The morning air was thick with mist, curling along the ramparts and seeping into the quiet courtyards of Velwynd Keep. Ilya stood at one of the high arched windows, arms crossed as she watched the front gate. The frost on the glass had begun to melt, much like the stillness she'd wrapped around herself since Elias left.
He would return today.
She told herself it was the business of the keep that kept her pacing, eyes trained beyond the walls. That the pit in her stomach was mere concern over unresolved court matters—not the absence of the man who haunted her thoughts more than she cared to admit.
"Still no sign?" Madam Therin's voice carried softly behind her.
Ilya shook her head, brushing a dark curl behind her ear. "He left the capital at dawn. The driver said they'd arrive before noon."
"A safe trip, then." The headmistress handed her the morning's parchment. "Shall I prepare his solar?"
"Yes. And… hot compresses. He hides it, but the carriage clearly worsens his pain."
Therin inclined her head, eyes flickering with something like approval and her lips giving a small smile.
The staff hoped something like this might come to pass. Could it be happening? Best she not bring it up, and do as she is ordered.
"Of course, my lady."
By the time the sound of wheels broke through the fog, Ilya was already standing by the grand doors. The courtyard stirred as the gates creaked open and the archduke's dark carriage rolled through. No fanfare, no trumpet—just the quiet clatter of iron-shod wheels on stone and the clip of hooves muffled by damp air.
When Elias stepped down, assisted gently by one of his guards, her breath caught. He moved carefully, cane in hand, shoulders straight despite the tension in them. He was freshly bathed, his dark hair damp and combed back, the sharp lines of his face unreadable at a distance. That wasn't why she had gasped, however.
His mask was off. For the first time, she was truly seeing his face as he turned around.
Most of Elias's face was starkly beautiful—sharply cut cheekbones, a strong jaw softened by a slight dusting of dark stubble, and a noble brow that gave him a quietly intimidating presence. His skin was bronzed from travel and sun, his lashes dark and framing eyes the color of smoldering steel, a cool gray to match the morning mist.
But the right upper side of his face....
The burn began just above his brow and arched down across his temple, curling slightly toward the upper cheekbone like a serpent frozen mid-slither. It wound its way around his jaw and terminated just at the start of his neck. She had seen that bit before but the rest of his face was so new it shocked her into silence.
Their eyes met.
It was only a moment—but it struck like a chord. She didn't move. Neither did he.
Then he gave a slight nod, almost imperceptible...and took the full face mask from his driver and put it over his face, almost as though he interpreted her silence and stare as disapproval. Then he began walking toward the keep.
She turned and waited just inside the archway as the doors were pulled open for him. When he entered, he looked at her not as a ruler might his steward, nor a lord his lady—but as a man measuring a question on the edge of his lips.
"I trust the keep hasn't burned down in my absence," he murmured, his voice lower than usual.
"Only slightly," Ilya replied. "A few bannermen may have left with singed pride."
That earned her a faint smile reflected in the eyes. It was real, if strained.
"You managed well?"
She nodded. "I did what needed doing."
There was a pause, and for a heartbeat the space between them stretched, taut with everything unsaid.
"I heard about Caeden," Elias said quietly.
Ilya's spine straightened. "He didn't train me. I asked, and he… offered only knowledge. Techniques. Nothing formal."
"I know. He sent word before I returned."
She blinked. "He did?"
"I instructed my knights to report any sudden requests for swordsmen. I wasn't sure if it would be you who asked." He tilted his head slightly. "But I'm glad it was."
Something shifted in her chest. "I didn't do it to provoke you."
"I know," he said again. "You did it to protect yourself. That's what I would have done."
She hesitated. "You aren't angry?"
"No." He stepped closer, his voice a touch softer now. "Only sorry you felt you had to ask in secret."
Her eyes fell to his cane, then to his hands. "And the court?"
Elias exhaled slowly, weariness washing briefly over his eyes. "I don't know. I never went. I sent a letter indicating my...displeasure. That is all. I visited your stepfather instead."
He glanced at her.
"He too is now aware of my displeasure."
"I see." she said with a wry smile.
Silence settled again. A gentler one this time. She found herself watching him—the tired slope of his shoulders, the faint grimace he tried to hide when shifting his weight. He looked weary. At least, that's the energy his body gave off. She couldn't really tell, with the mask.
And yet… he was here.
"I had a fire set in your solar," she said softly. "And tea."
"You're dangerous," he replied, something teasing glinting behind his tired eyes. "You might make a man want to come home."
She flushed slightly, but didn't look away. "I am not....averse to that, My lord."
A flicker of surprise crossed his features, followed by something warmer—darker. Admiration, perhaps. Or affection veiled in the armor of respect.
"Hmm. Neither am I."
She blushed again, noticing now that the staff were all gone- the Madam was quite intuitive, having taken on the duty of getting everyone back to work so they could have a moment to themselves. She sank deep into his eyes for a moment, then asked-
"Elias....would you....remove the mask?"