novelraw Chapter 87: To Live For Myself
Chapter 87: To Live For Myself
Rhaegar narrowed his eyes slightly, though his gaze remained steady.
"And what of the Valehart family?" his father let out a cold, derisive laugh. "She was the wife of the disgraced Dorian Valehart—that is an undeniable fact."
Xarion strode forward until he stood directly before his son, towering over him like a looming storm.
Rhaegar did not answer.
At last, Rhaegar raised his head.
"Your son will wed her. Properly. With full rites and honor—borne in a grand procession, through the gates of our house, as my rightful wife."
He paused, his expression hardening. "Unless you cast yourself out of this house as well."
He said nothing.
"Stop!"
"If you dare take another step beyond that door, do not ever return!"
He stood at the threshold, his back to his father.
And with that, he walked out.
***
By the next dawn, word of Rhaegar’s intent to dissolve his betrothal had swept through the capital like wildfire. In its wake came whispers—then rumors—then venomous tales about Caelith, each more elaborate than the last, as though those who spoke had witnessed it all with their own eyes.
"Of course. Why else would the Valehart family cast her aside? Surely she took another lover. No man will take a mistress if he’s happy with his wife."
On her way to the atelier, Caelith was struck by a bundle of rotting vegetable leaves hurled from the roadside.
The soggy leaves hit her shoulder, foul juice splattering across her cheek.
She did not even pause to wipe it away. Step by step, she continued forward.
She did not turn back.
Within the Ostenton Brocade Atelier, beneath the shaded corridor, several embroiderers were speaking in hushed tones. The moment they saw her enter, their voices died at once. Their eyes followed her in silence, thinly veiled disdain flickering in their gaze.
She opened the door to her chamber, sat before her embroidery frame, and took up her needle and thread.
She drew in a slow breath, forcing herself to steady them.
A mistake.
Another error.
"Lady Caelith."
She looked up.
"Did you meet with trouble on your way here?" he asked, his voice calm and even, as though speaking of nothing of importance.
Lucas stepped inside, unhurried, and set the plate of pastries gently upon the table, the faint aroma of sweetness drifting into the quiet room.
"There is no need..."
Caelith looked at him, her lips trembling.
"Lord Lucas," she said, calling his name at last.
"You... need not be so kind to me."
The sunlight, slanting through the lattice window, fell between them—quiet, golden, and still—as though even time itself had chosen to linger, waiting upon his answer.
Having spoken thus, Lucas did not linger. He turned and made to leave without another word.
He did not turn back.
The door closed softly behind him, the sound lingering in the stillness like the final note of a fading chord.