened, call for me," she said gently.

"I will."

With that, Dolly withdrew, closing the door behind her.

Outside, the rain soon grew into a torrential downpour, the sound of it drumming relentlessly against the roof and eaves.

Within the chamber, Caelith changed her garments and lay upon the bed.

The steady rhythm of rain filled the silence—and gradually, despite the unrest within her heart, sleep claimed her.

Yet it was not a peaceful sleep.

Dreams came, one upon another...

At first, she stood once more in the sunlit courtyard of her childhood in the Kingdom of Miaelin. Her father and mother were there, smiling, seated beside her as blossoms drifted gently through the air.

Warmth.

Laughter.

Peace.

Then—

Everything shattered.

The courtyard collapsed, flames rising in a furious blaze. Smoke choked the air, devouring all that had once been familiar.

Amid the fire, her father’s voice rang out—hoarse, desperate.

"Rhae! Run—!"

Caelith’s heart clenched violently.

Rhae...

In his final moments, it was Rhae her father had called for.