Chapter 97: Cherry Pie and Unlikely Visits
Chapter 96: Cherry Pie and Unlikely Visits
Lyria’s POV
For a moment, neither of us moved.
The knife remained pressed lightly against his chest, the fabric of his cloak barely dimpling beneath its point. My hand did not tremble, though my heart beat far too quickly for my liking.
The Duke of Aurelgrave lowered his gaze to the blade.
There was no alarm in his expression. No anger.
Only... something quieter.
Almost weary.
"Well," he said at last, voice mild, "that is not the welcome I had hoped for."
I did not lower the knife.
"You should c-count yourself fortunate," I replied, my tone cool despite the unevenness of my breath. "Y-you were let in at all."
His gaze lifted to mine then, those familiar blue eyes searching my face with a softness I did not trust.
"You need not be on your guard with me," he said gently. "I am not here to harm you."
A hollow sort of amusement stirred within me.
"Y-you have given me very little r-reason to b-believe that, Your Grace," I said. "So I w-will remain on my guard."
His lips parted slightly, as though he might argue, but then he simply inclined his head.
"Fair," he conceded.
The word unsettled me more than any denial would have.
My grip tightened ever so slightly on the knife.
"Why a-are you here?" I asked again, more firmly this time.
He did not answer at once.
Instead, his gaze drifted past me, moving slowly about the small chamber.
The narrow bed. The worn table. The single chair. The bare walls. The plain washstand. Nothing of comfort or ornament.
His expression shifted—something like pity. I wasn’t certain, but it settled over his features.
"...Nothing has changed," he murmured. "It is still as empty as I remember."
A sharp flicker of irritation rose within me.
"Of course n-nothing has changed," I said, unable to keep the edge from my voice. "Th-t-there is nothing to c-change."
I took a small step closer, the knife pressing just a fraction more firmly against him.
"Besides, t-that is not an answer to the q-question I asked you, Your Grace."
He blinked, as though recalling himself, then looked back at me fully.
For the first time since entering, he seemed... uncertain.
He swallowed.
"I came for you," he said.
The words hung between us.
I stared at him with a frown.
"...Why?"
He exhaled slowly, the breath leaving him as though it carried something heavier than mere air.
"I came," he said carefully, "to apologise again for everything I did when we were younger."
Silence followed his words.
Until it felt as though it might snap.
"I am not here to pick on you," he added quietly. "Not now. Not ever again."
My fingers tightened around the knife handle.
The memory of laughter—sharp and careless—flickered through my mind.
The echo of words spoken without kindness.
Without thought.
Without remorse.
And now he stood before me, speaking as though those things could be gathered up and set aside with a single apology.
"I also brought food," he went on, as though sensing my disbelief. "I thought you might need it."
My lips pressed together.
"And I heard," he added, his tone shifting slightly, "what happened."
My chest tightened.
"From Jacinta," he clarified. "She came to me earlier, spoke at length about how you had forgotten your place. Well... she was being her usual self."
A bitter taste rose at the back of my throat.
He looked at me steadily.
"I made inquiries about what really happened—the punishment, I mean—and I, um... I brought this."
He moved slightly, careful not to startle me, and withdrew a small parcel from within his cloak.
"Well, the parchment contains food, but there’s also ointment too... for your injuries," he told me nervously.
My gaze flicked briefly to the item, then back to his face.
"I know," he said, quieter now, "that you do not heal as quickly as others, given that you are—"
"Wolfless," I finished for him.
He hesitated only a fraction before nodding.
"Yes."
"I do not mean it as an insult."
"I know," I said.
And I did.
It was not insult that lay beneath his words.
Only fact.
"It is s-simply the truth," I added, my voice steadier now.
He inclined his head slightly in agreement.
Silence settled again.
He shifted the parcel lightly in his hand.
Then, with the faintest trace of a smile, he said—
"I brought cherry pie."
My resolve faltered.
Just slightly, but he noticed.
"Will you lower the knife?" he asked gently.
I stared at him.
Cherry pie.
Of all things.
My throat tightened.
"I d-do not particularly like it a-anymore," I said stiffly.
His smile deepened—just a little.
It was not mocking nor cruel, only knowing.
"You are a poor liar," he said softly.
Heat crept faintly into my cheeks.
I scowled at him, though it lacked its usual force.
For a long moment, I did not move.
Then, slowly and very reluctantly, I lowered the knife.
"Do not m-mistake this for trust," I said at once. "If you attempt a-anything untoward, I will not h-hesitate."
"I would expect nothing less," he replied.
There was no offense in his tone.
Only acceptance.
I stepped back, creating distance between us, though I did not put the knife away.
Not yet.
He made no move to close that distance.
Instead, he remained where he stood, as though mindful of every invisible boundary between us.
"I do n-not require your o-ointment," I said after a moment. "I have a-already been given some."
Helen’s careful hands came to mind.
Her quiet concern.
"I appreciate the... sentiment," I added, though the word felt strange upon my tongue. "But it is unnecessary."
He studied me for a moment.
Then nodded.
"As you wish."
That unsettled me.
Everything about him unsettled me.
This gentleness.
This restraint.
This... kindness.
It did not fit.
It did not align with the boy I remembered.
And that made it all the more difficult to accept.
"Y-you should go," I said abruptly. "You should not be here."
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"I am already here," he pointed out mildly.
"That does n-not mean you should r-remain," I returned.
