When Elira had nothing else to do that afternoon, Mrs. Joana decided to head to the market to buy ingredients for dinner — of course, accompanied by her quiet but ever-helpful son-in-law, Lucien.
Left at home, Elira sat by the wooden table, her fingers busy threading small silver beads into a bracelet she planned to sell tomorrow. She had been there for a couple of hours already, humming softly to herself, when — as usual — Cassian and Sylas joined her.
Sylas sat calmly across from her, sipping his tea and reading the newspaper like a nobleman lost in his own world. Cassian, on the other hand, was pretending to help but ended up just making a mess of Elira's beads.
"Auntie Elira!"Luke came rushing into the room, his tiny footsteps loud with excitement as he ran straight toward her like a puppy greeting its owner.
"Oh, Luke!" Elira smiled brightly, setting down her work. "What can I do for you today, my little sunshine?"
"What are you doing?" Luke asked, his eyes wide with curiosity.
"Making a bracelet, obviously! What, can't you see?" Cassian interrupted with a smirk.
Boogsh!
"OUCH! Sylas! What was that for?" Cassian rubbed the back of his head after receiving a firm smack from his older brother.
"Watch your mouth, idiot," Sylas said without even looking up from his newspaper.
Elira tried not to laugh and showed Luke the bracelet she was working on — silver with tiny hints of pink. "See? Isn't it pretty?"
Luke's eyes sparkled. "Wow! It's beautiful! It looks like my mother's eyes. Can I have it?"
Elira couldn't resist that adorable face. She smiled warmly and placed the bracelet into his little hands. "Of course you can."
"Hey! You better pay for that!" Cassian teased.
"Will you quit nagging, Cassian? You sound more like a child than Luke," Sylas muttered, clearly irritated by his brother's endless chatter.
Their bickering was nothing new. Whenever the two brothers were around Elira, it always turned into playful chaos — Cassian teasing everyone, Sylas pretending to be calm but secretly just as competitive. All Elira could do was smile and let them be.
When things quieted down again, she returned to her work, though her heart carried a small weight. In just ten days, Cassian and Sylas would return to the royal mansion — Sylas to his duty as captain, and Cassian to his role as the crown prince.
Elira told herself she would be fine — after all, Mrs. Joana, Silvia, and Luke would still be around. But deep down, she knew it wasn't the same. The house felt warmer, brighter, when Sylas and Cassian were there.
As she glanced up from her work, she found Sylas still reading the newspaper, his expression calm and serious. Even when he wasn't speaking, his presence always seemed to quiet her heart. When he noticed her staring, he raised an eyebrow as if asking, "Do you need something?"
Elira quickly looked away, smiling shyly to herself. "No, nothing," she whispered under her breath and continued working on the bracelet.
Meanwhile, Luke sat beside her, admiring the bracelet he now wore proudly — the one made by Auntie Elira, his favorite person in the house.
And in a moment, little Luke suddenly grew bored.
"Auntie, wanna play ball with me?" he said, tugging at Elira's arm gently — the way a child begs his mother for attention. His eyes sparkled with mischief, his tiny lips forming that irresistible pout only children can master.
Elira stopped mid-step, her smile blooming like morning light. She bent down slightly, patting Luke's soft hair. "Sure... let's go to the backyard, shall we?" she said cheerfully.
At once, Luke's face lit up like a candle. "Yay!" He dashed upstairs to grab his ball, his small feet thumping against the floorboards.
Behind them, Cassian let out a dramatic sigh, his brows furrowing as though the idea personally offended him. "Elira, you don't have to burden yourself," he complained in a half-whisper. "The boy has a mother, doesn't he?"
Elira only chuckled sweetly, placing her things aside. Cassian, despite his words, couldn't resist helping her. Meanwhile, Sylas folded his newspaper neatly, took the last dignified sip of his tea, and stood up to join them — calm and poised, as always.
"I don't feel burdened," Elira said with a bright smile. "Luke just feels like my little son, haha."
The words left her lips so innocently that both men froze. Cassian blinked, Sylas coughed softly, and an odd silence filled the air. Neither expected Elira's offhand remark — and neither could hide the faint blush creeping up their faces.
Unaware of the two, Elira tilted her head, puzzled as both men suddenly turned away, pretending to admire the curtains.
Then a teasing voice echoed from above."So, if you have a son like Luke… who would be the father?"
Elira nearly jumped. There was Silvia, leaning on the handrail, elbow propped and chin resting on her palm — a sly grin curving her lips. Her tone was playful, but her eyes gleamed with curiosity.
Both men flinched, caught off guard by her sudden entrance. The truth was, Silvia had appeared not for Elira's answer — but to observe theirs. She wanted to see how these two proper gentlemen, especially Sylas — the ever-disciplined soldier with no time for romance — would react.
"Hey, witch! Why do you always appear out of nowhere?" Cassian groaned, rolling his eyes.
Silvia just laughed softly, stepping down the stairs with feline grace. Before Elira could move, Silvia had already draped an arm around her shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.
The two men exchanged a glance — both wary, both nervous. They knew Silvia's teasing could spark chaos faster than lightning.
"So, Elira," Silvia whispered mischievously into her ear — just loud enough for the two men to hear.
"Who might be the father of your future son, hmm?"
Elira blinked rapidly, her cheeks flushing. "Ah— I… I don't know either, haha!" She laughed awkwardly, scratching her neck, trying to escape the world's most embarrassing question.
"Why not?" Silvia pressed on with a playful pout. "You just said Luke feels like your little son, so… who's the father?"
Elira's smile faltered, unsure whether to laugh or hide.
"Sister," Sylas interrupted firmly, his voice cool but edged with warning. "You should stop asking Elira that question."
Silvia arched a brow and turned to him, smirking. "Oh, shut up, my little brother. Don't act like you're not curious yourself."
Sylas froze, eyes widening in disbelief. Cassian choked on his breath trying not to laugh.
Silvia's eyes glittered with mischief as she looked back at Elira. "So tell us," she continued dramatically, "who would it be? A nobleman who could give you everything… or a man of honor and solitude?"
Cassian's jaw tightened; Sylas's composure nearly cracked. It was too obvious whom she meant. Cassian — the noble. Sylas — the honorable.
Elira blinked at them both, her heart oddly stirred, though she herself wasn't sure why. A gentle breeze slipped through the window, and her brown hair swayed like silk ribbons. Slowly, she placed a hand over her chest and smiled softly.
"I think…" she began, her voice trembling like the hush before a storm, "I would choose a man who sees me — not as a prize to claim, but a soul to keep. A man who stays when the world grows cold, whose warmth becomes my shelter. I do not crave a crown, nor the shine of a soldier's sword… I only long for the man who dares to love me — to love Elira, not in halves or measure, but with everything he is."
For a moment, silence filled the room. Even Silvia's teasing grin faded into surprise. Cassian and Sylas both froze, eyes drawn to her — not because of her words alone, but the sincerity behind them.
Elira's smile glowed with a purity that softened the air. It was as if sunlight itself lingered around her — warm, unguarded, and real.
"Auntie Elira! I got the ball!"
Luke's small voice broke the spell. He came running down the stairs, clutching his ball proudly. He grabbed Elira's hand and pulled her toward the backyard, his laughter echoing through the hall.
Silvia folded her arms, watching them leave, an amused smirk dancing on her lips. Behind her, Cassian and Sylas stood side by side, both silent — eyes fixed on Elira as she stepped into the sunlit yard, her brown hair fluttering gently in the breeze.
And for some reason, both men found it impossible to look away.
The sun had long begun its descent, painting the skies in deep gold and amber when the Lord Commander summoned the Captain of Defense and several nobles to gather in the great hall. The hour rested between day's last breath and night's first whisper, when the light is dim yet the air still holds the warmth of the dying sun.
Tonight's assembly was not one of festivity but of worry. From the nearby townships came grim reports — women, young and fair, vanishing without trace. Whispers carried tales that they were taken and sold into distant foreign lands.
"Lord Commander," spoke Beric, Captain of Defense, his tone respectful yet strained, "we have rescued some of the abducted women from the syndicate. Yet despite our efforts, there remains no clue — no name, no face — of the hand guiding these crimes."
The Lord Commander, Sybil, father of Sylas, sat solemnly upon his chair of carved oak, the light of the torches casting sharp shadows across his stern features. His eyes, hard as flint, glimmered with both fury and sorrow. For weeks, he had faced this plague upon his people — young women, many no more than sixteen summers old, vanishing into darkness. Rumors told that some had already been traded beyond the seas, their fates sealed in silence.
"We already raided one of their taverns, my lord," Beric continued, lowering his gaze. "They were selling innocent women there, but it was not their main den. Just another veil."
Sybil furrowed his brow, the weight of command pressing heavily upon him. He knew too well the coward's pattern — the kidnappers avoided the noble-born to spare themselves the wrath of those with power. The poor, the forgotten, the common women — they were the easier prey.
"Any word from our special operations?" Sybil asked, his tone cold and deliberate.
Beric produced a letter sealed with dark wax, bowing as he placed it before the Commander.
"The Shadow Team has sent word, your Grace. They believe the main lair of the kidnappers lies here — within Highthorne itself."
Sybil's eyes narrowed, disbelief flashing within their steel-grey depths.
"Within my own walls?" he said softly, almost a growl. "Do they bear proof of this claim?"
"They are still confirming, my lord," Beric replied. "But all trails — the missing names, the secret trades, the whispers in the dark — all lead here."
Sybil leaned back slowly, his gloved hands tightening on the armrest. Around him, the nobles sat in uneasy silence, their faces pale beneath the flickering torchlight.
"Then let them search every shadow," he ordered at last, his voice cutting through the stillness.
"Uncover every snake hiding beneath this soil. Bring me their names, their faces — and when the truth is found…" His gaze turned toward the high windows where the last glimmer of light faded into night. "…we shall burn their sins beneath the dawn."
Beric bowed low and departed, his armor echoing softly along the stony corridor.
Sybil remained seated, alone beneath the wavering torchlight — a lone sentinel burdened by duty. His thoughts wandered to the faces of the lost women, the daughters of Highthorne who would never again see the sunrise.
And in that solemn hour, as the night finally claimed the last breath of day, the mansion stood silent — a fortress waiting for war.