Chapter 2 - The Shadow of the Past
The quiet whisper of the name Evelyn von Caster hit the grand hall of L’Auberge d’Or like a thunderclap.
Eight years ago, Lady Evelyn, the only child and beloved daughter of Duke Donald, had vanished without a trace during a brutal ambush on the eastern trade road. For months, Donald had deployed thousands of soldiers, tore through forest camps, and put massive bounties across the continent, but found nothing except her burned carriage. The world assumed the Caster bloodline was extinct, leaving the massive Caster fortune and political power vulnerable to hungry vultures—chief among them, House Vane and their allies.
Donald closed his eyes, a broken sob escaping his chest as he pulled the dirty, gravy-stained child into a desperate, protective embrace. He didn't care about the grease on his bespoke black coat. He didn't care about the hundreds of eyes staring at him in shock.
“My granddaughter…” Donald wept, burying his face in Lily’s matted, soot-covered hair. “My sweet child… you’re alive. You’re alive.”
Lily didn't understand what a "granddaughter" was, but for the first time in her short, miserable life, she felt warm arms holding her gently. The old man smelled of sandalwood and faint tobacco, not alcohol and stale sweat like the kitchen master who beat her with wooden spoons.
Behind them, Lady Beatrix recovered her composure, though her face was pale with embarrassment and mounting dread. She wiped pastry cream from her cheek and stepped forward, trying to maintain her arrogant posture.
“Your Grace,” Beatrix began, forcing a tight, nervous smile. “Surely there is some mistake! This child is a low-born orphan working in the scullery. Master Pym bought her from a beggar wagon three years ago! A scar proves nothing—it could be a common brand! She is a thief who ruined my imported silk—!”
Donald stood up.
He didn't turn around quickly, but when he rose to his full height, the temperature in the restaurant seemed to plunge ten degrees. He turned his head slowly, his grey eyes piercing into Beatrix with such lethal intensity that the woman involuntarily took two steps back.
“Master Pym!” Donald’s voice boomed, shattering a crystal glass on a nearby table.
The fat restaurant manager scrambled out from behind the wine rack, dropping to his knees and slamming his forehead repeatedly against the marble floor. “Y-yes, Your Grace! Have mercy! I didn't know! I swear on my life I didn't know she was of your blood!”
“Where did you get this child?” Donald demanded, stepping over to the groveling man.
“Three years ago, My Lord!” Pym stammered, weeping with fear. “A woman… an ill, dying woman brought her to the back alley during winter. She… she sold the girl for twenty silver coins to pay for medicine, but she died two days later in the poorhouse! She said the girl’s name was Lily! That is all I know! I swear it!”
Donald’s fists clenched until his knuckles turned white. His precious daughter, Evelyn, had survived the ambush, hiding in poverty, suffering until her last breath while her child was forced into slavery—all while Donald sat in his empty mansion, mourning a ghost.
“You bought a Caster heiress for twenty silver pieces,” Donald said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “And you forced her to scrub floors and endure beatings.”
“My Lord, please—!”
“Gabriel,” Donald called out quiet.
From the shadow of the entrance, a tall, imposing man in silver armor with a dark cloak stepped forward. It was Captain Gabriel, commander of the Duke’s elite Blackguard.
“Seize Master Pym,” Donald ordered coldly. “Lock this establishment down. Seize every ledger, every coin, and tear this tavern down to its foundation by nightfall. Master Pym will answer to the High Inquisitor for child trafficking and high treason against a Great House.”
“No! Mercy, Your Grace! Mercy!” Pym screamed as two heavy-armored guards dragged him away, his boots scraping uselessly against the marble.
Lady Beatrix swallowed hard, trying to back away toward her companions. “Your Grace… while I sympathize with your discovery, the child still committed a gross offense against my person and property. House Vane expects compensation—”
Donald walked up to Beatrix, stopping inches from her face. Despite her height and high heels, Beatrix felt small beneath his shadow.
“House Vane,” Donald repeated softly. “Your father, Lord Malachai Vane, has spent the last five years petitioning the King to strip my family of our northern domains, claiming the Caster line was dead.”
“We… we were merely following royal protocol—”
“Listen to me very carefully, Beatrix,” Donald said, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper that chilled her to the bone. “You dragged my flesh and blood across the floor. You struck her. If you or any member of your treacherous house so much as breathes the same air as my granddaughter again, I will not ask for compensation. I will erase House Vane from the heraldry books. Do you understand me?”
Beatrix trembled, unable to form words. She gave a quick, panicked nod.
Donald turned his back on her, kneeling once more before Lily. His harsh expression melted instantly into tender devotion. He took off his heavy velvet cloak and wrapped it around the trembling, gravy-soaked girl, scooping her up into his arms as easily as if she were made of feathers.
“Come, Lily,” Donald said softly, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Let’s go home.”
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Lily wrapped her small arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. “Are… are there hot meals at home, sir?”
Donald choked back another sob as he carried her past the frozen, silent crowd of aristocrats. “All the meals you could ever dream of, my sweet child. All of them.”
