Duke Thaddeus stood at a distance, his golden eyes steady, unreadable. The argument between him and Aeliana had dissipated, but something else had taken its place—something quieter, something more subtle, but no less consuming.
He watched.
Watched as his daughter squared off against the young man—Lucavion—with sharp words and sharper eyes. She was rigid at first, her irritation evident in the way her fingers twitched at her sides, the way her weight shifted just slightly, betraying the restlessness beneath her composed facade.
But then—slowly, subtly—it changed.
Aeliana’s posture loosened, her stance no longer coiled tight with irritation but something else. The sharp edge in her eyes remained, but now it was tempered, focused, searching. She didn’t turn away, didn’t dismiss him.
She was engaging him.
Not just with words, but in the way her body responded—how her shoulders eased just slightly, how her lips pressed together in something that was not quite a frown, but not quite neutrality either.
And Lucavion—this boy—was unaffected.
No, more than that. He welcomed it.
His amusement was genuine. His body language relaxed, effortless, as if standing before Aeliana—before the Duke’s own daughter—was no different from idle conversation with an old friend. His smirk never wavered, his black eyes never strayed.
He was not intimidated by her.
Not by her name. Not by her title. Not even by the fact that she had just threatened to take his head.
And what was stranger still—
Aeliana did not push him away.
She let him remain.
Thaddeus’ gaze narrowed, something tightening in his chest. This. This was not something he had seen in her for a long, long time.
She was engaging with him the way she used to when she was young.
Before the sickness.
Before the veils and the isolation.
Before she had stopped seeking companionship altogether.
His mind drifted—to a different time, to a memory buried beneath years of duty, of war, of silence.
Aeliana had always been strong-willed. Even as a child, she had never been the type to sit quietly, never content to simply be the delicate daughter of a Duke. She had been fiery, stubborn, alive.
He remembered the way she had once run through the estate’s gardens, the way she had pulled at the hems of the knights’ cloaks, demanding they teach her how to wield a sword—much to their exasperation. She had always pushed, always tested her limits, always fought for what she wanted.
And back then—
She had laughed.
Not often. Not freely. But genuinely.
And then the sickness had come.
And everything had changed.
The fire in her dimmed. The defiance that once burned bright had been forced into embers, smothered beneath years of weakness, of limitations, of walls he had built to protect her.
For years, she had been surrounded by people who only ever looked at her—with pity, with reverence, with careful, measured words meant to keep her from breaking.
But now—
Now, she was standing before this young man, and she was not being careful.
She was challenging him.
She was reacting.
And this young man named Luca?
Thaddeus inhaled slowly, exhaling through his nose, his gaze unreadable as it lingered on his daughter.
Thaddeus’ fingers curled at his sides, his patience thinning by the second.
His instincts, the ones honed through war, through years of command, through the weight of ruling an entire duchy, had always been sharp—unyielding. And yet, at this moment, it was not the instincts of a ruler that screamed at him.
It was something far more primitive.
A father’s instinct.
Even as his mind told him there was nothing inherently wrong in what he was witnessing, something inside him refused to ignore it. Refused to let this… this boy—this Lucavion—stand so easily before his daughter, so unaffected by who she was.
It was irrational.
It was unnecessary.
But it was there.
A deep-seated irritation curled within him, sharp and persistent, demanding that he act—that he put an end to whatever this was before it could become something more.
His daughter—his only daughter—who had spent years hidden away, too weak to even leave her chambers, now stood before this young man as if none of it had ever happened.
And Thaddeus didn’t know how to feel about that.
Aeliana had never let anyone stay too close. Not since the illness. Not since she learned that people did not treat the sick with kindness—but with pity.
Yet here she was, standing before Lucavion, trading words, meeting his gaze, engaging him as if he were an equal.
And he—
He looked at her with something other than pity.
That should have been a relief.
It wasn’t.
Thaddeus exhaled, slow and measured, yet his irritation did not settle. It dug into him, restless, grating.
‘This is absurd.’
He was not that kind of father.
The overbearing kind. The kind who hovered. The kind who meddled in matters that were beneath him.
And yet—
And yet.
His body had already moved before his mind could stop him.
With deliberate steps, he approached.
The weight of his presence was unmistakable, the air shifting just enough to be felt. He did not summon his mana, did not impose his will upon the space, but everyone knew he was there.
Lucavion was the first to acknowledge him.
The young man tilted his head slightly, black eyes gleaming with something unreadable—too knowing. He had sensed the irritation the moment Thaddeus stepped forward, but instead of faltering, instead of acting with the caution most men did in his presence—
Lucavion smiled.
That same insufferable, infuriating smirk that did not belong to a man who should know better.
‘Audacious little—’
Thaddeus halted just beside Aeliana, his golden eyes locking onto Lucavion’s with quiet intensity.
For a long moment, nothing was said.
Lucavion, utterly at ease, let the silence stretch, let it linger, let it settle like a tangible thing between them.
And then—
“Duke Thaddeus,” he greeted, voice smooth, unhurried.
Thaddeus did not answer immediately. He simply looked at him, measured him, let the weight of his gaze do what words did not.
Lucavion did not fidget. Did not shift.
Did not lower his eyes.
Aeliana, who had remained silent up until now, finally sighed. “Father,” she said flatly. “What are you doing?”
Thaddeus ignored her.
Instead, he let his gaze flick briefly to her before returning to the young man before him. “What exactly,” his voice was low, even, measured, “do you think you are doing?”
Lucavion blinked, mock innocence playing across his features. “Speaking?”
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The sheer audacity.
Thaddeus’ jaw ticked. “Is that what you call it?”
Lucavion’s smirk widened. “Unless the rules of conversation have changed, yes.”
A beat of silence.
And then—
Aeliana groaned.
“Oh, for the love of—” She rubbed her temple, irritation slipping into her voice. “Can you not?”
Thaddeus did not shift his gaze.
Lucavion, however, exhaled softly, shaking his head as if this entire thing amused him more than it should.
“Duke Thaddeus,” Lucavion mused, tilting his head slightly, “I understand that you have a great many things to worry about, but I must ask—” his black eyes gleamed, his smirk unfaltering. “Are you truly concerned about my presence, or do you simply not like that I exist?”
Aeliana stared.
Thaddeus’ irritation spiked.
He had to force himself not to exhale sharply, not to react, not to let this boy think he had successfully dragged him into whatever game this was.
‘This boy is insufferable.’
‘And yet—’
Thaddeus had never met someone who could provoke him with so few words.
His silence must have given Lucavion all the answer he needed, because the young man chuckled.
Aeliana, sensing that something truly ridiculous was about to happen, stepped between them.
“Enough,” she muttered, more exasperated than anything else. “Father, stop it. Lucavion—shut up.”
Lucavion raised his hands in surrender once more, that same smirk lingering. “As you wish.”
Lucavion’s smirk remained, but his posture shifted slightly—not in retreat, not in caution, but in preparation.
His raised hands lowered, slow and deliberate, his black eyes glinting with something far sharper than amusement.
“Or….Is that what you expected me to say?”
His voice was light, but there was weight behind it—something that dared them to listen, dared them to understand that he was not a man who bowed.
A beat of silence.
Then—
“I refuse.”