The air changed before the land did.

  It grew thinner. Drier. It was everything Aveline remembered.

  They had officially entered the capital city. Velaris revealed itself in tiers of white stone and rising spires.

  The city climbed gently toward the heart of the realm, where the royal citadel stood crowned in pale marble, its banners visible long before its gates. Sunlight caught along its towers and scattered across the river that curved protectively around the capital’s inner walls.

  Noble estates encircled the upper districts like quiet sentinels, ancestral homes set behind wrought-iron gates and manicured gardens older than memory. Aveline felt a hint of nostalgia. This is where she grew up after all. The Faylinn estate, its ivy-wrapped fa?ade and silver-crested archways unchanged by time, was not too far away.

  The carriage continued to move towards the outskirts of the capital.

  By the time the eastern watchtowers came into view, the wind had stripped all cold from the carriage walls. Soldiers bearing the Eryndale crest rode in formation ahead and behind, their silence disciplined, their eyes alert.

  Aveline watched the distant ridgelines from behind the window glass. The city sprawled below in clean angles of pale stone and slate roofs.

  Beside her, Caelum had not moved in the last hour.

  His gaze was fixed beyond the horizon.

  “They have prepared the outer manor,” he said at last. Not to her—simply into the air. “The Council sent word three days ago.”

  His voice was even. Hard. Devoid of ceremony. Aveline was honestly shocked. She did not expect Caelum to talk to her at all, but he did. Even if it was to the air and not directly to her.

  Aveline folded her hands in her lap. “I didn’t know it required that much preparation.”

  A pause.

  “The manor has been left alone for quite some time. We don’t visit often, after all. It’s mainly managed by my Aunt.”

  “Lady Harrowmont?”

  Caelum simply hmm-ed in agreement. Lady Harrowmont was Caelum’s distant aunt, a cousin of his father. She wedded into the Harrowmont family, but still shared great trust from the Northern lords. It is said that she overlooked a lot of the duties of the Eryndale family in the South.

  The carriage descended toward the elevated plateau overlooking the city proper. The manor stood there—dark granite and steel, severe and fortified. It did not attempt beauty.

  It projected control.

  “That is Eryndale Manor,” Caelum said. “It will serve as our residence during the coronation.”

  No flourish. No explanation.

  She studied it without comment.

  “It’s like we never left the North.” she smiled. It was very much the Eryndale manor, alright.

  He did not look at her.

  “You may stay here if you wish.”

  The words were clipped. Aveline looked at him, confused.

  “Was I expected not to?”

  “I would assume you had your own home to stay in. That you would much rather stay there after all these months.”

  “My home is now in the North.” She corrected him. “As for the Faylinn Estate, I have no desire to stay there.”

  “That is surprising.”

  “Is it?”

  Aveline turned her gaze toward him fully now.

  “I assumed you had done your research well ahead of time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You tell me, my Lord. Is it surprising that I would not want to stay at the Faylinn estate?”

  For the first time in the long journey, Caelum moved his gaze to meet hers. She knew. Caelum knew she knew that he had ordered an investigation into her background. How she was treated at the Faylinn estate.

  But even that report, he did not trust fully. It might just be an elaborate ruse to make it seem like she was being hated, only to use her as the perfect spy in the North. The Duke, investigating her background, would assume she was no threat. That is what they planned.

  And Caelum knew that Aveline knew that part too. They could both tell what the other person was thinking, but neither voiced it out loud.

  She continued anyway. “Would you be willing to go to the Faylinn estate?”

  Caelum let out a sarcastic laugh. ““The Faylinn estate stands within territory that has changed loyalties twice in twenty years. I do not house myself in uncertain soil.”

  There was no insult to it. Just a fact.

  “Nevertheless, if it is alright with you, I would much prefer staying here.” she stated.

  “Do whatever you want,” he corrected. “As long as it does not bother me.”

  “On the contrary, it will only be beneficial for you.” She smiled.

  “Would it?” He questioned, now back to looking outside the window.

  “Why of course. If I were to go to the Faylinn Estate, the nobles would all gossip about why I never stayed at the Eryndale manor.”

  “That is of no concern to me.”

  “But it should be. People would assume I do not like the North or that the North has not accepted me. However true that is, they don’t have the right to think that. My honor would be questioned. And my honor is your honor now.”

  His jaw tightened slightly. “My honor is not so weak that it can be questioned by inconsequential things such as rumors.”

  Aveline smiled a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “All honor, inherently, is weak, my Lord. The Eryndale duchy has spent decades fighting in the North, protecting the Empire. You, yourself, have sacrificed a lot. And what has that gotten you? Honor? Nay. It got you nothing but contempt from those in the South.”

  Caelum had nothing to say to that. “So that is where I come in. Whatever honor there is for Eryndale, I will gain it all and lose none of it.”

  The carriage wheels struck stone as they entered through iron gates. Soldiers stood already in formation within the courtyard. Too precise.

  “You almost sound like you genuinely care about Eryndale.” He gave a sarcastic chuckle.

  Servants began opening the carriage doors.

  “Your assumption that I don’t is not my burden to clear.”

  Instead of responding, Caelum descended first without offering assistance. He did not perform gentility for eastern eyes.

  Only authority.

  Aveline stepped down unaided, her posture straight, her expression unreadable.

  In front of them, the few servants that the manor had were bowing in respect. Some of the maids raised their heads lightly to take a look at the Lord and the Lady, their eyes holding something that Aveline did not miss.

  “I hope you have been well, my Lord.” A man in a butler attire spoke first.

  “Geoffrey. I hope the manor has been prepared.”

  “Yes, my lord. We’ve made sure that you have everything you need.”

  Caelum briefly glanced towards Aveline before he started moving up the stairs. Aveline followed quietly.

  They walked toward the manor doors together—but not touching.

  As the servants opened the door to the manor, a silhouette started to emerge. The butler wasted no time in introducing the person.

  “Lady Elowen Harrowmont.”

  The doors opened without haste.

  She walked as though they had been waiting for her rather than the other way around.

  Lady Elowen Vaelora Harrowmont was not adorned in excess. Her gown was a restrained emerald, cut in the southern style—structured shoulders, clean lines, no frivolous embroidery. The only ornament she wore was a thin chain of Eryndale silver resting against her collarbone.

  Not Harrowmont gold. Eryndale silver.

  A reminder.

  Her hair, once the same dark shade as Caelum’s, had softened into streaks of iron and ash, braided and coiled with deliberate precision. Nothing about her was accidental.

  Her gaze swept across them once.

  Servants straightened.

  A footman corrected his posture half a second too late.

  She did not look at them again.

  Her eyes settled on Caelum first.

  Not the Duchess.

  Not the assembled household.

  Caelum.

  A subtle softening touched her expression—gone almost before it formed.

  “My Duke,” she greeted, bowing slightly in front of him.

  Not nephew. Never in public.

  Caelum inclined his head. “Aunt.”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Aveline observed carefully. No overt affection. No distance either.

  This was a relationship forged through shared endurance, not sentiment.

  Only then did Elowen turn her gaze to Aveline.

  Measured. Unhurried.

  Assessing not beauty—but composure.

  “Duchess of Eryndale,” she said smoothly.

  Her curtsy was flawless.

  Not shallow.

  Not submissive.

  Precisely equal to Aveline’s new station.

  “I trust the journey south was not exhausting.”

  Aveline felt it then.

  Not hostility. Pressure.

  The kind that tests whether stone cracks or holds.

  Ha. So that’s your game, huh. Well, Aveline had no intention of letting someone undermine her, be it someone decades older than her.

  “It was enlightening,” Aveline replied evenly. “The South has a distinct atmosphere.”

  A faint curve touched Elowen’s lips.

  “It does,” she agreed. “It seems you haven’t forgotten it.” she smiled.

  The words were gentle. The meaning was not.

  Veiled words. What she meant was simply that Aveline was from the South, and always will be.

  “Well it hasn’t been long. But I can’t say I miss it. However, after the long time you’ve spent down here, I’m sure Lady Harrowmont would find it difficult to live anywhere else now.”

  You’ve been here so long you are practically a Southerner now.

  The air between them sharpened slightly—like two blades recognizing quality steel.

  Behind Elowen’s calm exterior lay something far more formidable than courtly pride.

  She was not simply Caelum’s aunt. She was the woman who kept House Eryndale standing when grief hollowed its heir. She was the quiet architect of the South’s continued loyalty.

  And she had just begun evaluating whether the new Duchess was reinforcement—

  Or erosion.

  Elowen stepped aside slightly, allowing the hall to breathe again.

  “Welcome to your home, Duchess,” she said.

  It did not sound like a greeting. It sounded like a challenge.

  Inside, the hall was vast and severe. Banners of House Eryndale hung from the vaulted ceiling, newly mounted. Recently replaced.

  “This wing is yours,” Caelum said as they entered the central corridor. “You may pick out whatever room you like best.”

  “My quarters are separate.” There was no question. She simply observed.

  “And?”

  “Do we perhaps have to revisit our conversation on rumors about us spreading in the South again?”

  “I do not pay heed to rumors uttered by lessers.”

  This insufferable man.

  “You may not, but many do. And you mustn't forget, my honor is tied to the honor of the North.”

  “Ha! Your honor?” Caelum grinned. “And what honor do you even have to speak of?”

  Aveline stared at him. This man had no idea who she was, so it was natural for him to assume so. Assume that Aveline is simply a neglected and cursed child of the Faylinn estate, with no honor to speak of.

  “I do not mean my honor as Aveline Faylinn. I meant my honor as the duchess of the North, Aveline Eryndale.”

  Caelum looked at the girl before him as she appeared elegant and fierce at the same time. “The honor of the North is not so fragile that it would fall with mere rumors.”

  Aveline smiled. “Honor, by nature, is fragile. It is built on rumors. Rumors of vile monsters and brave knights, of knightly pride and the sword’s strength. And it can be torn down by the same rumors, of weakness and patheticness, of a husband and wife at odds. These rumors will spread to the mouths of the servants here, all the way to servants of other households and eventually their owners. Through that, it will move through high society.”

  She stepped closer to Caelum. “But that is not all. Instead of people talking about the coronation of the new Duke, they will instead focus on sullying his marriage. I, as duchess of Eryndale, will not have the limelight of my husband be stolen by vile rumors, however true they are” she stared right into his eyes.

  Caelum was stunned for a moment. Who is this woman, exactly? If I didn’t know any better, I would assume she means every word of hers. As if the North really means a lot to her. If I didn’t know better.

  After staring at her for a few seconds, he moved his eyes away. “Very well. You will move to the second floor. Separate quarters.” he clarified at the end.

  Aveline smiled and lowered her head a little. “As my kind lord wishes.”

  Caelum huffed and started walking again.

  They walked through the corridor quietly. Neither of them said a word, until they reached Aveline’s new room. Caelum quietly gestured towards the room as if to say “here it is. Go”

  What am I? A dog?

  Then, he quietly turned around as if to leave. But before he could, Aveline’s voice called out to him.

  I won’t find a better time than now, I guess. Besides, he looks like he’s in a good mood?

  “I would like to invite my brother for tea,” she said evenly.

  Caelum stopped walking.

  “The Faylinn heir.”

  “Yes. I mean no. Technically he is an heir, just not the heir.” She spoke fastly. For some strange reason, she was nervous. A lot was on stake. “My second brother, Everett.”

  Caelum quietly nodded. He remembered the report he received on Aveline stated that she was rumored to be close to her second brother.

  Everett Faylinn. The genius swords man and the prodigy businessman. He didn’t seem like the kind of person that would involve himself in politics about damaging the North. But perhaps that is exactly why he’s the best person to use. A brother’s affection for his sister made him come to visit her. That is what the world would see, and what they assume Caelum would see. But the real purpose? It might just be to get a report of how far they are in their plan against the North. I’ll let them play this game as much as they want.

  “Very well. I do not care whom you invite as long as it does not disturb me.” he said and began to walk away, before Aveline stopped him once again.

  “I- I would like you to meet him too.”

  Caelum was dumbfounded. “Me?”

  Me? She wants to meet her brother together with me? What kind of spy would report on her target right in front of her?

  “I do not see a reason as to why I should.”

  Aveline raised one eyebrow. “Well for one, he is your brother in law.”

  “You and I both know that does not matter much.”

  “Perhaps not to you. However, he would very much like to meet you.”

  “And why would that be?”

  “Other than you marrying his little sister? I do not know.”

  Silence filled the corridor.

  Aveline felt she was moving in the wrong direction with him.

  “Besides, I want him to see that I am .. well.”

  Her voice softened at that. Perhaps, despite all the strategies and schemes, she still wanted her brother to be reassured that Aveline was fine.

  Caelum observed her for a few seconds. When he spoke, his voice carried no warmth.

  “Very well. He will attend as your guest. And I shall meet him.”

  “Thank you.” Her reply was small, partly because of the surprise. She did not expect Caelum to agree so easily. What is your game?

  “If he attempts to leverage this visit—”

  “He will not.”

  Her tone was mild. Cold in its certainty.

  Caelum studied her carefully.

  “You trust him.”

  “I understand him.”

  A distinction.

  The torches along the walls burned steady. No draft disturbed them.

  “You may send the invitation,” Caelum said at last. “But it will be here. Under my crest. Under my guards.”

  “Naturally.”

  He resumed walking.

  “Do not mistake my refusal to reside at the Faylinn estate for insult,” he added without looking back. “I will not give the East the impression that I lean on your house for stability.”

  “I would not permit that impression either,” Aveline replied.

  That made him glance at her again.

  Briefly.

  “Your chambers,” Caelum said finally, gesturing towards the room as if to tell her to go in and leave him be for now..

  No flourish. No gentleness.

  Aveline inclined her head slightly.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  The title was intentional. Public. Correct.

  He gave a single nod in return.

  “Rest,” he said.

  He turned and walked down the opposite corridor without hesitation.

  Not once did he look back.

  And Aveline did not expect him to.

  A sharp exhale left him as he dragged a hand through his hair.

  This was precisely why attachments were dangerous.

  Caelum crossed the length of his chamber, boots striking the marble with measured force. The South was patient. Calculating. If Aveline Faylinn was anything like the estate that bore her name, then she had been raised in strategy long before she had been taught embroidery. He had seen nobles groom children into weapons far sharper than steel.

  And yet—

  Her eyes.

  Not the color of them, though he could not deny their peculiar shade lingered in his thoughts. It was the way they held his gaze. Unflinching. Not defiant—no. Honest. As if she expected him to look for deceit and had nothing to hide.

  He stopped by the window overlooking the southern gardens of Eryndale Manor. Lanternlight flickered below, servants moving like quiet ghosts across trimmed hedges and marble paths. This estate had stood under his family’s rule for generations. He had defended it with blood and blade. He would not let sentiment undo that.

  She could be lying.

  But liars avoided silence.

  Aveline did not.

  When he dismissed her, she did not scramble for approval. When he tested her with barbed remarks, she did not lash out or wilt. She responded—measured, deliberate. As if every word she chose had weight.

  And when she spoke of her brother…

  There had been something there. Not calculation. Not performance.

  Protectiveness.

  Caelum’s jaw tightened.

  If it was an act, then she was the finest actress in Velmoria.

  His thoughts drifted unwillingly to the carriage ride earlier that week. The way she had stared out toward the capital of Velaris as though she were studying it—not in wonder, but in assessment. He had expected a sheltered noblewoman dazzled by courtly life.

  Instead, she had asked about trade routes.

  About guard rotations.

  About Arcanis.

  What bride asked about the Guild of mages with such precision?

  Unless she was gathering information.

  The suspicion coiled comfortably in his chest. It was familiar. Predictable. Safe.

  But then he remembered the moment just before she had asked to move rooms.

  The faint hesitation. The way her fingers had tightened around the fabric of her sleeve—not out of fear of him, but as if bracing herself. And her voice had not wavered.

  “I would like my brother to see that I am… well.”

  Not safe. Not happy. Not even comfortable.

  Just well.

  The simplicity of it unsettled him.

  Most nobles played at dramatics. They begged for favor, cried over imagined slights, weaponized fragility. Aveline did none of that. If anything, she concealed more than she revealed.

  That, too, was suspicious.

  Caelum pushed away from the window.

  He was reading too much into fleeting expressions. A general did not make decisions based on eyes and tone. He relied on evidence.

  And evidence still suggested risk.

  The Faylinn estate had long-standing ties in the South. Velmoria’s politics were a viper’s nest, and he had been bitten before. Trust was not given. It was earned—slowly, painfully, often never fully.

  So why had he agreed so quickly? Why had he wanted to?

  The answer hovered at the edge of his mind, irritating in its elusiveness.

  Because when she looked at him, she did not see a title. She saw him.

  The realization struck harder than he expected.

  Caelum had grown accustomed to the weight of his name—to the deference, the fear, the calculated flattery. Even within his own walls, conversations were filtered through caution.

  But with Aveline…

  She challenged him. Not openly. Not rebelliously. But she did not shrink.

  And gods help him, he found that… refreshing.

  His expression darkened.

  Refreshing did not mean trustworthy.

  He had trained his entire life to recognize manipulation. Earnestness could be crafted. Vulnerability could be rehearsed. If she was indeed a spy, then this subtle approach was far more dangerous than overt hostility.

  And yet, when he pictured her eyes again—steady, almost searching—it did not feel like deception.

  It felt like someone waiting to be believed.

  The thought irritated him enough that he reached for the decanter at his desk. He poured, then stopped himself before lifting the glass.

  He needed to regain control. Of himself and the situation. Nothing would change. He would observe. Nothing more.

  Let her brother come. Let him watch their interactions. Truth had a way of surfacing when bonds were tested.

  If she faltered, he would know. If she slipped, he would see. And if she proved genuine—

  His fingers tightened around the glass.

  Then he would deal with that when it came.

  For now, Caelum Eryndale would remain cautious. Calculated. Distant.

  Even if, for reasons he refused to name, the distance was already beginning to close.