His tone left no room for argunt.
Ruffians in Shadow Guard attire? Such a claim bordered on the absurd. Who in the capital would dare impersonate them—or tarnish the na of Rhaegar Thorne’s command, fad for its ruthless authority?
Yvaine froze, staring up at him.
Never before had she seen him look at her in such a way—his gaze cool, edged with unmistakable impatience.
Charlotte hurried forward, bending low as she reached to help her mistress. "My lady, please... you must rise."
Supported by Charlotte, Yvaine slowly stood, though her thoughts raced in turmoil.
Could it be... the rumors had already reached him?
Was that why he now regarded her so coldly?
Dorian’s lips curved slightly, though there was no warmth in that subtle smile.
"So," he said lightly, almost idly, "you were barely at the gates of the temple before these so-called villains singled you out. Their discernnt is most impressive—to choose precisely such a delicate young lady as their prey."
Yvaine’s heart sank.
She knew then—he no longer trusted her.
Yet she dared not speak the truth.
For if he learned that she had orchestrated a sche against Caelith herself—only to be ensnared by a greater hand in turn—he would not rely despise her.
He would cast her out without hesitation.
"I..."
Dorian watched her falter, her words breaking into hesitation and evasion—and in that mont, he finally understood.
Though no proof lay before him, the answer had already taken shape within his heart.
What little affection he had once borne for Yvaine Emberlyn seed to vanish without a trace.
Where once he had seen gentleness, fragility, a softness worthy of protection—now he saw only artifice. Calculation. A cunning mind willing to stoop to any ans in pursuit of favor.
Such a woman—capable of weaving sches so ruthless—what trace of that forr tenderness could possibly remain?
"Today’s matter," he said at last, his tone cool and asured, "I will have it investigated. As for you—return to your chambers and rest. From this day forward, without my leave, you are not to step beyond the gates of this residence."
The words fell like molten iron.
Confinent. She was now nothing but a prisoner in the place she vowed to reign.
Yvaine stared at him in disbelief. "You would confine ? You do not believe at all? How could you do that? Why... what changed..?"
Dorian let out a faint, cold laugh, no longer willing to waste another word upon her. Turning his gaze aside, he spoke curtly, "Charlotte. Take your mistress back to her rooms."
"Yes, my lord."
Charlotte bowed quickly and moved to support Yvaine, leading her away.
***
The mont they returned to her temporary courtyard, Yvaine wrenched herself free and swept her arm across the table. A porcelain vase shattered upon the ground with a sharp crash.
"Useless! All of you—utterly useless!"
Her eyes burned crimson with fury.
"You cannot even accomplish such a simple task, and yet I am left to suffer this humiliation—what use are any of you to ?!"
Charlotte dropped to her knees at once, trembling. "My lady, please calm your anger—"
"Who ruined this for ?" Yvaine’s voice turned sharp with venom. "That wretch Caelith—how is her life so stubborn? Ti and again she escapes death! She’s a witch! A devil’s minion!"
"My Lady... the heir has already begun to doubt you," Charlotte said anxiously from the floor. "If he continues his investigation—this will end badly..."
"Let him investigate," Yvaine replied with a cold, scornful laugh. "What can he find? So long as I deny it, he has no proof."
***
The following morning.
Within the quiet chamber, the bed curtains still half-drawn, Caelith gently stirred and slowly woke.
She pushed herself upright, leaning against the edge of the bed as the haze in her mind gradually cleared.
Then—like a tide breaking loose—the mories of the night before surged back.
In an instant, her cheeks flushed crimson.
She... she had done such things with Rhaegar Thorne. Again.
How could it have co to this?
Just then, the door opened softly.
Rhaegar entered, a bowl of freshly prepared porridge in his hands. He approached the bedside, his gaze settling upon her with quiet steadiness.
"The porridge has just been made," he said, his voice low and even. "You were... exhausted last night. Have so—it will help restore your strength."
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