CHAPTER 4: WATER AND WILDFIRES

Lucian’s POV

The wooden wheels of the family carriage rattled over the cobblestones of the capital road, each jolt vibrating through the soles of my polished boots.

Across from me sat my father, Duke Arthur De Witt. He was a man made entirely of iron, ledger books, and strict expectation. His silvered head remained bowed over a stack of trade manifests, his quill scratching rhythmically against the heavy parchment despite the sway of the coach.

"The grain tariffs in the eastern provinces are rising by three percent," Father said without looking up, his voice dry and clipped. "When we enter the council chamber with Lord Sterling’s envoys tomorrow, Lucian, you will lead the negotiation."

"Sterling’s men will not yield three percent on grain without a concession on timber," I replied, staring out the glass window at the passing forest. "They are greedy, Father, but they are not foolish."

"Then you will make them see reason," Father stated, dipping his quill in ink. "A future Duke of De Witt does not argue with lesser lords. He directs them."

The meeting that followed in the council chambers was as tedious as it was predictable. Hours of old men in velvet doublets posturing over gold, masking their avarice beneath polite smiles and shallow bows. I sat at my father's right hand, offering precise, cold calculations when called upon, playing the dutiful, formidable heir they expected me to be.

By the time our carriage crossed back through the iron gates of Valenridge Manor as the sun began to dip, my jaw ached from the sheer weight of silence. The velvet waistcoat felt suffocating, the formal cravat like a leaden rope around my throat.

I did not head for the main doors.

Instead, I stripped off my heavy coat, tossed it to a waiting steward, and walked straight past the grand stone terraces toward the secluded western hollow of the estate.

Nestled behind a thick grove of ancient oaks lay four acres of dark, rich soil—my private farm. I had claimed this plot of land when I was Eighteen, turning my back on the tutors and court gossips to sink my hands into the earth. Aside from my quiet hours in the library, it was the only place in the kingdom where no one demanded I be a lord. Here, the earth did not care about bloodlines or tariffs. It simply required hard, honest labor.

I kicked off my riding boots, rolled my linen sleeves past my elbows, and grabbed an iron spade from the small timber shed.

The physical strain was an instant relief. I drove the spade deep into the dark soil, turning the earth for the late summer planting. Sweat slicked my neck, my dark hair falling over my forehead as the rhythm of the work slowly washed the cold stiffness of the council chamber from my bones.

Who was she?

The question struck me out of nowhere, as it had a dozen times since the other night.

The girl in the yellow gown. Her image remained burned into the back of my mind with unsettling clarity. She had held her shoulders like a soldier preparing for impact. Her eyes—dark, fierce, and entirely unyielding—had looked straight through my title, straight through the polished pretense of the ballroom. She had danced with me as though I were an adversary to be calculated, not a lord to be flattered.

A ghost in bright silk.

A sudden, freezing wave of water struck the back of my neck.

I gasped, staggering forward as a gallon of icy well water soaked through my linen shirt, drenching my back and running down my spine.

"God's teeth!" I roared, spinning around with the spade held like a broadsword.

Standing on the grass embankment above the plot was Leo.

He held an empty wooden bucket in one hand, a boyish, wicked grin spread across his face. His lighter brown hair was pleasantly ruffled, his forest-green doublet unbuttoned at the neck in his usual careless fashion.

"You looked far too brooding, dear brother," Leo remarked smoothly, tossing the empty bucket into the grass. "I feared if I didn't cool your temper, the soil beneath your boots would catch fire."

I wiped a stream of cold water from my eyes, glaring up at him with dark promise. "I am holding an iron spade, Leo. Give me one reason why I should not bury it in your shin."

"Because Mother would make you dig my grave yourself, and you've clearly done enough shoveling for one evening," Leo parried, sliding his hands casually into his trousers as he walked down the embankment. He paused, looking at the neatly turned soil with a critical eye. "Back from Father’s grand assembly, I see. How were the sharks of the high council?"

"Boring as ever," I grumbled, thrusting the spade back into the dirt and leaning against the wooden handle. "Lord Sterling spent two hours attempting to hide a deficit in his grain tallies, and Father spent two hours pretending he hadn't already noticed it three weeks ago."

Leo let out a soft, melodic laugh, leaning his back against the timber fence post. "A thrilling spectacle. Truly, I am heartbroken I missed it in favor of practicing my cello in the sun."

"You missed it because you rode out to the river at dawn to avoid Father's carriage," I corrected sharply, though the edge in my voice had dulled.

"A tactical retreat, Lucian," Leo replied, offering me that easy, brilliant smirk that managed to charm every matron and maiden in the province. "Why suffer through the politics of state when I have a brilliant elder brother born to shoulder the heavy weight of the world?"

I looked at him—at the casual lightness he carried so effortlessly. We were forged from the same blood, raised in the same stone walls, yet where I was built of iron and duty, Leo moved like wind, untethered by the burden of the line. I envied him for it. I infuriated him for it. But I would have killed anyone who dared touch it.

"Father will expect you at the evening meal," I said, wringing out the wet hem of my shirt. "And he will expect you to look less like a court minstrel and more like a De Witt."

"Father expects many things," Leo mused, picking up a stray turnip from the wooden crate and tossing it lightly from hand to hand. "Most of which you fulfill with terrifying efficiency. Which reminds me... Mother mentioned something quite interesting during our morning tea."

I narrowed my eyes slightly. "Did she?"

Leo dropped the turnip back into the crate, leaning forward with a light, teasing glint in his eyes. "Indeed. She claims that while she was taking her leave near the grand gallery the other night, she spotted you on the marble floor... dancing with a mysterious lady in a rather brilliant yellow dress."

My posture stiffened instantly. "Mother's sight in the evening light is not what it used to be."

"Oh, her eyes are perfectly sharp," Leo countered smoothly, a delighted smirk spreading across his face. "She said you looked quite captivated. In fact, she noted that the stoic, unreachable Lord Lucian—who has rejected four formal betrothal offers this season alone—was left standing alone on the terrace when she vanished into the storm."

"It was a single dance, Leo," I muttered, turning back to the soil to avoid his searching gaze. "Nothing more."

"A single dance with a woman who made you forget your usual icy court manners?" Leo chuckled softly, stepping closer. "Who was she? A daughter of the house of Vance? A cousin to the Earl?"

"I do not know," I said quietly, the frustration raw in my tone. "She refused to offer her name."

Leo fell silent for a short second, his smirk softening into something genuinely surprised. He studied my face, taking in the rare, tight set of my jaw.

"A woman who says no to you," Leo murmured, a soft, amused smile returning to his lips. "Careful, Lucian. You might actually fall in love."

"Do not be absurd," I snapped, tossing a clod of dirt aside. "She was a stranger in a yellow dress. Nothing more."

"If she were nothing more, you wouldn't be digging up this field like a man trying to bury a corpse," Leo pointed out smoothly. He reached out, patting my soaked shoulder with exaggerated sympathy. "Come inside, brother. Wash the mud off. Mother brought home a fresh batch of spiced tea, and I suspect if you stand out here much longer, you'll turn into a statue."

He turned and began strolling back toward the estate house, whistling a light, complex classical melody as he went.

I stood alone in the quiet hollow for a long moment, watching his retreating silhouette. Then, I looked down at my dirt-caked hands, the cold evening air raising goosebumps on my arms.

A stranger in a yellow dress.

I turned toward the high stone towers of Valenridge Manor, glowing gold in the last rays of the setting sun. Somewhere out there, beyond our gates, she was living her life, completely oblivious to the sharp, dark void she had left behind in my mind.