A Touch of Shadow: The Duke's Obsession

Chapter 54: Firefly

Caelith hesitated; the words stuck in her throat. Now that she was about to explain what happened, she felt somewhat ridiculous.

"It was... knocked from my hands yesterday... someone ran into me, and the broth was entirely spilled... I am truly sorry. Your efforts were ruined."

At these words, Rhaegar’s expression changed at once. Concern flashed across his face as he guided Caelith to sit upon a nearby stone bench. Without hesitation, he reached toward her garments, intent on examining her.

"Where were you hurt? Let me see."

Startled, she quickly tried to evade his touch, pulling her skirts around herself as if they were a shield. "No need! I am unharmed."

Yet he gave her no chance to withdraw. With swift, decisive movements, he loosened her outer layers just enough to inspect her condition. Only after confirming that no burns had marked her skin did he finally ease, a quiet breath leaving him.

"How did the broth come to be spilled?" he asked, his tone lowering. "Who did this?"

"It was Yvaine," Caelith replied plainly. "Perhaps she wished to provoke me—or thought me easy to bully, and so deliberately collided with me. But I struck her in return. One slap... and I consider the matter settled."

At this, Rhaegar stilled, his brows arched in surprise.

Seeing his reaction, unease flickered through her. Had she misjudged him? Had he preferred the version of her that endured everything in silence? Somehow, she wished she could turn back time and rip those words out of her throat.

"You—"

"Well done," he said at last.

She blinked, completely caught off guard. "You do not think me too impulsive? Too harsh? Too cruel?"

"Impulsive? Harsh?" Rhaegar let out a soft scoff. "I think no such thing. She dared to harm you in public, and you answered with but a single slap—that was leniency. In truth, I wish you’d done more than that."

So that was his mind.

Caelith lowered her gaze, a quiet smile touching her lips, her heart softening in a way she could scarcely contain.

Rhaegar reached for the hand she had used to strike. "Does it still hurt?"

"I was the one who struck her," she said, unable to suppress a faint laugh. "Why not ask whether she is in pain?"

"She brought it upon herself," he replied, his gaze steady upon hers. "Though next time, do not soil your own hands. I will have someone deal with it in your stead. She isn’t worthy even of your slap."

"What?" she asked, surprised.

"She is not worth the pain she might cause you," he said simply. Then, lowering his head, he lifted her hand and brushed it lightly against his lips—leaving the gentlest of kisses upon her skin.

Caelith stiffened, her breath catching, her heart suddenly racing. "Rhaegar..."

"What is it?"

"Thank you."

Sensing the emotion in her voice, he leaned closer, his eyes searching hers. "If you truly wish to thank me... then give me a kiss."

"I..." She hesitated, her expression clouded with uncertainty.

Seeing this, he did not press her further. Instead, he leaned in and placed a soft kiss upon her cheek. "Then I shall take one instead."

At once, warmth bloomed across her face. Flustered, she turned away and quickly drew something from her sleeve—a small embroidered handkerchief—which she held out to him.

"This is for you... in thanks for the ginseng."

Rhaegar accepted it, his fingers deliberately brushing against hers. "You made this yourself?"

"I did." She nodded, withdrawing her hand.

He lowered his gaze, studying the delicate embroidery upon it. "Why choose a firefly shape?"

"Because this is Firefly Lane," Caelith replied softly.

"Only because of that?" Rhaegar stepped closer, his gaze sharpening.

"What other reason could there be?"

"Most women embroider flowers, or the sacred symbols of the temple," he said with a quiet laugh. "And yet you give me a single firefly—what am I to make of that?"

"I..." She faltered, uncertain how to explain. It had been nothing more than an idle creation of her hands—she had never imagined he would read so deeply into it.

Suddenly, he lifted her chin, compelling her to meet his eyes.

"Is it that you were too shy to embroider the flowers that symbolize affection?" he murmured. "Or is it that, in your heart, you wished to—but did not dare?"

"Do not speak nonsense," she said quickly, her voice unsteady.

"Then next time," he leaned closer, his breath brushing lightly against her ear, "embroider a pair of beautiful blossoms for me."

"...Very well." She blinked, and before she quite understood why, she found herself nodding.

Rhaegar gave a low, satisfied chuckle and released her. "Just now, I kissed you. Now—it is your turn."

Caelith stared at him, her thoughts in quiet disarray. After a long moment, she closed her eyes, lifted her chin ever so slightly, and leaned forward of her own accord.

A flicker of brightness lit Rhaegar’s eyes. He lowered his head to meet her.

Their breaths intertwined, the distance between them dissolving. His hand, almost of its own will, began once more to wander.

"No..." Caelith drew back quickly, rising to her feet. Turning away, she busied herself with adjusting her garments, her voice soft but firm. "It is daylight... this is not appropriate."

"As you wish," Rhaegar replied easily, without the slightest trace of displeasure. There would be time—there would always be time.

"I should return now."

"Very well. I shall have Lance escort you," he said, though reluctance lingered faintly in his gaze.

"There is no need," she answered at once, shaking her head. "I can go alone."

He understood her concern and did not insist. "Then take care on the road."

"In three days’ time, I will return—to continue learning self-defense."

"Good."

"Then... I am going."

"Farewell."

Rhaegar stood where he was, watching as Caelith’s figure gradually disappeared from sight.

Only then did he lower his gaze to the sachet in his hand, his fingers brushing over the embroidered wings.

A firefly, after all... was not without its own meaning.