Chapter 5: The Duke of Eryndor
At the far end of the hall, the ceremony had begun.
The air was thick with anticipation as noble lords and ladies presented their carefully chosen gifts to the Grand Duchess of Caldemere, each offering a reflection of their house's wealth and status.
Lady Celestine, as her youngest granddaughter, stood close by, smiling warmly at each guest.
Just as the final gift was about to be placed upon the grand dais, a hushed murmur rippled through the crowd. The low hum of conversation waned, and a reverent stillness took its place.
The towering doors of the ballroom swung open with quiet grandeur, revealing the Duke of Eryndor.
A figure carved by power itself, the Duke strode forward with measured steps, clad in a deep black military ensemble adorned with silver embroidery, the crest of Eryndor stitched onto his sleeve in threads so dark they gleamed beneath the chandelier's glow.
His dark, obsidian hair framed a face sculpted with sharp lines yet softened by a quiet intensity and his piercing golden eyes gleamed with an almost ethereal brilliance, as if touched by divine light.
The weight of his presence bore down on the room…not oppressive, but undeniable, an aura of restrained force that kept the capital in check.
Behind him, his attendant followed in silent deference, carrying an exquisite velvet box, a gift chosen for the Grand Duchess herself.
He approached the dais, with effortless grace, each stride exuding power restrained by noble elegance.
Rosellene felt her breath hitch.
She had seen this before. Many times.
She had once known those eyes.
In the stillness of a past life, there had been a time when his eyes had softened as they gazed upon her, as though she were something precious.
One of gentle, deep and knowing, as they rested on her with a quiet tenderness.
Yet, at this moment, under the resplendent glow of the lights, he seemed almost unreal.
Now, as she sat there, that memory felt like a distant dream, a fragile thing too delicate to exist in the presence of the man before her.
He is the indomitable force of the empire, the man who could command a room without uttering a word. His Highness, Azriel Louis, the Duke of Eryndor.
Her fingers tightened subtly around the silk of her gown as a quiet daze settled over her. It was as if the entire ballroom had blurred at the edges, leaving only him…a man of unshakable presence, standing as if the world revolved in his orbit.
He continued his approach, unwavering, stepping forward to present his offering to the Grand Duchess. The nobility watched in hushed anticipation, murmurs rising in awe of the man who commanded the battlefield and the empire alike.
Rosellene exhaled softly, her expression unreadable.
Now, she was merely a spectator of his glory.
A hush fell over the hall as His Highness, the Duke of Eryndor, lifted his hand ever so slightly…a mere flick of his fingers, yet it was enough to command the attention of all present.
The attendant behind him stepped forward, kneeling as he unlatched the ornate chest and lifted its contents for all to see.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
The Holy Crystal.
The crystal gleamed, radiant with a soft, ethereal glow, reflected light in every direction, as if it contained the very essence of life, rested upon a bed of silk.
It is considered a divine treasure, mined from sacred grounds far beyond the reach of common men.
Rarer than any precious gem, the Holy Crystal was coveted for its unique ability to dispel the Fallen Spirit, an ancient, malevolent energy that corrupted and destroyed everything it touched.
It was an ancient curse, a dark entity that roamed the land, feeding on fear, despair, and suffering.
Those who fell victim to it were often driven to madness or death.
Its rarity made it nearly as valuable as the very life force it was said to protect against.
It was one of the few known means to protect against such an overwhelming force.
As Duke Azriel presented the crystal to the Grand Duchess, the room erupted in hushed whispers of awe and admiration. An object of legend, now within arm's reach of the Grand Duchess of Caldemere.
Murmurs of astonishment broke out amongst the nobility.
"Unbelievable… The Holy Crystal?"
"A gift beyond compare… only the Duke of Eryndor would be capable of offering such a thing."
"They say there are only a handful in existence!"
But amidst the admiring glances and eager conversations, Rosellene Valentine barely reacted.
Her eyes did not linger on the Holy Crystal, nor did she marvel at the weight of its significance.
Instead, her gaze followed the Duke himself, watching as he presented the treasure without flourish, his deep voice calm and composed.
Yes, he was always the most dazzling presence wherever he went.
He was as imposing as ever, his presence filling the room with an undeniable authority. Even the gift he presented seemed secondary to the power that radiated from him.
Rosellene simply lowered her gaze, retreating from the spectacle as the ladies around her whispered excitedly.
At the Grand Duchess's seat, she accepted the gift with grace and a smile of gratitude. "You honour me greatly, Your Highness," she said, her voice carrying the regal authority and the wisdom of decades. "This is a gift of immeasurable value."
The Duke inclined his head, his demeanour as calm as ever. "A small tribute to celebrate Your Grace's esteemed years," he replied. "May your strength and wisdom continue to guide the generations to come."
A ripple of admiration swept through the hall. Even his words held a weight that left an impression.
With the formalities complete, Duke Azriel bid his farewell.
"I shall take my leave," he stated, his voice steady, his composure as impenetrable as ever.
The Grand Duchess smiled knowingly. "You are always a difficult man to keep in one place, Duke Azriel."
A faint, almost imperceptible curve of his lips, the closest thing to a smile was his only response before he turned.
Azriel nodded politely to those who had gathered, his presence still hanging in the air long after his words had faded.
He walked away, moving through the grand hall with seamless control.
And then, Across the hall, amidst the sea of finely dressed nobles, his gaze found her.
Rosellene Valentine.
His steps slowed, almost imperceptibly.
Amidst the swirling gowns and glittering jewels, his gaze was drawn, caught, and held.
She was seated amidst the gathering, soft laughter escaping her lips like a melody lost in time. She was radiant, not merely in appearance, but in presence.
There was something about the way the candlelight danced across her delicate features, how the exquisite jewels upon her frame seemed to pale in comparison to the light in her eyes.
For a moment, time seemed to slow.
The sounds of the hall faded, leaving only the echo of her laughter in his ears.
A pull, a shift…as if something deep within him stirred.
His heart, once untouched by frivolous sentiment, felt an unfamiliar tug.
And then...her gaze lifted.
Their eyes met.
For a moment, neither looked away.
The world did not still, nor did the music cease. The grandeur of the ballroom continued, filled with laughter, polite conversations, and the rustling of silk. But between them, a moment unfolded...silent, yet deafening.
Duke Azriel had spent years mastering restraint, yet something within him faltered in that instant.
Rosellene, for her part, should have dismissed it. Should have lowered her eyes, should have smiled like she always did, as if nothing had happened.
And yet, she didn't.
Duke Azriel, ever composed, should have looked away first. And yet, he didn't.
The moment stretched between them, heavy with something neither could quite name.
It was a mere breath, a fleeting second, yet it carried a weight neither of them could ignore.
And then, the spell broke.
The Duke turned, stepping forward, his presence withdrawing from the hall.
Rosellene merely lowered her eyes, as her fingers idly trace the stem of her wine glass.
She felt it lingering.
A gaze that should have meant nothing.
And yet it left behind a trace, like the first chime of a long-dormant clock...the sound of fate beginning to turn.
As Azriel stepped outside the grand hall, the cold night air brushed against his skin, grounding him back to reality.
His sharp, unreadable gaze flickered for a brief moment. Yet, just as quickly, it was gone, buried beneath the weight of duty.
A solemn carriage awaited him at the entrance, its dark, imposing frame standing in stark contrast to the lively grandeur behind him.
Standing beside it was Fedric Hale, his trusted knight and right hand.
"My Lord," Fedric greeted him with a curt bow. "A sighting has been confirmed. The Fallen Spirit appeared near a village south of the border."
Azriel's fingers twitched slightly at the mention, his gloved hand adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, a habit when deep in thought.
"Send scouts ahead. I will assess the situation myself," he ordered.
"Understood." Fedric did not question his decision, only giving a knowing nod before mounting his own horse.
Azriel stepped into the carriage. As the heavy door shut behind him, his expression remained unreadable, but his gaze lingered in the dim light, shadowed with an inexplicable depth.
The carriage rolled forward, disappearing into the night.