Chapter 6: The Duke’s Deception

The tension between Orion and Everet crackles like fire on dry wood. The elderly noble remained stiffly in the dimly lit room, his expression strained with suspicion. Everet was not a person who could be easily deceived, even with Orion's reassurances.

"You claim she is dead," Everet said, voice laced with skepticism. "Yet whispers travel fast, Your Grace. The people still fear the witch. They question why you refuse to display her body."

Something unreadable shone in Orion's silver eyes. Smoothing out the fabric of his dark coat, he slowly got up from his chair. Although he disliked having to defend himself in front of men like Everet, he also knew when to give in to a fool in order to silence him.

"You doubt my word?" Orion asked smoothly.

Everet hesitated before bowing his head slightly. "I only wish to see for myself, to confirm that this matter is truly settled."

A calculated silence stretched between them. Then, to Everet’s surprise, Orion nodded.

"Very well." He turned on his heel and guided the older man through the fortress's hallways in quiet. While walking through corridors illuminated by torches and beside soldiers standing still like statues, their footsteps reverberated against the chilly stone floors.

Unexpressed tension filled the atmosphere. Everet knew better than to press too hard because Orion was a mystery. Yet, something about this entire situation felt... wrong.

Finally, they reached a grand wooden door. Orion pushed it open.

Inside, candlelight filled the space with a cozy golden glow. And there she rested, calmly tucked beneath the sleek sheets of a stylish, spacious bed.

Everet sensed his breath hitch.

She did not resemble the hideous image described in the rumors.

The female in front of him was stunning. A face so stunning it appeared made by gods was encompassed by long, dark hair that draped over the pillows like flowing shadows. Perfect, her fair complexion was as smooth as pristine snow. Even while asleep, her lengthy lashes create gentle shadows on her cheeks, giving her an otherworldly essence. What he saw was so unbelievable that Everet could barely believe it.

"This... this is the woman you’ve been keeping?" His voice had previously been authoritative, but now it was nearly magnificent.

Orion crossed his arms and casually leaned against the doorframe. "Is she not what you expected?"

Everet’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “She—she has no black stone on her forehead. This… this is not the witch.”

Everet swallowed hard, stepping back. In an instant, past defiance fell apart.

"I—Pardon me, Your Grace," he bowed his head in shame and whispered. "I shouldn't have posed that question to you." I was too scared and stupid to call my own Duke a liar."

After observing him for a while, Orion grinned. "Fear makes men do strange things," he whispered.

Everet dropped to one knee and bowed his head further. "I beg your forgiveness."

Orion dismissively waved a hand. "You've witnessed what you required. Now go."

There was no need to repeat it to Everet. His thoughts still racing, he hurried out of the chamber without saying another word.

When he was gone, Orion turned back to the bed and let out a breath through his nostrils. Still unconscious, Sylvara's chest rose and fell in a steady beat. He took a stride towards her, his eyes following her now that the paint had been removed.He had spent days waiting for her true appearance to be revealed—waiting to know if she was truly Velaryn.

And yet…

Orion’s fingers ghosted over the edge of the silk sheet.

Her hair was black.

That alone should have disappointed him.

The white-gold locks of the Velaryn were renowned for being woven from the moonlight itself. She wasn't one of them because of her midnight-dark hair.

But he had been led to assume otherwise by her eyes, those beautiful violet eyes.

"Then what are you?" Orion murmured, staring down at her.

She wasn’t a normal girl. That much was certain.

She had survived the Dark Forest. She had gone two months without food. She had stood before him with a fire that refused to be extinguished.

Even now, in sleep, she looked untouchable.

Orion reached out.

For the first time, he touched her face—just barely.

Her skin was soft. Too tender for one who has spent time in the woods.

He sensed the warmth of her skin against his fingertips as he glided his knuckles along the curve of her cheek.

Orion should have pulled away.

The moment Sylvara’s fingers curled around his hand, tugging him closer in her sleep, he should have ripped himself free, should have left before this absurd moment became something dangerous.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Her grip was soft, warm. Trusting.

He watched, utterly still, as she nuzzled against him, her delicate frame pressing closer. A soft sigh escaped her lips—content, peaceful.

She had mistaken him for something else. Someone safe.

His body tensed, every muscle rigid.

He wasn’t safe.

He was Orion von Hawthorne, the Black Duke, the monster of Ebonvale.

Fears. Respected. But never gentle. Never this.

And yet…

Sylvara nestled against him like he was something warm and familiar. Like he was home.

Orion swallowed, his pulse an unsteady rhythm.

Her scent filled the space between them—a faint, lingering trace of something wild. Not perfume. Not the artificial sweetness of noblewomen, but something raw. Earth after a storm. Sunlight filtering through leaves.

A ghost of the forest she came from.

She shifted again, pressing her cheek against his wrist, breathing softly.

He should move.

He needed to.

But his fingers tightened around hers instead.

His gaze traced the gentle curve of her jaw and the way her long eyelashes softly fluttered as she slept. She was painfully beautiful. Too beautiful.

Something not meant for this world.

Before he could prevent it, Orion's other hand acted. His fingertips grazed the warmth of her skin as he carefully and softly tucked a loose strand of her dark hair behind her ear.

A mistake.

Because it made him want more.

He desired to continue caressing her. to sketch the contour of her lips, which had slightly parted as she inhaled, the smoothness of her cheek, and the elegant line of her throat.

He wanted to.

The realization was like a blade against his ribs.

He had spent years teaching himself not to want.

Not too long for anything beyond power. Beyond control.

And yet here he was.

Here she was.

Sleeping peacefully in his grasp, as if she didn’t belong to the wild.

As if she could belong to him.

A dangerous thought. A foolish one.

His breathing deepened, his restraint thinning.

His thumb moved, skimming over the pulse at her wrist.

He felt it quicken.

A soft sound escaped her lips—barely a whisper. But then…

Her fingers twitched against his.

Her breathing shifted.

Orion froze.

——

Sylvara's immediate reaction was one of weakness. She sensed a profound, intolerable fatigue weighing on her, causing her limbs to feel as heavy as metal. She experienced a headache, a parched throat, and a foggy mind.

She breathed in deeply, absorbing the unusual aroma of lavender and charred cedar. Where did she go?She opened her heavy eyelids slowly. Around her, the world was hazy, swirling in shadows and soft candlelight. The blankets underneath her were excessively soft and opulent, unlike the harsh soil of the Dark Forest, and the ceiling above her was carved from dark wood.

Memory came in flashes.

The golden paint. The hunger. The Duke’s silver eyes watching her in the dimly lit chamber.

Her breath hitched.

Orion.

A gentle voice pierced her hazy thoughts before she could take in any more information.

"You're awake, my lady."

Slowly, Sylvara turned her head. Beside the bed, a maid stood with her hands held together in anxious expectation. Her dark curls were tucked behind a plain linen cap, and she was youthful, little older than Sylvara.

"you're feeling weak," the maid replied softly. "Allow me to assist you."

The girl put an arm around Sylvara and gently lowered her into a sitting position without any resistance. Her limbs ache dally from the change in motion, but she forced herself to ignore it.

A cloth was dipped into a basin of heated water by the maid. “His Grace ordered that you be bathed and dressed properly. You’ve been asleep for days .”

I slept off again for Days?

Sylvara felt a knot in her stomach. What was the duration of her unconsciousness? Had Orion held her here all along? The maid delicately removed her silk nightgown, exposing her bare flesh to the cool air, and she was unable to fight back. Steam rose from the freshly drawn water in a deep bronze tub that nestled in the room's corner.

Slow, cautious hands lowered Sylvara in. She felt a chill go through her as the warm water around her. As the maid toiled, removing what little paint remained that concealed her actual appearance, she hardly had the strength to raise her arms. As the water brushed against her skin, Sylvara allowed her thoughts to drift.

Why was she still here?

The last thing she remembered was Orion looking at her after the paint had vanished. He had seen her. Seen her as she truly was.

And yet—she was still alive.

He hadn’t turned her over to the executioner.

He hadn’t thrown her back into the dungeons.

Why?

The maid finished quickly, helping Sylvara out of the tub and wrapping her in soft linens. With deliberate, patient steps, she led her to the dressing table. Softly, the girl murmured, "Sit, my lady." With her hands clutching the sleek wooden arms for support, Sylvara sunk into the chair. And then—she looked up at the mirror. and stopped. She looked back at her own image, but it wasn't her. She released a trembling breath. She reached out her hand and let her trembling fingers glide through her lengthy hair that fell over her shoulders.

Dark.

Her breathing quickened. "What?" She spoke with a hoarse voice that was barely hearable.

“What happened to me?”