Chapter 151: Farewell oh Farewell

The corridors of Leonidus Manor shimmered with gold light, late afternoon sun filtering through tall stained-glass windows that painted the marble floors with colors of wine, sapphire, and blood.

The soft echo of silk brushed the air—Catherine, the Viscountess of Leonidus, walked with the effortless grace of a queen who never needed a crown.

The servants paused as she passed, their eyes momentarily forgetting duty. Her beauty was not mortal—it was deliberate, sculpted, perfected.

Golden hair, falling like liquid light down her back; blue eyes that had once made poets curse their pens. The purple gown she wore clung to her form like devotion itself—every movement of fabric tracing the rhythm of her hips, the split revealing the pale strength of her thigh with each measured step.

They called her the Goddess of Leonidus. They whispered her name in the kitchens, in the barracks, even in the temples—half in reverence, half in fear.

But Catherine heard none of it now. Her mind was on the letter.

She had read it three times before she entered the hall. The words were few but heavy, like a noose made of silk. The Duke demanded Augustus’s presence in the capital—with him, personally. It was a summons that could elevate or destroy. And Catherine knew better than her husband which it would be.

In the office, Augustus sat with his head in his hands.

The room smelled of ink, old wood, and exhaustion. Maps were spread across the table—border lines, fief records, ledgers of grain, all the bones of the Leonidus domain laid bare. The open letter lay before him, the Duke’s seal cracked and accusing.

When Catherine entered, Augustus looked up. His face was handsome still, though softened by years of comfort and the weight of wine. His eyes—once sharp—had dulled with politics. He looked at her like a man looking for an answer he feared was no longer there.

"Catherine," he said softly, as if her name might break. "It’s done. The Duke... he wants me in the capital. With him. The council believes I’ve grown too close to your father."

Her smile was small, practiced. "You have," she said, pouring herself a glass of wine from the decanter on his desk. "You’ve always used my father’s name as your stepping stone. Did you think no one would notice?"

He flinched, not from the words, but from the tone—the same tone she had used for months now. Distant. Cold.

"I did it for us," Augustus said, voice low. "For Leonidus. For you."

Her laughter was soft and beautiful, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "For us? No, my love. You did it for... yourself."

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with the scent of wine and something breaking between them.

He looked at her now, really looked. The same woman who once stood by him when he was nothing but a lesser noble with ambition. The same woman who had smiled on their wedding night under candlelight that seemed to bless them. But the woman before him now seemed carved from frost.

"Catherine," he whispered, "what happened to us?"

Her gaze lingered on the window, on the light spilling across the floor. "Time," she said. "And perhaps... the truth."

His breath caught. "The truth?"

Her lips curved. "That I married a man who wanted a crown, not a woman."

He opened his mouth, but no words came. The sting in her voice wasn’t anger—it was something colder. Pity, perhaps.

She set down her glass and turned toward the desk. Her eyes fell on the papers scattered there—the report from the garrison, sealed with the crest of Wessex. The numbers written in bold: 100 premium gold coins, misappropriated funds, corruption uncovered.

She picked up the papers and read them silently. The words danced like firelight in her mind. Aiden’s name appeared several times—the knight who had uncovered the corruption, who had returned from his mission victorious.

Aiden.

The name alone sent a pulse through her, subtle and unwanted.

Augustus noticed her pause. "He did well," he said, unaware of what stirred behind her calm face. "Better than I expected. I thought the garrison would break him. But he handled it cleanly—pinned the theft on Wessex’s brood. Clever man."

Her fingers tightened on the parchment. Clever man.

He had always been clever. Too clever.

"I’ll promote him," Augustus continued, almost to himself. "Though perhaps not too openly. The others already envy him. A lost knight rising so high so fast—it makes them uneasy." He sighed, rubbing his temples. "But I’ll give him another task soon. The Duke loves efficiency."

Catherine placed the papers back on the desk, her movements graceful, detached. "Yes," she murmured. "You should reward him. Men like him are... useful, very... useful."

Her voice lingered on that word, soft, almost caressing.

Augustus missed the undertone. He was already thinking of his journey to the capital, of the dangers and promises waiting there. "We’ll leave within three days," he said. "You’ll remain here. Keep the estate stable. And our daughter—she returns soon, doesn’t she?"

"Yes," Catherine replied. "She does."

He smiled faintly, weary but sincere. "That should make you happy."

She smiled too, but her eyes said otherwise. As someone else was coming with her.

That was it, that was the confirmation she needed, Augustus’s journey to the capital and Aiden immediate arrival...When she left the office, the air felt heavier. She could still hear him moving papers behind her, muttering about politics and duty.

She walked slowly down the corridor, trailing her fingers along the stone wall. The chill of it seeped into her skin. For a brief moment, she remembered another night—the scent of rain, the press of a hand against her back, the warmth of a whisper that wasn’t her husband’s.

Aiden.

He had not been just a commoner that night. He had been fire itself—reckless, consuming, alive.

And afterward... she had never been the same....Never.

the bells of evening began to toll. Catherine stood before her mirror, brushing her hair. Each stroke shimmered gold in the candlelight. She looked at herself—not as a wife or mother, but as something older, colder.

In her reflection, she saw two faces—the woman she had been, and the one she had become.

The first had loved. The second had learned.

She placed the brush down and opened the drawer of her vanity. Inside lay a sealed letter, its wax marked with a symbol she should have burned long ago. She traced her fingers over it, feeling the faint indent of Aiden’s name.

She whispered, barely audible, "You’ll return soon."

And for the first time in months, her heart stirred—not with fear, not with guilt, but anticipation.

.

.

.

Far to the west, Aiden’s carriage rolled along the road toward Leonidus. He sat by the window, the world passing in shades of gray and gold.

He had not expected things to move so quickly. He had planned to stay longer at the garrison, to build his influence slowly. But the nobles had played their part well, blaming one another, tearing themselves apart like hounds.

He had simply... guided their fangs.

He smiled faintly at the thought.

Across from him sat Natalia—the Countess of Saxon, her once fiery hair now bound beneath a veil of propriety. She sat still, her hands folded in her lap, though her eyes occasionally flicked toward him, drawn by something she didn’t want to name.

Beside her sat Flora, the future Viscountess, arms crossed, expression sharp. Her eyes moved between Natalia and Aiden with silent accusation.

"Aiden," Flora said finally, voice low. "Tell me something honestly. Is she now also one of yours?"

Aiden turned his gaze to her, calm and unflinching. Then he nodded once.

Flora exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. "You’re insatiable."

Natalia’s cheeks flushed red, her fingers tightening on the edge of her dress. "He... saved my family’s honor," she murmured.

Flora snorted. "I’m sure that’s what he was saving."

The carriage wheels hummed against the dirt road like a distant heartbeat.

Aiden leaned back, letting his mind drift. He thought of Arina—of her silence, of the look in her eyes that night when she had chosen him over duty. She had been both weapon and weakness, and perhaps still was.

His letter must have reached her, hopefully, she and the elves would reach leonidus in time, a place where he ruled, directly or indirectly. As now, not in name but in power, Leonidus was now his.

The wealth, the people and the power. All.... His.