A Touch of Shadow: The Duke's Obsession

Chapter 70: Contemptible Creature

Rhaegar regarded her in silence.

She gave a small shrug. "Word travels fast. They say you rescued a young lady from the alley behind the Command—gravely wounded, no less. I confess, I am curious... what manner of woman compels Lord Rhaegar to keep vigil through the night himself?"

After a pause, he answered simply, "It is Caelith."

Isabella stilled.

The smile faded slowly from her lips, replaced by something more complex—thoughtful, perhaps, or tinged with surprise.

"Dorian’s wife?" she asked.

"Yes." he cut in response.

She studied him for a long moment—then, suddenly, she laughed softly.

"Well... that explains much."

"What does?"

"Nothing of importance." She waved a hand lightly. "Is she badly hurt?"

Rhaegar inclined his head.

Isabella thought about that gesture silently, then drew out a small porcelain vial from her purse and handed it to him. "This is a wound salve my father brought back from the frontier—remarkably effective for injuries of the flesh. And this—" she produced a white marble box, "—for scarring. Prepared by physicians beyond the borders; far superior to anything in the Imperial Court."

Rhaegar accepted them with a nod. "My thanks."

Seeing his usual economy of words, Isabella rolled her eyes faintly, though her tone remained light.

She hesitated, then spoke again.

"Rhaegar... what of the Valehart household? She has been absent for days. Will he not grow suspicious?"

Rhaegar lifted his gaze to her.

The weight of that look made her shift uneasily. "Why are you staring at me so?"

"I require your assistance."

***

Half an hour later, Isabella stood within the grand hall of Dorian’s residence, her smile radiant and effortless.

"My sincerest apologies," she said brightly. "The other day, I invited Lady Caelith to ride at the grounds. Quite unfortunately, she suffered a fall and struck her head. My estate lies far from the city, so I kept her there to recover for a few days rather than move her hastily."

Dorian blinked in surprise. "She was injured?"

"Indeed," Isabella sighed, a note of practiced regret in her voice. "It was my doing—I insisted upon the ride. But you need not worry; I have the finest medicines at hand, and physicians have already seen to her. There is no grave danger. Only... the healers advised that she remain at rest and not be moved for several days, so I took the liberty of keeping her with me a while longer."

Dorian listened, his face betraying little.

Within her heart, Isabella let out a silent, disdainful laugh, though her outward expression remained warm and composed.

"Dorian," she added with a teasing lilt, "you are not angry with me, I hope?"

"How could I be?" he replied at once. "That you would care for her is her good fortune. I only regret the trouble it brings you."

Isabella waved it off lightly. "Think nothing of it. We have known each other far too long for such formalities."

Dorian looked at her, a certain eagerness lighting his eyes as he stepped a little closer, lowering his voice.

"Isabella... now that you have returned—how long do you intend to stay?"

She rolled her eyes inwardly, though her smile remained as bright and effortless as ever.

"It is hard to say," she replied lightly. "We shall see how matters unfold."

Dorian continued on for a while, speaking in that same courteous, well-worn manner—nothing beyond the usual pleasantries: invitations to meet again, assurances that she need only speak if ever she required assistance. Yvaine responded in kind, her words polite yet hollow, for her thoughts had already wandered elsewhere.

This Dorian... his own wife lay injured, yet he showed neither urgency nor concern. And yet toward her, his attentions flowed with eager warmth.

What a contemptible creature.

***

By the time Isabella returned to Firefly Lane, Caelith had already awakened.

She reclined against the head of the bed, her complexion still pale as winter light. A thick bandage wrapped her brow, stark against her skin. At Isabella’s entrance, she started slightly, then made to rise in courtesy.

"Do not move," Lady Tanmin said quickly, stepping forward to press her gently back. "You are injured enough without adding to it."

Caelith looked at her, a trace of uncertainty in her eyes. "Your Highness... why have you come?"

"To bring you medicine," Isabella replied, taking a seat beside the bed. One by one, she arranged the small bottles and boxes upon the table nearby. "This is for wounds. And this—" she tapped the marble case lightly, "—to prevent scarring. My father brought them from the frontier. They are of the finest quality."

Caelith’s gaze lingered on the remedies before she inclined her head slightly. "My thanks, Your Highness."

Isabella waved the gratitude away, her eyes drifting instead to the wound upon Caelith’s brow.

The cut had already begun to close, a darkened line of healing flesh stretching from the tail of her left brow up toward her hairline—long, unmistakable.

She studied it for a moment, then sighed softly.

"Rhaegar must have been beside himself with worry."

Caelith stilled, a faint warmth rising unbidden to her cheeks.

Isabella caught the reaction at once, and that subtle, unnameable feeling stirred again within her chest. Leaning back in her chair, she tilted her head, her tone deliberately light.

"Tell me honestly, Lady Caelith... does Rhaegar hold affection for you?"

Caelith froze, taken utterly off guard, her lips parting without sound.

Isabella waited—but no answer came.

At last, she gave a small shrug. "Very well. You need not say it. I have known him for many years, and never have I seen him treat any woman as he treats you."

She paused, then added with a faint, almost mischievous glint, "Tell me... if I were to ask him myself, what do you suppose he would say?"

Caelith could only look at her, uncertain of her meaning.

Isabella did not leave it at words.

She rose and stepped out into the courtyard, where she soon found Rhaegar.

He stood beneath the pear tree, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze distant—as though his thoughts lay far beyond the present moment.

Isabella approached and came to stand at his side, mirroring his posture with deliberate ease, her hands folded behind her just as his were.