Free Web NovelChapter 174: No Connection
Rhaegar returned long after night had settled over the city.
When he pushed open the door, he found Caelith seated by the window, lost in thought.
The silver glow of moonlight spilled across her figure, softening the delicate lines of her profile. She sat quietly, one hand resting against the carved wooden sill, her gaze fixed on the darkness beyond the courtyard walls.
He crossed the room without a word and wrapped his arms around her from behind. His familiar warmth enveloped her like a warm scarf.
"What are you thinking about?"
Caelith relaxed against his chest.
"Everything that happened today."
Rhaegar lowered his gaze to her face. "Grandmother summoned you again?"
She nodded.
For a moment, he fell silent. Then he asked quietly, "What did she say?"
Caelith repeated the Dowager Lady’s words. Rhaegar listened without interruption. When she finished, the room remained quiet for some time.
At last, he spoke once more.
"The fact that Grandmother is standing behind you is a good thing."
"I know."
His arms tightened around her waist.
"But you still need to be careful."
Caelith tilted her head back to look at him.
"Why?"
Rhaegar met her eyes with a steady gaze.
"Because someone like Marina will never stop simply because she was warned."
The certainty in his voice caused Caelith’s expression to darken.
She knew he was right. Marina was not the type to surrender. Humiliation would only deepen her resentment.
She would strike again. The only uncertainty was when.
...And how.
Outside, beneath the ancient locust tree, Erian sat alone beneath the moonlight.
The courtyard had long since fallen silent, only the rustling of leaves accompanied the cool night wind.
His thoughts drifted back to earlier that day, to the moment Caelith had entered the Walerick residence while he remained standing helplessly outside the gates.
For one reckless instant, he had wanted to rush inside. To seize her hand. To pull her away. To take her somewhere far beyond the reach of noble families, court politics, and hidden schemes.
To a place where no one could hurt her. A place where she could simply live.
But even in that fleeting fantasy, he knew the truth––she would never leave.
Her heart belonged elsewhere. It belonged to Rhaegar. To Firefly Pavilion. To Yvaine. To the life she had built with her own hands. To everything around her.
Everything except him.
His fingers curled into tight fists.
The wind carried a chill through the darkness. Yet he remained there until dawn.
Watching.
Waiting.
Alone.
***
The following morning, news spread through the capital like a forest fire.
The Dowager Lady of the Duke Thorne’s Manor had personally visited the Walerick residence.
No one knew what had been said behind closed doors. No servant dared repeat it. No witness had been present.
All anyone knew was that after the Dowager Lady departed, Lord Walerick returned home with a thunderous expression.
Before sunset, Marina had been confined to her chambers.
The sounds of her father’s anger reportedly echoed through the residence for hours.
That night, she wept until dawn.
Three days later, a letter arrived at Firefly Pavilion. It contained only a single line:
"Miss Caelith, this round belongs to you."
Caelith stared at the letter for a long time.
The handwriting was elegant. The ink strokes were graceful.
Yet bitterness bled through every letter.
Without a word, she carried the letter to the brazier.
The flames consumed it quickly. Ash drifted upward and disappeared.
Strangely, she felt nothing.
But she understood one thing perfectly––this was not the end.
Someone like Marina Walerick would never accept defeat so easily.
She was merely waiting.
Waiting for a better opportunity.
A deadlier one.
***
The days that followed passed in deceptive peace.
Marina disappeared from sight entirely. There were no more visits. No more schemes. No more provocations.
Business at Firefly Pavilion gradually returned to normal. Customers filled the shop once more. Orders arrived steadily.
Caelith spent her days embroidering, greeting patrons, and laughing with Yvaine whenever the young woman visited.
Life flowed onward like a tranquil river.
Yet deep inside, Caelith remained wary, because storms were always quiet before they arrived.
. . .
One evening, just as the last traces of sunlight faded from the western sky, Erian came to find her.
He stood silently in the doorway, something about him seemed different. His expression was unusually grave.
Caelith immediately set aside her embroidery frame, her brows furrowing slightly.
"What happened?"
Erian hesitated, but then sighed and cleared his throat.
"Someone wants to meet you."
She looked up, surprised.
"Who?"
A brief silence followed. When he finally answered, his voice was far too low.
"Former men of the Grandien family."
The color drained from Caelith’s face as if all blood had left her body at once.
She rose to her feet at once.
"Where are they?"
"Are you sure you want to go?" Erian was certain she would not be so eager to meet them.
Without hesitation, she nodded. "Yes."
Another moment passed. Then he turned toward the door, giving in reluctantly.
"Fine. Come with me."
—
In the eastern district of the city stood an abandoned residence long forgotten by most.
The walls were cracked. The courtyard overgrown. Years of neglect had left the once respectable manor little more than a ruin.
Erian led Caelith through the broken gates.
Several men were already waiting inside. They were all unfamiliar faces; ordinary black clothes concealed them from notice, yet their eyes betrayed them.
Every one of them carried the hard, dangerous look of men who had survived years of bloodshed and betrayal.
The atmosphere grew heavy the moment she entered.
The leader appeared to be a man in his forties. Broad-shouldered and weathered by hardship, he rose immediately upon seeing her.
Respect flashed across his features.
He stepped forward and bowed his head in greeting.
"Miss Caelith." His voice carried both restraint and emotion. "We have finally found you."
The courtyard fell silent. Every gaze settled upon her. And for the first time in many years, fragments of a past she believed buried forever began to emerge from the shadows.
"Miss Caelith."
Caelith looked at the man standing before her, struggling to speak.
"And you are?"
A faint smile crossed the man’s weathered face.
"My surname is Felix. I once served under Master Osvald."
Caelith’s heartbeat faltered, blood pumping in her ears.
"Osvald Grandien?" freewёbnoνel.com
The man nodded. "Master Osvald is gone, but the rest of us remain."
His gaze settled upon her.
"We have been searching for you for a very long time."
Caelith did not know what to say to that. The man stepped forward, shortening the distance between them.
"Master Osvald was the last surviving bloodline of the Grandien family. When he died, the Grandien family ceased to exist."
His eyes never left her face.
"But we investigated your background."
A strange unease stirred within her chest.
"You are not a descendant of the Grandien family."
For a moment, the world seemed to stop.
Caelith stared at him, speechless.
The man continued calmly.
"Your mother’s surname was Crove, not Grandien. Master Osvald was your uncle, but he was not Lady Ayana’s blood brother. By blood, you are not considered a direct heir of the Grandien lineage."
The words struck like thunder.
Her mind went blank, depriving her of any meaningful thoughts.
The courtyard, the people, the sounds around her all seemed to recede into the distance.
The man continued speaking.
"The Grandien family’s affairs have nothing to do with you."
His tone softened slightly. "You no longer need to feel bad about helping Master Osvald. No matter what, the connection between the two of you can never be proved."
Before Caelith could respond, Erian stepped forward and positioned himself in front of her.
"Master Felix." His voice was calm. "Is that all?"
The older man glanced at him, smirking. "Yes."
Erian nodded and grabbed Caelith by the hand, spinning her around.
"Then we’re leaving."
