章節 29: Chapter 29 - The Face She Drew
Eira's sleep was anything but peaceful. The dreams came in waves, vivid and fragmented, each one more intense than the last.
A woman's silhouette loomed in her mind, shadowed and indistinct. Her features were blurred, but her presence was overwhelming—demanding to be seen. The dreams shifted, showing flashes of dark eyes glinting with cunning, lips curved into a knowing smile, and pale hands drenched in blood.
There was something cruelly beautiful about her, like a thorn-covered rose.
Eira gasped, the image of the woman's eyes burning into her as the dream dissolved into another scene—a man's voice, low and restrained, whispering her name. Not Eira's name. Callista.
She jolted awake, her breath coming in sharp bursts as she clutched at the sheets. The room was silent, save for the faint crash of waves in the distance. Morning light streamed through the skylight overhead, but the warmth it brought felt foreign, disconnected from the cold knot in her chest.
Eira sat up, the sheets pooling around her waist as she pressed her hands to her face. The woman's image lingered, the intensity of her gaze refusing to fade even in the light of day. She tried to shake it off, to remind herself it was only a dream—but deep down, she knew better.
The dreams had been coming for weeks now, but this one had been different. Clearer. It felt like a warning—a message she wasn't yet equipped to understand.
Eira swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet touching the cool wood floor. Her pulse still thundered in her ears as she made her way to the window, pulling aside the light curtains to look out at the ocean. The horizon stretched endlessly before her, but even the vastness of the sea couldn't quiet the storm inside her.
She crossed her arms over her chest, staring out at the water. This woman—this phantom from her dreams—was tied to Caius. She could feel it in her bones.
And if he wouldn't tell her the truth, she would find her own way to uncover it.
The soft creak of the door behind her made her tense. She turned to find Caius standing in the doorway, his golden eyes as unreadable as ever.
"We're leaving," he said, his voice low and certain. "Gather your things. The jet is waiting."
For a moment, Eira didn't move, the echo of her dreams still heavy in her mind. She met his gaze, searching for something—anything—that might betray the storm brewing within her. But as always, his expression was carefully guarded.
Without a word, she nodded and turned toward the room, her resolve hardening with each step.
If Caius thought she would let him keep his secrets, he was wrong.
The hum of the private jet filled the cabin, low and constant, blending with the sound of Eira's pencil scratching against the page. She was seated near the window, her sketchbook balanced on her lap and her gaze flicking between the faint clouds outside and the lines taking shape beneath her hand.
Caius sat across from her, silent and composed. He hadn't said much since they boarded, his attention fixed on a tablet he held in one hand. Occasionally, his golden eyes flicked toward her, but if he had thoughts about what she was doing, he kept them to himself.
Eira focused on her work, the image in her mind demanding to be realized. Each stroke of her pencil sharpened the woman's features—the dark, piercing eyes, the high cheekbones, and the cruel twist of her lips. The longer she worked, the more vivid the face became, as though it had been waiting all this time for her to summon it into existence.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she shaded the curve of the woman's jaw. There was a familiarity in the face that she couldn't place, but it left her unsettled.
"Callista," she murmured under her breath, the name slipping out before she could stop it.
Caius's head lifted sharply, his gaze locking onto her with a sudden intensity that made her hand falter.
"What did you say?" he asked, his voice as measured as it was dangerous.
Eira's heart leapt into her throat. She clutched the sketchbook tighter, her pulse pounding in her ears. But instead of answering, she straightened her back and lowered the pencil, meeting his gaze with quiet defiance.
"Nothing," she said, her tone neutral.
His eyes narrowed, the faintest crease forming between his brows. For a moment, he looked as though he might press her further, but then he leaned back in his seat, his expression smoothing into indifference.
Eira swallowed hard, her grip tightening on the edges of the sketchbook. She felt the weight of his attention lingering on her, even as his gaze returned to the tablet.
The silence stretched between them, tense and unbroken.
Eira lowered her gaze to the sketch once more, finishing the last few details of the woman's face. When it was done, she closed the sketchbook, the image now hidden within its pages.
Her chest felt heavy as she leaned back in her seat, staring out at the clouds that drifted lazily past.
She had a name now, a face—and a burning need for answers.
The jet had leveled into a smooth cruise, the muted roar of its engines providing a constant backdrop to the growing tension in the cabin. Eira sat with her arms crossed, the closed sketchbook resting on the seat beside her. Across from her, Caius had returned to his tablet, his posture as composed and unreadable as ever.
For a while, she tried to keep her gaze on the window, to lose herself in the endless expanse of sky and clouds. But the longer she sat there, the tighter her chest grew. The memory of her dreams, the image she had sketched, and the name that had slipped from her lips—it all weighed on her, demanding release.
And as she glanced across the cabin at Caius, her resolve hardened.
He wasn't going to keep this from her. Not anymore.
"Who is she?"
Her words cut through the cabin like a blade, sharp and sudden. Caius didn't look up right away, but the slight pause in his movements betrayed his conflict.
"Who?" he asked evenly, not bothering to lift his gaze from the screen.
Eira's fingers curled into fists at her sides. "Don't play dumb, Caius. Callista. Who is she?"
At that, his golden eyes finally rose to meet hers. There was no surprise in them, only a cold, measured calm that sent a shiver down her spine.
"Where did you hear that name?" he asked, his voice low and deliberate.
Eira leaned forward, grabbing the sketchbook and flipping it open to the page she had drawn. She held it up for him to see, her hand steady despite the storm raging inside her.
"I didn't hear it," she said, her voice tight. "I dreamed her. Over and over. For weeks. And now I know her name."
Caius's gaze flicked to the sketch, and for the briefest moment, something dark passed over his expression. It was gone in an instant, replaced by the same infuriating mask of indifference he always wore.
"You've been dreaming of a ghost," he said, leaning back in his seat.
"She's not just a ghost," Eira snapped. "She's someone who mattered to you. Someone tied to you. Who is she, Caius? And why is she in my head?"
Caius's brow furrowed slightly. "Callista has no place in this conversation," he said flatly. "She's a shadow from a past that is mine, not yours."
Eira felt a flare of anger rise in her chest. "You think that's enough of an answer?" she demanded. "I'm your wife, or have you forgotten? This bond—this connection between us—it means your past affects me whether you like it or not. You don't get to decide what concerns me anymore. Stop using this bond to manipulate me."
Caius's calm exterior cracked just enough to reveal the faintest edge of frustration. "You don't understand," he said, his voice lowering.
"Then explain it to me!" she shot back, standing to meet him.
For a moment, Caius simply stared at her, the weight of his golden gaze pressing down on her. Then he rose, the tablet forgotten as he stepped toward her with slow, deliberate movements.
"Your brother's trespass gave me the excuse I needed to bring you here," he said, his tone icy. "But this bond was never about manipulation. It was about necessity. You're the one who turned it into something else."
Eira faltered, his words catching her off guard. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Caius leaned closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "It means you changed everything the moment you stormed into my castle."
Eira blinked, her pulse pounding in her ears as she tried to process his words. "And Callista?" she demanded. "What does she have to do with any of this?"
Caius's jaw tightened, his expression hardening. "Callista is dead. That's all you need to know."
Before she could respond, he turned and strode toward the front of the cabin, his movements fluid and controlled. The tension he left in his wake was suffocating, pressing down on her like a weight she couldn't shake.
Eira sank back into her seat, her grip tightening on the sketchbook. His words echoed in her mind, but they only raised more questions than answers.
The cabin felt colder without Caius's presence, though the air around her hadn't changed. Eira sat rigid in her seat, her knuckles white as she gripped the edges of her sketchbook. Her mind churned with the weight of his words, each one carrying a truth she couldn't yet piece together.
"Callista is dead. That's all you need to know."
The words echoed in her head, but they weren't enough. Not even close.
The soft thud of Caius's boots against the carpet broke the silence as he returned to his seat. He moved with the same deliberate precision as always, but something in his posture had shifted. He looked sharper, tenser—as though he were holding back a tide of emotions he refused to let surface.
He sat down, his golden eyes locking onto her with a coldness that made her breath catch.
"If you have more questions," he said, his voice calm but cutting, "let me save you the trouble. You won't get answers. Not from me."
Eira's jaw tightened, and she leaned forward, her defiance simmering just beneath the surface. "You can't expect me to just accept that."
"I can, and I do."
She slammed the sketchbook onto the table between them, the sound reverberating in the small space. "You don't get to decide what I deserve to know, Caius."
His gaze flicked to the sketchbook, but his expression remained impassive. "You're asking questions about things that have no bearing on you. Callista is dead. She's a memory, nothing more."
Eira's voice trembled with frustration as she shot back, "Then why am I dreaming about her? Why is she haunting me like some kind of ghost if she's just a memory?"
For a fraction of a second, something flickered in Caius's eyes—an emotion she couldn't quite place. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by that same infuriating calm.
"The bond can do strange things," he said, his tone almost dismissive. "It connects us in ways neither of us fully understands. If you're seeing Callista, it's because she left a mark on me. That's all."
Eira's throat tightened at the admission. "She left a mark on you," she repeated bitterly. "But I'm the one who has to live with it?"
Caius didn't respond, his gaze unwavering.
Her hands trembled as she pushed herself to her feet, glaring down at him. "You say she's dead, but she's not. Not if she's still in your head. Not if she's still controlling the way you treat me."
The silence that followed was deafening, the tension between them coiled so tightly it felt like the air itself might shatter.
Finally, Caius rose to his feet, towering over her with a presence that was as commanding as it was infuriating.
"You think this is about Callista?" he said, his voice low and dangerous. "This bond isn't about her. It never was."
Eira's breath caught as he stepped closer, his golden eyes boring into hers.
"It's about you," he continued, his voice softening just enough to send a shiver down her spine. "And whether or not you're strong enough to handle what this bond demands of you."
For a moment, she didn't move, her pulse pounding in her ears as his words sank in. Then, before she could respond, Caius stepped past her, his shoulder brushing hers as he strode toward the back of the cabin.
Eira clenched her fists at her sides, her frustration boiling over. "You can't keep shutting me out!" she shouted after him, her voice cracking. "You can't keep running from your past, Caius. It'll catch up to you, whether you like it or not."
He didn't turn back, didn't even pause as he disappeared through the door, leaving her alone with the weight of her unanswered questions.
Eira sank back into her seat, the sketchbook lying forgotten on the table. Her chest ached with the weight of his words, but one thought burned brighter than the rest.
Callista wasn't just a memory. She was something more.
And Eira was determined to find out exactly what.
The rest of the flight passed in strained silence. Eira stayed in her seat, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as the jet hummed steadily through the sky. The closed sketchbook sat on the table in front of her, a symbol of everything left unsaid.
She refused to look toward the back of the cabin, where Caius had retreated. If he wanted distance, she would give it to him—but not without consequence.
Her thoughts swirled with fragments of their confrontation. His words had been cutting, but they also revealed cracks in the armor he so carefully maintained. Caius wasn't as unaffected as he wanted her to believe, and Callista's shadow loomed larger than he would ever admit.
The jet began its slow descent, the soft change in pressure signaling they were nearing their destination. Eira stared out the window, watching as the clouds parted to reveal the dark expanse of the city below. The castle would be waiting for them, its cold halls filled with secrets and whispers.
Secrets she was no longer willing to tolerate.
A soft rustle of fabric made her stiffen, and she glanced over to see Caius emerging from the back of the cabin. His face was impassive, his golden eyes unreadable as he crossed the space and took his seat across from her.
Neither of them spoke.
The tension between them was thick, heavy with unspoken words and unfinished arguments. Eira met his gaze, her own defiance sparking despite the exhaustion settling in her bones.
Caius's jaw tightened slightly, and he looked away first, turning his attention to the window.
The jet touched down smoothly, the sudden jolt of wheels against the runway breaking the silence. Caius stood immediately, straightening his cuffs with a precision that felt almost mechanical.
"Stay close when we return," he said, his voice low and curt. "The court will be watching."
Eira rose to her feet, her movements deliberate as she reached for the sketchbook. She clutched it tightly against her chest, her gaze never leaving his.
"I'm not afraid of them," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "And I'm not afraid of your past, either."
Caius's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. For a moment, it seemed like he might respond, but instead, he turned and headed for the exit.
Eira followed, her steps steady as she descended the narrow staircase and stepped onto the tarmac. The cool night air hit her like a wave, but it did little to ease the fire burning in her chest.
The castle loomed in the distance, its shadow stretching long and dark across the horizon.
Eira tightened her grip on the sketchbook, her resolve hardening with each step.
Callista might be gone, but her presence lingered like a ghost. And Eira was done letting it dictate her life.
One way or another, she would uncover the truth.
創作者的想法 
JadedButCute
JadedButCute Heya! Okay, so this chapter had everything: cryptic dreams, fiery confrontations, and Caius being his usual impossible self. Seriously, is it just me, or does he have a talent for giving answers that are somehow more frustrating than silence? Poor Eira—she’s out here demanding truths, and he’s playing mystery man.
But let’s talk—what’s your take on Callista? A ghost of the past or something more? And Caius… do we love him, hate him, or maybe both? I think I'm leaning towards both. lol Let me know in the comments!
Like it ? Add to library！:)
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