NOVEL NEXT Chapter 161: [161] The Thornslayer and the Duke
"Arms up, my lady," the seamstress murmured, pins between her lips as she adjusted the drape of yet another gown. "Duke Haverford has expressed particular fondness for emerald green."
Calypso raised her arms obediently. The emerald silk was exquisite, its shimmer a liquid fortune. To her, it felt like embalming cloth, meticulously wrapping a goddess for a tomb of mortal design.
"The Duke has an eye for timeless quality," Agna observed, turning the gems in her palm so they fractured the light. "He appreciates things that are... preserved. A reputation, a bloodline. He understands their value must not be diminished by fleeting impulses."
"How fortunate for him."
The seamstress worked in silence, her hands quick and sure as she pinned and adjusted. But Calypso barely noticed. Her awareness stretched beyond these suffocating chambers, reaching through the stone walls and terraced streets toward the warm pulse that meant Xavier was alive and close and here.
Six days until the Masquerade. Six days until Torval announced her betrothal like she was livestock being sold at market.
"The neckline could be a touch lower," Agna suggested, studying the gown's lines with clinical assessment. "Nothing improper, of course, but Duke Haverford is a man who appreciates feminine beauty."
"The neckline is as it should be," Calypso stated, her voice suddenly crystalline. "A duke, I imagine, would be securing a bride for her character, not for what she might choose to display."
The seamstress paused in her work, glancing nervously between Calypso and Agna. Even mortals could sense when divinity grew restless.
"Of course, my lady," Agna agreed smoothly. "Your reputation must remain spotless for such an important alliance."
"Speaking of reputations," Calypso said as the seamstress finished her adjustments, "I trust the heroes from the north are being treated with appropriate hospitality? Such brave people deserve our gratitude."
"The Thornslayer is quite comfortable in the noble quarter," Agna replied, her tone carefully neutral. "Lord Commander Alaric ensures he wants for nothing."
Wants for nothing except freedom. Calypso knew Xavier was being managed just as carefully as she was, kept comfortable and controlled while their captors decided how best to use them.
The seamstress scurried out, the promise of the gown lingering like a death sentence. The latch clicked shut—a key turning in a lock.
"I want to see him."
"I beg your pardon, my lady?"
"The Thornslayer. If Duke Haverford wishes to discuss alliances and mutual protection, shouldn't I meet the man who's proved himself capable of protecting travelers?" Calypso moved to the window, gazing out at the city that held them both prisoner. "It would be... educational to learn about the threats we face."
Agna's reflection appeared in the window glass, her expression troubled. "Your uncle believes such a meeting would be inappropriate. The Duke might misinterpret your interest in another man."
"The Duke will have to learn that his future wife isn't a decoration to be displayed but a woman with her own mind." Calypso gave a slight look back. "Unless he prefers vapid ornaments to intelligent partners?"
"Lady Selene." Agna's voice carried warning. "You've been through so much. We wouldn't want the Duke to think your... fragility... was a permanent condition. It might give him pause."
"I feel perfectly clear-headed," Calypso replied. "Clearer than I have in years."
That wasn't entirely a lie. Being separated from Xavier had been agony, but now that he was close, her mind was reasserting itself. The mortal constraints that had seemed so heavy were beginning to feel more like suggestions than shackles.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. A servant entered with news that made Calypso's pulse race: "My lady, the Duke has arrived for lunch. The High Burner requests your presence in the solar."
===
Near the windows stood Duke Haverford and Torval, two predators surveying their domain. The Duke was a void in midnight blue, the color of a starless, drowning ocean. Beside him, Torval's ceremonial robes were a garish broadcast of authority. The Duke's gaze, however, needed no such announcement.
"Ah, my dear," Torval boomed as Calypso entered. "You look radiant. Doesn't she look radiant, Cedric?"
"Lady Selene grows more beautiful each time I see her," the Duke replied. "That shade of green suits you perfectly."
Calypso accepted his offered arm as they moved toward the dining table, hyperaware of his touch through the silk sleeve. He was not handsome in the way of poets, but in the way of kings.
But he wasn't Xavier.
"A rare bloom of vitality about you today, Lady Selene," Haverford observed, his voice smooth as polished stone. "One might think you've received good news."
Xavier's alive and here and I can feel his soul calling to mine across the city. "I slept wonderfully last night. Sometimes rest is the best medicine for whatever ails us."
===
Across the city, Xavier stood on a balcony overlooking the central plaza, ostensibly admiring Hearthome's architecture while High Burner Torval pointed out features of civic engineering. The King's Gaze whispered tactical assessments in his mind—guard positions, escape routes, the structural weaknesses in the ornate bridges connecting the upper terraces.
"The thermal management alone required decades of planning," Torval was saying. "My grandfather's generation built the primary vent systems, but we've continued refining them. The result is a city that remains habitable even in the harshest winters."
"Impressive work," Xavier replied absently. His attention was fixed on a balcony across the plaza where two figures had emerged into the afternoon light.
Calypso.
Even at this distance, even wearing an unfamiliar face, she was unmistakable.
She stood beside a man in expensive clothes who had positioned himself too close, claiming space with the casual presumption of someone accustomed to ownership. Duke Haverford, almost certainly. The man who intended to marry her.
As if sensing his attention, Calypso turned toward Xavier's balcony. Their eyes met across the plaza.
The city's hum dissolved. Torval's voice flattened into meaningless static. The world bleached itself of color and sound, leaving only the two of them suspended in the sudden, airless void.
I'm still here, Xavier's gaze said.
I waited, hers replied. I knew you would come.
The moment stretched until Xavier felt his chest might burst from the pressure of everything they couldn't say.
Then Haverford moved, a casual step that perfectly eclipsed Xavier from her view. The Duke's smile was a placid mask as he guided her back inside, but his eyes—for just a fraction of a second—flicked toward Xavier's balcony.
How fascinating, the King's Gaze whispered in his mind. Such exquisite torment. She stands mere hundreds of meters away, yet she might as well be on another world entirely.
"Shut up," Xavier muttered under his breath.
"—the defensive capabilities of the outer walls," Torval continued, oblivious to Xavier's internal struggle. "With winter pressing closer, we've had to—"
This is the curse of the flesh you chose, little king, the Gaze hissed, its voice resonating with his own hammering pulse.
A universe of power screaming in your veins, and all you can do is watch. Watch as another man leads your world away. Drink it deep. This is the price of pretending you are anything but a god in chains.