The castle felt different that evening quieter, heavier, as if the stone walls themselves anticipated what was to come. Zilayefa sat by the window of her chamber, brushing her hair absentmindedly as the wind carried in the faint scent of pine and embers from the western fields. A knock at her door stirred her.
It was the butler.
"His Grace wishes to see you in his chambers," he said politely, bowing slightly.
Her heart skipped. Duke Larry rarely made personal requests, and when he did, there was always a weight behind them. She stood slowly, wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders, and made her way through the dim corridors of Ralston Castle.
The door to the Duke's room was already ajar. She stepped in.
He stood near the fireplace, dressed not in his usual formal attire, but in a dark robe, simple and loose. He didn't turn immediately when she entered.
"Zilayefa," he said, his voice low, reflective. "Come."
She obeyed, though her steps were cautious.
When he finally turned to her, his eyes held that same stormy intensity — the look that always seemed to read her thoughts before she spoke them.
*"You don't have to say a word,"* he murmured, reaching gently for her hand.
That night, Duke Larry held her like she was something precious and fragile, something he had no right to keep but couldn't let go of. He never crossed the line of honor — but the way his hands lingered on her waist, the way he looked into her eyes, and the way her body trembled in his arms — it awakened something in Zilayefa she had never known existed. He made her scream with pleasure just using his tongue and hands, This was the first woman in his life , he is scared of taking her immediately, he would have ravished her, but he couldn't, she looks so pale and innocent, defiant at times, but she was too innocent for his world.
She felt… desired. Safe. And utterly confused.
When he pulled away, his expression had changed. Colder. Sharper.
"You should go,"he said.
She blinked, taken aback.
"Did I—?"
"No," he cut her off, looking away. "Just go"
And that was it.
He didn't kiss her. Didn't embrace her again. Just turned away, his eyes fixed on the dancing fire.
Zilayefa returned to her chamber, heart pounding and mind tangled. She had long suspected that the Duke was hiding his true emotions — but the sudden distance after such tenderness left her aching.
She lay awake for hours, replaying every moment. Every look. Every touch. Was it duty? Was it guilt? Or fear?
By morning, he was gone.
No goodbye. No letter. No explanation.
Just silence.
Word spread that Duke Larry had ridden off at dawn with his guards, answering the King's summons to the war in the East. Zilayefa stood by the castle gates as the staff confirmed the news, her hands clenched tightly by her side. Her chest burned — not with anger, but with something worse: disappointment.
In the months that followed, Zilayefa ran the Ralston estate with quiet strength. She was no noblewoman by birth, but the staff respected her. The butler advised her. The guards obeyed her. And yet, despite the power she now held, there were nights when her heart felt like a hollow drum.
She missed him.
More than she admitted — even to herself.
And sometimes, she'd think back to that night… to the way he touched her without claiming her. If marriage meant even a fraction of that intimacy, she was ready. Ready to give herself — not just to the man, but to the feeling.
But there was something else. *Someone else.
Steve.
Her first love. The village head's son, the boy from the village. The one who held her hand under the palm trees long before Duke Larry ever looked her way.
Steve had fought for her. But in the end, Larry's influence — and perhaps her own confusion — had torn them apart.
And now, even with Larry away, Steve's memory lingered like the scent of burning wood. She hadn't seen him in months, but her thoughts betrayed her. She wondered if he still thought of her. If he hated her. If he still loved her.
Larry sensed it — even from afar.
He had left behind his pet wolf, Fire, as protector… but also as his eyes.
Some days Zilayefa will inquire about Steve from the merchants from her village.
Larry shared a secret bond with Fire. An ancient connection, passed down through his bloodline. Wherever Fire roamed, Larry could see. Hear. Feel. Even in the chaos of war, he knew when Zilayefa smiled. Or when she stood by the window, staring into the forest as if expecting someone else.
And when Steve's name came up — spoken softly by visiting merchants or whispered by her family — the wolf would stiffen. Listen. Report.
Larry couldn't help it. He trusted no one with her. Not even the memory of a man she once loved.
Zilayefa, unaware, often reached down to stroke Fire's head during quiet evenings. She called him companion. But sometimes, she wondered why the wolf always watched her so intently. As though someone else was behind his dark red eyes.
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