In the quiet hum of the kitchen, Cael moved like a gentle breeze—silent, steady, and full of warmth. His hands worked with calm precision, slicing soft bread, arranging warm root vegetables, and stirring a simple broth with the patience of someone who had done it a hundred times—not out of necessity, but care.
The scent of herbs—lavender, thyme, and rosemary—began to fill the room. He tilted his head slightly as he tasted the broth, eyes narrowing thoughtfully before adding just a pinch more salt. His expression was calm, peaceful, with a soft curve of a smile at the corner of his lips—one that held neither arrogance nor anxiety, only quiet satisfaction.
Around him, the kitchen staff watched in hushed curiosity.
So this is him, they whispered silently with their eyes.
The Cael. The one Duke Rowan never stopped searching for.
The one they said vanished two years ago.He is the only brother of Duke.
He was nothing like they expected.
No noble airs. No coldness. No demands.
Instead, he cooked with his sleeves rolled up, his movements graceful but unrefined—like someone who had lived outside the comfort of gold-plated kitchens. They saw no pride in him, only quiet purpose.
"He's... gentle," one of the younger kitchen maids whispered.
"And handsome ," murmured the head chef, watching Cael gently wipe down the table after plating the food himself.
Despite the whispers, Cael paid them no mind. He wasn't ignoring them out of rudeness—just... focused. Present. He understands their curiosity.
He laid the final plate carefully on the tray—warm bread, stew, and a small bowl of berries sweetened with honey—and looked down at his work with a quiet nod.
"Thank you," he said politely to the head maid who came to help, and with the same calm smile, he picked up the tray and turned to leave.
As Cael stepped out of the kitchen, carrying the tray of food with steady hands, the atmosphere in the corridor shifted like a sudden drop in temperature.
Knights were rushing past, speaking in hurried tones—some even drawing their blades, expressions sharp with tension.
"There's been an intrusion—!"
"Secure the west wing!"
"The Duke's quarters—!"
Cael's steps slowed, the tray trembling slightly in his hands.
Something was wrong.
A terrible feeling crept up his spine like cold fingers. His breath caught as he broke into a light run, weaving past startled staff and stunned guards. The hallway leading to Rowan's room, once silent and regal, now pulsed with a quiet panic. Yet no one dared force their way into the Duke's personal chambers.
Cael didn't hesitate.
He pushed open the door.
And the scene that greeted him froze the blood in his veins.
The window was wide open, curtains fluttering violently in the wind. Glass shards littered the floor. And there—standing in the middle of the elegant room—were Viel and Eryx, their silver hair glowing like moonlight, their crimson eyes gleaming with madness.
One of them—Eryx—had a blade pressed against Rowan's throat, a single drop of blood sliding down his neck like a ruby tear.
Rowan, however, didn't look afraid. He sat there, half-reclined on the couch, his injured leg wrapped in fresh bandages. His hand rested lazily on the armrest, eyes locked with the intruders in quiet, seething hatred. His lips curled into a sharp smile—beautiful and terrifying.
For a heartbeat, time stood still.
Cael stood frozen at the door, lips parted in shock, tray trembling in his hands. He looked utterly dumbfounded, as if he'd just walked into the wrong scene of a play he couldn't comprehend.
"...What—what are you doing?" he asked, the words escaping in a whisper. His eyes were wide with disbelief, flickering between three of them.
Viel's pupils shrank. The twin who was always a step ahead faltered for once.
"Cael..." he breathed, blinking slowly as if trying to confirm Cael was real. "You're here."
Eryx, blade still at Rowan's throat, turned stiffly, crimson eyes locking onto Cael. His face twisted—not into guilt or shame, but into something brittle. Fragile. Heartbroken.
"Cael...?"
The room was dead silent again, tension hanging like a blade over everyone's head.
Behind Cael, a handful of knights had followed—alerted by the noise and his absence. They stepped into the threshold, and the moment their eyes landed on the scene—the powerful Duke seated calmly, a blade pressed to his throat, flanked by two infamous princes—they paled like corpses.
Their hands trembled on the hilts of their swords, unsure whether to charge or flee.
They had witnessed what no one should.
The two cursed, royal devils of the Empire attempting to assassinate Duke Rowan.
Cael's heart thudded violently. His thoughts were a whirlwind—Rowan was in danger, but if anyone found out what the twins had done, they'd be punished without question. His mind screamed from both sides.
Without thinking, Cael dropped the tray in his hands with a loud crash.
"Stop it!" he shouted.
In a flash, he crossed the room, pushing between them with startling force. He grabbed the blade aimed at Rowan and tossed it aside, his body shielding the injured man. His sudden intervention stunned everyone—the twins blinked, utterly dumbfounded, as if their minds hadn't caught up with Cael's furious, trembling form.
"Are you two out of your minds?!" Cael snapped, eyes blazing.
Viel and Eryx stared, struck silent by his rare outburst. Even Rowan's sharp expression softened at the fire in Cael's voice.
Turning quickly, Cael knelt beside Rowan, his hands gently inspecting his neck and shoulder. "Are you hurt? Gods—what were you thinking, all of you?"
Rowan gave a faint smile, shaking his head. "I'm okay,Cael."
Then Cael stood, facing the twins. Despite the tension still lingering like fog, his expression was now firm, composed. "Let me talk to them," he said, turning to Rowan. His tone was quiet, pleading. "Please let me."
Rowan's eyes searched his. For a long moment, he said nothing—then with a faint smirk, he murmured, "Take your time."
Cael bowed slightly in apology, then grabbed both Viel and Eryx by their collars and began dragging them toward the door.
The knights, still frozen in place, looked between the young man and the dangerous princes in disbelief. Even as they were being pulled away, Viel and Eryx turned their heads back, their crimson eyes glowing with pure hatred toward Rowan—twin glares filled with unspoken promise.
Rowan simply met their gaze with venom and contempt.
Only the knights saw it—the raw hatred between these three monsters. And for the first time, they truly understood.
This wasn't just a rivalry.
It was war.
And Cael... Cael was the fragile thread barely holding it together.