Chapter 267: She Knew

She was holding onto it as if it were a physical piece of her father.

Roan froze as the breath caught in his throat.

’She isn’t angry,’ Roan realized, the truth hitting him with a sudden clarity. ’She isn’t throwing a tantrum because she feels abandoned.’

He looked at her dark, tear-filled eyes in the reflection. He saw the unbearable weight of understanding hiding within them.

The Archmage’s brilliant mind rapidly pieced the puzzle together as he remembered her intelligence network and her terrifying ability to read a room.

’She already knew why the Duke is sending her away already.’

’She knows about Count Valerius. She knows about the political war that has been raging, it seems she used her ducks to uncover his plan.’

Roan stared at the weeping, silent child, entirely humbled.

’She knew he was sending her away to protect her. She understood the tactical necessity of clearing the board so the Reaper could fight. And she let him do it. She didn’t fight him. She didn’t tell him she knew, because she didn’t want him to feel guilty for protecting her. She played the part of the angry, betrayed child perfectly, just to make his deception easier to bear.’

The sacrifice of it all stole Roan’s breath.

This tiny, six-year-old girl possessed the terrifying intellect of a ruthless ruler, but she had the fierce, unconditional, self-sacrificing heart of a true Sovereign.

She was bearing the agonizing pain of separation, breaking her own heart in silence, just to protect the man who was trying to protect her.

They were two complete, emotionally constipated idiots who loved each other so much they were actively destroying themselves to save the other.

Roan Charte, the trickster who lived for chaos, felt a hot, unfamiliar stinging in his own pitch-black eyes.

He didn’t speak. He knew words were useless right now.

Roan slowly, quietly slid across the plush velvet bench.

He moved to the side of the carriage, sitting directly next to her.

He didn’t offer a platitude or didn’t try to make her smile.

The Archmage simply reached out, his long, elegant arm wrapping gently around her small, shaking shoulders.

He pulled her gently away from the cold glass, tucking her against his side, offering silent support.

Seraphina didn’t fight him.

The moment she felt the warmth of his arm, the dam finally broke.

She buried her face into the crisp fabric of Roan’s charcoal suit jacket, clutching her package of sweets between them, and finally allowed herself to cry out loud.

The muffled, heartbreaking sobs of the tiny mastermind filled the rocking carriage.

Roan held her tight, resting his chin on her dark hair, his pitch-black eyes staring fiercely out the window at the passing Capital.

’You did your job, Kaelus,’ Roan thought, his jaw clenched, a fierce, protective magic humming in his veins. ’You cleared the board. Now go burn your enemies to ash. And I swear to the void, I will keep her safe until you come back to claim her.’

The Imperial Academy awaited them, filled with snobby heirs and strict professors.

But as the carriage rumbled forward, the Archmage knew that the true storm wasn’t outside the carriage; it was sitting right next to him, and when her tears dried, the Capital would never be the same.

****

The rhythmic, heavy clatter of the carriage wheels against the cobblestone streets of the Capital served as a stark, monotonous metronome to the quiet devastation unfolding inside the cabin.

Seraphina von Nacht’s tears had finally slowed down, transitioning from silent, torrential devastation into soft, exhausted little hiccups.

She remained pressed tightly against the side of Professor Roan Charte, her small hands clutching the lapels of his charcoal-gray suit jacket with a desperate, white-knuckled grip.

Her face was buried in the expensive fabric, uncaring of the wet, tear-stained ruin she was making of his tailoring.

Roan did not move.

The Supreme Archmage of the East, a being of power and chaotic, whimsical malice, sat perfectly still. He kept his arm wrapped securely around her tiny, trembling shoulders, resting his chin lightly on the top of her dark, messy hair.

He stared out the enchanted glass window, watching the golden, glittering spires of the Imperial Capital blur past.

But he wasn’t seeing the city.

He was looking inward, struck by a sudden, bitter pang of pure envy.

’Lucky bastard,’ Roan’s internal monologue whispered, a heavy, sour ache blooming in the center of his chest as he thought of Duke Kaelus von Nacht.

Roan was an Archmage.

He commanded the leylines of the earth, possessed the power to shatter mountains, fold space, and rewrite the fundamental laws of thermodynamics.

He had lived for over two centuries, accumulating wealth, forbidden knowledge, and the terrified respect of nations.

And yet, looking down at the six-year-old girl weeping into his coat, Roan realized that the brooding, emotionally constipated Reaper of the North possessed the only treasure in the universe that actually mattered.

Kaelus had a daughter.

He had a tiny, brilliant, terrifyingly ruthless mastermind who loved him so deeply and fiercely, and so entirely that she was willing to break her own heart in silence just to ensure he could fight his political wars unhindered.

She was a nuke of pure, unconditional devotion.

’To be loved like that,’ Roan mused, his black eyes softening with a melancholic grief. ’To be the center of a universe so bright and fierce. Kaelus von Nacht is the wealthiest man alive, and he doesn’t even know half of it.’

Roan gently, rhythmically rubbed circles into her back, feeling the tension slowly begin to leave her small frame.

As he breathed in the faint scent of vanilla and ozone clinging to her hair, the bitter envy slowly morphed into a deep, incredibly familiar sorrow.

He closed his eyes.

The shadows of the carriage cabin seemed to lengthen, bending toward the memories he had spent decades trying to lock away.

He thought of a woman.

He thought of hair as black as the midnight, spilling like a waterfall of shadows across a pillow.

He thought of eyes like the deepest, lightless void, eyes that didn’t reflect the light, but consumed it, sparkling with a wicked, brilliant, and hopelessly cynical intellect.

He thought of a laugh that sounded like silver bells, and a temper that could level a city block.

Cecil.

The name echoed in his soul, carrying the weight of unanswered prayers.

Roan opened his eyes, looking down at the child in his arms.

It wasn’t just the physical resemblance, though the jet-black hair and pitch-black eyes were an impossible, glaring genetic anomaly in this vibrant Empire.

It was everything else.

It was the way Seraphina narrowed her eyes when she was calculating a scam.

It was the unapologetic arrogance she displayed when she knew she was the smartest person in the room. It was her ruthless pragmatism, her love of pastries, and her terrifying, unyielding loyalty to the people she deemed to be hers.

’She is a miniature, pocket-sized version of her,’ Roan realized, a choked, watery breath escaping his lips. ’She possesses the exact same terrifying swagger, and the same capacity for stubbornness.’

If Cecil had not vanished into the abyss. If the universe had been kind. If the timelines had aligned... would they have had a daughter like this?

Would Roan have been the one brushing tangles out of midnight hair? Would he have been the one suffering the terrifying, wonderful anxiety of fatherhood?

Roan knew the truth. He was not over her. He had never been over her.

Thirty years of magical research, of traveling the continent, of building the Aethelgard Tower into a fortress of arcane supremacy, it had all been a distraction. A desperate attempt to fill the void she had left behind.

He would never be over her.