24. Up in Flames #2
“ Soren ?” Selene screeched. “Soren—Soren tried to kill your father? Soren was an assassin?”
Dorian exhaled slowly. He had expected this reaction. He hoped it didn’t change her already tentative view of his brother.
“Well, technically, you only become an assassin when you complete your first solo assassination, so he was merely a slightly murderous acolyte… ”
Selene swayed where she sat, looking as if the weight of the revelation might tip her over. Dorian was relieved she had listened when he told her to sit down.
“And… after that?” Selene asked, her voice still dazed.
Dorian gave it to her. “Together, the three of us started investigating Drakefell, uncovering more of his plans. We knew he wasn’t acting alone, that he had asked others for their support, but…
we didn’t know who. Eventually, we discovered his interest in the Ashvold mountains.
It looked like he was trying to open a pass there, before realising such an endeavour would likely take him years. ”
Selene’s expression shifted. She wasn’t just listening anymore—she was thinking. Did she know anything about this—was she aware of the mines in her grandmother’s name? How much did she know?
She pressed a hand to her temple. “And then?”
Dorian sighed. This was the part of the story he had most wanted to avoid.
“Then my father succumbed to a second assassination attempt.”
Selene sucked in a breath. “I thought… your father died of illness.”
“My father was poisoned,” Dorian clarified. The words felt distant, easier to say than they should have been. “Fortunately, Drakefell didn’t seem to think I posed much of a threat, and he’s left me alone.”
“Until now.”
“Yes, until now.”
“You’ve been staying away from society to hide from him.”
Dorian nodded. “I make myself invisible so that no one tries to make me disappear.”
Something about that made Selene pause. She frowned, as if the words didn’t sit right with her, but she didn’t say anything.
He carried on. “Soren and I have been investigating the Duke and his allies ever since. Ariella and Rookwood know what we do, but not the specifics. There’s a limit to the ways they can help us. We know Drakefell is working with at least two other lords—maybe more. Lord Fairmont is one of them.”
“Which is why he was so lenient on the boy caught poaching.”
Dorian nodded again.
Selene stared at him, her expression caught somewhere between admiration and horror. He could hardly blame her for the latter. Her hands curled into fists.
“You made me think I was an idiot for believing something was amiss there.”
Dorian’s jaw tensed. He had never wanted that. “I was hoping to make you think you were safe.”
Selene’s cheeks flushed with colour. “This is why you married me, isn’t it?” Her voice was unsteady, but the words struck like steel. “You knew what the Duke was planning. If you married me—”
“In part,” Dorian admitted. “But… that wasn’t the only reason. I truly didn’t want to see you marry that man.” Gods, the real reasons—how could he explain those to her? Yes, he wanted to keep her from the Duke. He wanted to save her. He wanted to keep some of the light in her eyes—
Because he loved her. Because he’d always loved her. Because he’d lost her so many times before and he finally had a chance to ensure her survival—
Selene laughed, but there was no humour in it. “You’re just like him,” she snapped. “You, the Duke, my father—everyone keeping me in the dark, deciding my life for me, controlling me for your own ends—”
Dorian flinched. He knew the words had come from a place of anger, but they still cut deep. He was nothing like the Duke. Nothing. He’d never hurt her. He didn’t want to hurt anyone—
“Selene—” Dorian reached out.
“Get away from me!”
She marched away from him, back to her own room. Dorian stepped after her, but another coughing fit overtook him, wracking his body before he could force out another word. The door slammed shut between them.
It felt like something else was slamming shut, too. Some faint hope that he had of everything being fine, of Selene liking him back.
He stood there for a long moment, swallowing down the bitter taste in his throat.
On the other side of the door, he heard Selene sobbing.
Dorian pressed his palm against the wood panelling, then let it fall away.
He should have known better than to think he could keep her safe, or that she would ever come to care for him the way he did for her.
Maybe he was like the Duke after all.
Selene’s words clung to Dorian all through the night and well into the next day, stinging far worse than the residual effects of the smoke.
You are just like the Duke.
The comparison twisted inside him, sharp as a blade, catching on ribs and sinew. He had spent years working against the Duke, unravelling his plots, trying to undo even a fraction of the damage the man had wrought. To be likened to him—to that man—was unbearable.
And yet, hadn’t he done exactly what Selene accused him of?
He had made decisions for her, had kept her in the dark, had justified it to himself a hundred times over.
For her safety. For the sake of the war he fought in the shadows.
But had the Duke not done the same? Had he not played god with people’s lives, deciding for them what they should know, what their futures should be?
The thought curdled in Dorian’s stomach .
By the time he arrived at breakfast, the weight of it had settled deep in his bones.
The dining hall was quiet, save for the gentle clink of cutlery and the low murmur of Rookwood’s occasional commentary to Ariella, who hummed in acknowledgement but said little in return. Soren didn’t seem interested in conversation either.
Selene sat across from him.
She looked composed, her hands resting neatly in her lap, but she barely glanced up when he entered, acknowledging his presence only with the faintest flicker of her gaze before reaching for the teapot.
He watched the careful way she poured her tea, the steady set of her hands, the way her lips pressed together as though she were holding something back. He wondered if her words haunted her, too.
But there was no tension in her shoulders, no tightness in her jaw. If she regretted what she had said, she gave no sign of it.
Dorian sat. He reached for the bread and ate without tasting it. The fire crackled. A knife scraped against a plate. The wind rattled faintly against the high windows.
Selene did not look at him.
When breakfast ended, Dorian rose first. He inclined his head to the others, murmured a polite farewell, and left.
He did not look back.
He climbed the stairs to his study, the scent of smoke greeting him as he stepped inside.
Though much of the mess had been cleared, the lingering traces of destruction remained—charred edges of papers, a faint smudge of soot on the desk.
He ignored it, focusing instead on the task of working out what he’d lost. It was no great matter, really.
He’d started from scratch a dozen times already.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” he called.
Selene stepped inside, pausing just past the threshold. His eyes flicked to her, searching her face for some hint of why she had come. She looked composed, but he recognised the stiffness in her posture, the way she held herself like she was bracing for something.
“Have you lost much?” she asked.
“Not too much,” he replied. “I never keep all my important documents in one place.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, at last, she exhaled. “I don’t think you’re like the Duke.”
Dorian stilled. The words should have brought relief, but instead, they lodged somewhere deep in his chest, caught between the ribs.
Slowly, he inclined his head. “Thank you for saying that.”
“But,” she continued, “I’m also not sure at the moment who I do think you’re like.”
That struck deeper. “Selene—” he started.
Selene took a step back. Dorian’s chest cracked at the distance, recoiling at the ice in the air between them.
Selene looked like someone had slapped her, too.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I can’t… I want to…
I want to forgive you, I do, but…” Her words stalled on her tongue.
He half hoped she’d find herself incapable of telling the truth and be forced to hug him instead, as per their contract.
He had a feeling her truth would hurt. At least her touch wouldn’t.
When she spoke again, her voice was quieter. “You aren’t who I thought you were,” she said. “Please don’t come to my room for a while.”
Dorian nodded once. “Understood.”
She left before he could say anything more.
Before he could tell her that he wasn’t sure who he was anymore, either.