The grandfather clock in the west wing of Wartenburg Mansion tolled, its deep chimes resonating through the ornate corridors. It was a sound Duke Ludwig Therna knew well, a reminder of the hour's lateness, and the world's insistence on moving forward, even as he often felt trapped in the amber of his own thoughts.
Ludwig, clad in an evening jacket with tails that whispered over the polished wooden floors, paused at the threshold of a door nestled in the shadowy hallway. His hand hovered at the brass doorknob, ornately designed with the emblem of his family – a proud lion resting upon a shield. The fabric of his cuff grazed the cold metal, the dim light from the wall sconces casting a soft glow on his knuckles while he soflty knocked on the door.
He had not intended to venture into this room at such an hour. Yet here he stood, compelled by a sound that tugged at the edges of his heart—a child's plaintive cry that even the thick oak doors could not muffle. Ludwig's heart clenched, and for a moment, he was transported back to those first few days when the wails were his late wife's painful labor cries echoing off these same walls.
With a steadying breath, he pressed down on the latch, allowing the door to open with a creak that seemed louder in the night's stillness. Ludwig stepped inside, his amber eyes taking a moment to adjust to the candlelight flickering gently within the chamber.
"Forgive the intrusion," Ludwig murmured, though he thought the room's occupant could not hear him. In the quiet of the chamber, Ludwig approached the crib, his tall figure casting a long shadow across the floor. Much to his astonishment, Amelie stood before him, fear etched into her features. Her startled gaze met his, and Ludwig's breath caught at the sight of her—her hair loose around her shoulders, her nightgown a simple whisper of fabric that spoke more of necessity than adornment. She held a sturdy fire poker in her grasp, shielding the whimpering infant behind her in the crib.
He gazed down at the infant, a tightness forming in his chest as he beheld the uncomfortable countenance of his son, Adrian. The boy was a living testament to the love he had shared with Esther, and yet a poignant reminder of all that had been lost.
"Apologies for the intrusion, Miss Huber," he said, his voice a soft baritone that seemed to carry the weight of worlds unspoken. "I heard my son's cries and...knocked but there was no answer…" He trailed off, as if the rest of the explanation lay caught between propriety and a father's concern.
"Of course, Your Grace," Amelie replied, her tone laced with the warmth that was her signature—a balm to the Duke's evident disquiet.
Ludwig, ever mindful of decorum, turned his back to afford her privacy—a gentleman's gesture that left him facing the darkened window.
She moved to the wardrobe to retrieve her robe and to clean her hands now covered in ash, feeling the heat of his gaze upon her even as he turned away in a gesture of respect.Amidst the chaos, she frantically searched for something to clean her hands, but the pristine new robe was not an option. She refused to tarnish its immaculate state.
Ludwig, ever mindful of decorum, turned his back to afford her privacy—a gentleman's gesture that left him facing the darkened window, the reflection therein revealing nothing of the emotions churning within him.
"May I?" Ludwig offered herhis handkerchief with a gentlemanly gesture, he offered her.Their fingers brushed as they both reached for the cloth, a fleeting touch that sent an unspoken current through the air between them. Amelie retracted his hand her hand as if burned by the contact.
Both remained speechless, lost in the moment. However, the silence was soon broken by the piercing wails of Adrian, and suddenly, the opulent surroundings of the chamber faded into nothingness as they focused on the needs of their crying child.
The Duke was suddenly jolted from his thoughts by the cries of the little ones. He quickly turned away, allowing Amelie to finish dressing in privacy.
"Thank you, Your Grace," Amelie said, her voice low but composed as she slipped into the garment.
"Let us see to Adrian," Ludwig murmured, moving to stand beside Amelie at the crib.Adrian giggled, clearly entertained by the awkwardness between the two before him. His glee was undoubtedly sparked by the sudden arrival of his father.
Adrian's tiny hand wrapped around his finger, and the duke's amber eyes shone with a mixture of pride and something else—an emotion he was reluctant to name.
"See? He simply wished to see you," Amelie said, her voice low and soothing.
"Shall we try putting him back to sleep?" Amelie whispered, her tone laced with amusement.
"Indeed," Ludwig agreed, his voice equally hushed.
For several moments, they worked in tandem, humming soft lullabies and rocking the crib ever so gently. At last, Adrian's eyelids fluttered closed, his chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of peaceful slumber.
"Much like his mother," he murmured, almost to himself, as if the words carried a pain too profound to voice aloud. "He has her spirit."
"Indeed, he does," Amelie agreed, her voice a gentle echo in the quiet room. She glanced at the sleeping babe, now drifting on the tide of dreams, the rise and fall of his chest a silent rhythm beneath the blankets.Admiring her only through the portraits, she couldn't help but be struck by how much she resembled Adrian - strong and charismatic, with a striking presence that left a lasting impression.
"Adrian is fortunate to have such a devoted father," she added, meaning each syllable. It was important to her, this affirmation of his role in the child's life, despite the chasm of status that divided them.
Exhaling in unison, Ludwig and Amelie settled into adjacent chairs, weary from their efforts. They shared a glance, a silent acknowledgment of the oddity of their situation, and yet there was comfort too, in the quiet company they kept.
Ludwig's gaze drifted to the mantle, where a finished letter lay "You were writing?" he inquired, his curiosity piqued despite his reserved tone.
"Yes," Amelie replied, her expression growing thoughtful. "A letter to my family. They plan to visit soon."They are eager to visit, to see Adrian... and to meet the child I carry."
"Ah." The word hung in the air, laden with Ludwig's mixed emotions. The thought of her family's presence brought him a sense of relief, knowing Amelie would be surrounded by kin; yet it also stirred a strange unease deep within him, a fear of the changes their arrival might herald.
His eyes returned to his son, now sleeping soundly, oblivious to the grown-up concerns that shadowed the room. Ludwig felt a surge of tenderness as he considered how much the boy had grown under Amelie's care, and how much more he would grow in the time to come. In the time he would be away. "I am... grateful for the care you have bestowed upon him. And I trust you will extend the same dedication to your own."
"Without question," Amelie assured him. Her hand instinctively rested upon her belly, the swell of life within a testament to the future she would forge—come what may.
Ludwig's eyes followed the motion, and for a moment, he seemed lost in thought. "And how fare you, Miss Huber? With the pregnancy?"
"I am well," she replied, brushing aside any concerns. "A bit tired at times, but strong. The children give me purpose."
"Indeed," he echoed. His gaze held hers for an extended moment, conveying a depth of emotion that belied the careful distance he maintained.
Allowing his fingertips to brush lightly against the soft blanket that swaddled the baby, Ludwig felt a rare smile tug at the corners of his mouth. It was a fleeting expression, one that seldom graced his features, but in the sanctity of this room, with the innocence of sleep cradling his child, he allowed himself this small reprieve from sorrow.
"Miss Huber," he began, his voice softer now, tinged with a vulnerability he seldom allowed others to witness. "Your own child—how do you fare?"
"Strong and healthy, Your Grace," Amelie answered, her hand resting instinctively on her belly. "We are doing well."
"Good. That is... good," Ludwig murmured, his words trailing off as he grappled with an unfamiliar yearning to say more, to delve deeper into the connection that seemed to pull taut with each passing day.
Yet the call of duty and the specter of propriety loomed large, urging him to maintain the space between them. With a final glance at Adrian, Ludwig rose to his feet, his movements deliberate and controlled. "I should not impose further," he said, though every fiber of his being protested the departure.
"Of course," Amelie responded, her voice a gentle balm to his restlessness. "Goodnight, Your Grace."
"Goodnight, Miss Huber," Ludwig echoed, his hand lingering on the doorknob as if to memorize its cold brass contours. Then, with a resolve born of necessity, he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, leaving behind the warm glow of the room and the soft sounds of a world he was only just beginning to understand.
As the latch clicked into place, a piece of paper slipped from the duke's pocket, unnoticed—a letter from the emperor, crumpled and forgotten in the fold of his jacket. It lay there on the floor, a tangible reminder of the complexities that bound their lives together, even as the shadows reclaimed the room and the night pressed on.