Underneath His Cloak

Part 11 - Beneath Silver Eyes, Beside a Burning Heart

"So, Y/N, where were you last night?"

The simple question from Eris came like a sudden gust through the dining chamber, stealing the breath from Y/N's lungs. She froze mid-motion, a porcelain plate suspended in her hands.

"A-Why?" she stammered, voice thin. A question for a question was her best defense.

Eris shrugged, her tone dangerously casual. "Well... yesterday, brother was acting strange. Paranoid. He searched the entire house like a madman. I almost thought he was about to lease you out to a dragon just to calm himself."

Y/N forced a laugh. "Lease me? That's... creative."

"Hmm. Suspicious," Eris mused, squinting at her like a hawk eyeing prey. "Your face and ears are completely red, Y/N."

Y/N tapped her cheeks, cursing their betrayal, then tried to retreat into the kitchen, but Eris's presence followed her like a shadow.

"Tell me what you did last night," Eris whispered just as Y/N passed.

"I might have been in the library," Y/N replied coolly.

"Not convincing." With a smirk, Eris returned to her seat.

Dominic entered, bright and chipper. "Good morning, ladies."

Y/N sighed in relief, her unexpected savior had arrived.

"Why do you sound so happy?" Eris asked.

"Why? Can't I?" Dominic grinned.

Carson trailed in next, nose in a book. As he sat, the room shifted again when Aamon and Gusion stepped in, their presence grounding everyone.

As Y/N made to sit, Eris leaned close. "The lady of the house should sit beside the Duke, Lady Y/N."

Y/N ignored the jab, keeping her composure.

"What time are we leaving?" Dominic asked Aamon.

"Later this morning," Aamon replied.

Carson groaned. "Can I just stay with Y/N? Not really into noble politics today."

Y/N noticed Aamon glance her way.

"You can't protect her the way I do, Carson. So best show that innocent face and convince the elders," Gusion said.

Carson didn't argue.

But their breakfast was soon disrupted. The calm was shattered by the thunder of heels pounding against the ancient stone floors. It was not the swift, practiced stride of a servant, nor the stoic march of a guard.

The doors flung open with the force of a storm wind.

And there stood Guinevere Baroque—hair disheveled, face drenched in tears, her royal purple gown billowing like the cloak of a tragic heroine fleeing doom. Her once-regal composure had collapsed into chaos. Her eyes, usually sharpened with pride, now trembled with desperation.

"They trapped me, Aamon!" she cried, her voice slicing through the stunned silence. "They trapped me Aamon, they left me with no choice but to follow. My brother is our last chance but they threaten to kill him when he steps back in the house."

"Like Lancelot is easy to kill," Eris muttered, unimpressed.

"He will be if outnumbered!" Guinevere snapped, her fire briefly reigniting. Her gaze cut toward Eris before swinging back to Aamon, desperation laced in every word. "Cancel the plan. I can't risk my brother's life."

"You need to calm down," Aamon said softly, unnervingly steady.

Dominic offered her a seat. She collapsed into it.