The cart creaked to a halt at the dark edge of the clearing.
Two riders waited under the trees — one with hair like silver moonlight, the other a dark spill of crimson. Reilan and Kael. The duke's infamous left and right hands.
Nico felt his throat close up. He tightened his hold on the reins, trying not to visibly quake under their cold, unreadable gazes.
⸻
Kael was the first to move. He dismounted in one easy swing, boots silent on the moss. Without a word, he pulled back the heavy tarp that covered the cart's load.
Inside lay the young man, hair a soft chestnut brown, lashes shadowing pale cheeks. Unconscious, breath shallow. Hands tied loosely at his sides.
Kael's eyes narrowed.
"Brown hair?," he murmured.
Reilan leaned forward, eyes sharp as broken glass. "That's not—"
Then he stopped.
Tilted his head.
Studied the shape of the jaw, the delicate mouth, even the way the man's fingers curled slightly in sleep.
Recognition struck. Hard.
A smirk slowly broke across his face.
"That's him, isn't it? This is really young master Cael.No wonder we were fooled and let him slip away under our eyes, he changed his hair, changed everything. Still couldn't hide from duke forever."
Nico's brother shifted nervously. "We didn't know who he was— we were just paid to—"
Kael's pale eyes flicked up. "Don't bother.You don't need to know anything.Your job done here."
Reilan gave a short, mirthless laugh. "By the gods... young master Cael. Who would've thought we'd find you like this.Our master will be... delighted."
Reilan tossed the heavy pouch to Nico without ceremony. The weight nearly pulled the man's arms down.
"Your coin. Now disappear. Because when the duke finally has him back in his hands, I guarantee you — he'll be hunting down anyone who ever touched him. And make sure to keep your mouth shut and leave this country,That twin will definitely tail you down"
Nico swallowed hard. Managed a jerky nod. "We—we'll vanish. Far from here."
"Good." Kael's smile was razor thin.
As the gardeners disappeared into the night, hearts pounding with greed and terror, Kael stepped up to the cart again.
He studied Cael's sleeping face, features softened by the drug's heavy pull. For a breath, the knight's expression shifted — a shadow of something that might have been pity.
Then it vanished.
Duty was heavier than mercy.
"Let's bring him home," Reilan said, his voice dark with something between dread and amusement.
"Duke is waiting..."
Rowan sat sprawled in his chair at the long council table, one elbow propped up, cheek resting lazily against his gloved hand. His other hand drummed idly on the polished oak, tapping out a rhythm only he could hear.
The room was filled with nobles and high officials droning on about trade routes and border patrols, voices rising and falling like tired flies. The king watched Rowan cautiously from his throne, eyes narrowing every time Rowan's fingers tapped harder.
Not that he dared say anything.
No one did.
Because Rowan D'Arvis, the young duke who commanded half the eastern armies and half the capital's coffers, was not a man you interrupted. Not if you valued your tongue staying in your mouth.
⸻
But today Rowan was even more detached than usual. His eyes were flat, glassy, unfocused, as though the entire room bored him to tears.
Because it did.
His mind was elsewhere—on the report he was waiting for. The gamble he'd placed everything on.
A mute knight in the twins' shadow. Brown hair, suspicious habits. It wasn't certain. It could be nothing.
But if it was him...
Rowan's jaw flexed, that empty stare darkening into something dangerous.
Then the heavy doors at the back of the chamber cracked open. His personal attendant slipped through—sweating, breathless, pushing past terrified guards. He bent low, whispering something directly into Rowan's ear.
Rowan went still. Completely, unnaturally still.
Then his head lifted, and for the first time in years, a spark of life lit behind those dead, cold eyes. His mouth curved, not quite a smile — too sharp, too hungry.
________
"I have urgent matters," Rowan drawled, standing so abruptly his chair screeched backward.
The room froze.
Even the king blinked, mouth parting. "Duke D'Arvis—"
But Rowan was already walking away, long strides eating the distance. His cloak flared behind him like a shadow taking shape.
No one tried to stop him.
Not a single soul was foolish enough to ask questions.
⸻
The crown prince's eyes followed him out, heart twisting with sick dread.
Please, he thought, hands clenched under the table.
Let it be anything else. Anyone else. Not Cael.
Because if it was...
The prince didn't want to imagine what Rowan would do.
Or what he would become, with that dangerous sun finally caught in his claws again.
When Rowan arrived at the dukedom, the place was in utter disarray.
Knights in full armor were shouting over one another, servants clung to the walls with wide eyes, and the steward was pale as a ghost. As Rowan strode through the corridor, heavy boots echoing like war drums, everyone flattened themselves against the walls to avoid him.
He didn't even glance their way.
His heart was pounding too loud in his ears.
A trembling captain rushed up, tried to speak, words tangling together in panic.
"My lord, he— your... your brother— he woke up faster than expected. He overpowered the guards. Took your right hand— Reilan— as hostage. He says if anyone steps closer—"
Rowan didn't stop walking. Didn't even turn his head.
His voice was dangerously calm.
"Is he hurt?"
The captain blinked. "Who—? My lord—?"
"Cael," Rowan snapped, teeth bared.
The man flinched. "N-no, my lord. Not that we've seen. Just... frightened. And armed."
A flash of relief tore across Rowan's face so quickly it could almost be mistaken for anger.
"Then get out of my way."
⸻
The door to the east hall was slightly ajar. From inside came the clash of overturned furniture, the harsh breaths of knights trying to keep formation. And above it all —
"Let me GO! I will cut his throat, do you hear me?!"
Rowan's heart clenched so hard it was almost painful.
He pushed the doors open with both hands. They slammed against the walls with a deafening crack.
And there he was.
Cael stood in the center of the room, arm locked around Reilan's throat, a dagger pressed so tightly to the man's skin that a thin bead of blood glistened there. His brown hair was disheveled, face flushed, chest heaving with ragged breaths.
Knights surrounded them in a wide, tense circle, hands on hilts — waiting, but not daring to move.
Cael's eyes snapped up at the sound of the doors.
Met Rowan's.
For a heartbeat, everything stopped.
The shouting, the scraping of boots, even the shallow breaths of terrified knights seemed to vanish.
Cael's blue eyes were wide with terror — and something else. A deep, gut-wrenching guilt.
His knife hand shook ever so slightly.
Rowan stood in the doorway, every inch of him vibrating with something close to madness. His pupils were blown wide, lips parted, breath coming hard.
"...My Cael," Rowan whispered, voice hoarse.
And in that second, he looked utterly unhinged. Like a starving man seeing food, or a drowning man catching air for the first time.
⸻
Cael's heart skipped painfully.
He tightened his grip on Reilan, pressed the blade harder. But his knees were weak.
And he muttered the name that he has not call out loud in past two years.
"Brother Rowan...."