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Book 2: Chapter 25: A Long Night Part I
🕑 Added 2025-09-04 20:46:49 +0000 UTCChapter 25:
A Long Night Part I
Selira was fed up.
She had searched for Ronan the entire day. Every retainer who was free had been sent across Valewick’s noble district. They checked taverns, inns, and markets. They spoke to gate guards and stable boys. They even asked vendors who sold gossip with their fruit.
Still, nothing. And it was clear, that Ronan was not in the noble district anymore.
Selira sat back in her chair and pressed her lips into a thin line. What was that idiot thinking? Where had he gone this time? How could every single thing he did hurt her plans?
She rubbed her temple with two fingers. Was he a curse from the gods? Or a test placed in her path?
No. It was worse. Because he did not even mean to ruin things. That was the part that made it unbearable. If he had plotted against her, if he had acted with malice, then she could at least respect it. But Ronan was too stupid for that. He harmed her life by accident. And that made him all the more dangerous.
She exhaled and let her eyes move around the quiet room. The fire crackled softly. The curtains barely moved. It was a still evening, the kind that made thoughts sharp. She absently lifted her hand. Water gathered at her fingertips and formed a small sphere in her palm. Clear and balanced.
Selira rolled it gently between her fingers. It was a simple training exercise she had used since childhood. The steady weight of water and the thin sheath of mana around it helped her focus.
Most people believed they knew her.
To them, Selira was the daughter of a duke. Selira of Velmire a graceful young noblewoman with a quick mind for politics. Married into Ashford. A woman meant to rise. Now Selira of Ashford.
They also thought they understood her magic. They called her a second circle mage. Respectable but not special. For a noblewoman, it was enough. With her background and her retainers, no one expected more.
But that was only half true, because her real strength was hidden.
Selira’s talent was not in raw power. It was in control. She could handle mana with unnatural precision. She could thread it like silk and weave it like cloth. Where others wasted force, she refined it.
And no one knew. No one except the only person she truly trusted.
Talon.
He had come into her life when she was young, hired as her teacher. He saw her talent right away. He guided her for years, step by step. He taught her to read the flow of mana like a second language.
Talon stayed by her side.
He taught her to hide her strength. To never show her full hand. To let the world see only what she wanted them to see. He repeated the same lesson until it lived in her bones. Always keep a way out.
And of course, followed the same rule himself.
In public, Talon was her bodyguard. A fourth-circle mage, at least officially. Servants stepped aside when he walked by. He spoke little and saw everything. He never left Selira’s side.
Even Selira did not know the whole truth about him. Maybe fourth circle was real. Maybe it was only a mask. She had never asked. He had never said. Sometimes she wondered if he was hiding just as much as he had taught her to hide.
So, she hid too.
She let everyone believe she was only second circle. She let them underestimate her. All the while, she worked in silence and thickened her core. She packed it tighter than anyone guessed, layer upon layer. Because she had learned one rule early in life; always keep something hidden, always hold a card that no one else can see.
The water sphere shrank until it was a single shining bead. She flicked it and it burst into mist.
Selira leaned back and watched the fire.
Tomorrow there would be the mourning ceremony for the fallen Duke. All members of House Ashford had to attend. Lady Montclair would be there. The city’s eyes would be on them. If Selira stood alone while Ronan, his son, was not present…
No, she could not allow that. She had worked too hard to earn her footing in Valewick. This city was alive. It was a place where power could be built with care and patience. Favor by favor. Soldier by soldier. She would not let one careless man pull her down.
Selira straightened her back. The water orb vanished at once. Someone was approaching. A servant.
He announced himself before entering and bowed low. “Lady Selira, we found your husband,” he said. His voice was nasal, almost judgmental.
Selira’s eyes sharpened. “Where?”
“He will be here soon,” the servant replied. “Some of our men saw him running errands in the lower districts. He was in a brothel.”
Was this man for real. Heat climbed into her cheeks. Embarrassment, then cold anger.
“Thank the servant who found him,” she said evenly. “Give him a day’s wage as a bonus.”
“Yes, my lady.”
She waved him away. The door shut. Selira exhaled through her nose. Ronan would put her in an early grave. She was sure of it.
She stood and left the sitting room. The halls were quiet as she climbed to the upper floor. She entered her small study and sat behind the old mahogany desk. The wood was smooth under her fingers. It grounded her.
“Make sure no one comes in when he arrives,” she said into the room. A shape uncoiled behind her chair. A man stepped out of her shadow, hooded, his cloak marked with the emblems of the fourth circle. Talon.
“Of course, my lady,” he said. Then crossed the room without a sound. The door did not open. He moved through it like a ghost, and the study fell silent again.
…
After around twenty minutes there was a knock on the door. Selira looked up from the letter she had been rereading, one she planned to send to Gatewick. Her head perked up at the sound. “Come in,” she said.
Ronan stumbled into the study. He carried himself with his usual confident air, chin lifted, shoulders squared, but his eyes told another story. Something was strange about him. They had found him in a brothel, and he knew that she knew, so perhaps it was just shame. Yet Selira felt there was something more she could not place.
“So, you give up after a week of trying to win me back?” she asked, her tone almost mocking. Ronan sat down on a cushioned stool in front of her desk. “You treated me like a villain,” he said bitterly. “No, worse. Like a servant you could push around all week.” His words dripped with wounded pride, but there was something he still did not understand.
They were not equal. Selira was wealthy, she had men and retainers at her command, and she held power as a mage. Ronan was nothing more than a figurehead. She leaned forward slightly, her gaze cold. “I told you to give me time. Stop pestering me every day, and perhaps we could arrange things. This marriage was not easy for either of us, but it would be decent if you at least stayed in your expensive rooms and did not leave the noble district without telling someone.”
“I am a man,” Ronan snapped. His voice rose sharply. “I am a noble, the son of the Duke of Ashford. I do not need to explain myself to anyone.” Selira’s eyes twitched at his words. She did not lose her temper. Instead, she simply assessed him. His mood was not his usual one, and her earlier suspicion returned, that odd sense that something about him was off.
“You were the son of the former Duke of Ashford,” she corrected coldly. Ronan froze. “What?” Selira’s voice was steady as she continued. “That is why you should not disappear without notice. Your father was executed in Virethorn. Did you not hear the announcements in the streets?”
Ronan’s face grew unreadable, his eyes empty. “No. I did not,” he said at last. “So that is why you sent for me.” Selira felt her lip curl slightly in contempt. What a genius, she thought. He truly had no idea.
Still, she needed him. At least for now. For appearances, for Montclair, and for something else she did not want to dwell on. She needed a child, no matter how much the thought revolted her.
“We are expected tomorrow by your aunt,” Selira said. “Montclair. In the citadel.” Ronan’s eyes widened. “We are what? No… no, we cannot. I have something.”
Selira raised an eyebrow. “Something?” she asked evenly. Ronan swallowed and straightened in his seat. “Something prepared for us to come closer again,” he said, his voice forced into confidence. “I made some arrangements. Only for you.”
Selira stared at him in silence. He had vanished for days, been found in a brothel outside the district, and now he wanted to claim he had prepared something to bring them together. Did she underestimate his idiocy? Or was he hiding some kind of plan? For a moment she wondered if this was the clumsy attempt of a fool or maybe Ronan was some hidden genius after all. The thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit. If it was foolishness, she could deal with it, dismiss it, and move on. But if he was hiding something sharper beneath that useless smile, then she needed to be careful.
Her fingers tapped lightly on the desk, the sound sharp in the quiet study. She narrowed her eyes at him, searching his expression, but his face gave nothing away. The same empty pride, the same misplaced confidence. Yet beneath it there was a flicker, a small hesitation, like he was repeating lines fed to him by someone else.
“You prepared what?” she asked at last, her voice cold.
--::--
Ronan was sweating.
Selira’s eyes reminded him of her. His cousin once removed. His stepmother. Liliana. He hated her for it. He hated the older generation, the way they looked down on him, the way they had shaped his life before he even had a chance. From the start he was trapped.
If he could, he would go back to the capital. Back under the roof of his uncle, the king. That life had been easy. Music, laughter, salons filled with people who understood his world. But they had sent him here instead. To Ashford. To inherit the duchy, to secure the wyrm’s influence in the east.
Only there was no duchy anymore. Only an empire rebelling against the kingdom. Nothing to inherit. Nothing left for him at all. No friends. No allies. No one who believed he could make a difference. He hated all of it.
But there was still one chance. One.
“I prepared one of the VIP lounges in the opera,” Ronan said, his voice tighter than he wanted. “For tomorrow. For both of us. I thought I should treat you as you deserve, Selira. I wanted to excuse myself… for the last week. For the disaster of our wedding. Even if none of it was truly in our hands, I behaved poorly that day.”
Selira said nothing. She only studied him, her silver eyes cutting him open.
The stare unnerved him. For the first time, he looked back into her eyes and held it. They were not blue, as he had thought. Not like his own. They shimmered like silver, cold and sharp, glowing faintly in the firelight. Had they always been like that? Why had he never noticed before?
She broke the silence. “Well, sadly today is no time for this. Tomorrow we are expected in the citadel. The mourning ceremony for your father.”
The spell shattered. His chest tightened. “Then… maybe I could arrange something today?” he asked. “It is not too late for the shows.”
Was Selira always this beautiful? His heart beat faster, traitorously loud. No, it was just nerves, nothing more. He told himself that. Yet when she pushed a dark strand of hair away from her face, he felt his throat tighten. She usually kept it pinned neatly, but tonight her hair was loose, flowing over her shoulders like dark water.
Wonderful hair. Too wonderful. He bit his lip. What was wrong with him?
“Yes,” Selira said after a pause. Her tone was lighter now, almost casual. “It would be a good day to go to the opera. We need a distraction after… all of this, don’t we?”
He nodded quickly. “Yes. Then I will try to arrange something.”
He stood too fast, nearly tripping over the stool. Bowing his head, he muttered a rushed excuse and left the study. His steps echoed too loudly in the hall, his body moving almost at a run.
Behind him, the silence of Selira’s study felt heavier than ever.
--::--
“That boy is setting up a trap, my lady.”
The voice came from the shadows behind her, with a deep, calm certainty. Selira did not even turn. She only nodded. “I know. But I am curious to see what he is planning.”
“Is it wise to walk into a trap with open eyes?” Talon asked.
Selira grinned as she turned, silver eyes glinting in the lamplight. “That is the best news I have had all week, Talon. The waters of Velmire are deep.”
He inclined his head, the hood shifting slightly. “The waters are indeed deep. I will prepare for departure, my lady.”
Selira nodded once, then walked out of the study. Her hands clapped softly, summoning her maids. “So. When my husband wants to take me out, I should honor his request. I will need a dress for the opera.”
The maids came rushing, their skirts swishing as they bowed. After quick instructions they scattered, bringing fabrics and jewelry, pulling open lacquered chests. The room filled with the bustle of preparation.
Selira sat quietly as they worked, her mind moving. Could Ronan really arrange this in a single day? He had no connections in Valewick, no influence, no coin that mattered. Someone was behind this. Someone was instructing him.
But who?
Whoever it was, they had clearly not accounted for Ronan’s idiocy. Or perhaps they had underestimated her, thinking her only a woman. That mistake had been made before. And it always ended the same.
What would it be this time? A secret meeting with someone who wanted a favor she could not refuse? Some debt Ronan had stumbled into that now dragged her into it? A group of hired thugs waiting in the VIP lounge? Or perhaps, Ronan truly had the courage—or the stupidity—for an assassination attempt.
Why would anyone want her death, though? That was the true riddle.
Selira loved riddles. And this was a delicate one.
She would be very disappointed if all of this turned out to be nothing more than Ronan’s clumsy scheme to win her back. Yet that too would fit him perfectly. He would waste what little coin he had on a grand gesture that meant nothing. The VIP lounges began at a hundred gold crowns a night, and to book one on such short notice…
Her lips curved faintly as the maids tightened her gown and smoothed her dark hair.
“Oh, Ronan… oh, Ronan,” she whispered, almost amused.
After the maids finished, Selira rose from her chair. She lifted a small chain from her jewelry box and clasped it around her neck. The silvery amulet rested against her collarbone, cool and steady. To anyone else it was only an ornament, but she knew better. Not only Ashford carried its dark secrets. She had played these games in the depths of Velmire long before.
She looked at her reflection once in the tall mirror, silver eyes calm, lips faintly curved. Perfect. No one looking at her now would see hesitation.
With a soft sigh, Selira left her chambers and walked to the fireplace room. The flames were already lit, throwing warm light across the polished stone. She lowered herself gracefully into the high-backed chair and folded her hands in her lap.
Now there was nothing left but to wait. Sooner or later, Ronan would return.
