Chains Of The Heart のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 31 - チャプター 40

Damian didn’t summon Nathan to the war room or the council chamber—he met him in the solar, the sun dropping behind the city walls like a dying ember. Lucian was gone. Only Alessio lingered beside the tall window, silent as an old wolf.Damian spoke plainly, as though this were not a decision he had turned over in his mind a dozen times.“You’ll return to your family’s estate in the morning.”Nathan stiffened. “There is still so much to do here. The southern barons are stirring, the council is restless, and half the noble houses are waiting for one misstep to take a side. Leaving now—”“There will always be something to do,” Alessio cut in, his voice neither unkind nor indulgent. "Empires aren’t mended in a season, boy. That is the lie of power—there is never a perfect time to step away. That’s exactly why you will because some things can only be steadied from within one’s own house.”Nathan didn’t argue, but his shoulders were taut. He glanced between them, measuring the unspoken pa

Nathan didn’t know when the quiet turned soft—or when soft turned dangerous.They drifted from talk of houses and strategy into smaller things, things that felt like stolen breaths: how Rowan hadn’t been sleeping, how Nathan hadn’t been eating, how the world felt like it was waiting to split open under their feet.At some point, Nathan shifted to sit beside Rowan instead of across from him. He hadn’t meant to. The bench was narrow, the room colder than he remembered, and Rowan’s presence had always been gravity.Their shoulders brushed. Neither moved away.Nathan didn’t know how long they stayed like that, legs angled toward each other, Rowan’s thumb absently tracing circles against the back of Nathan’s hand. Long enough for the oil lamp to gutter low. Long enough for the window to pale in the corner of his eye.“It’s almost dawn,” Nathan whispered, more to himself than Rowan.His body remembered duty before his heart could argue. He stood carefully, fingers slipping from Rowan’s. His

In the capital, the war room was quiet but tense, the way it always was when only the inner circle occupied it. A broad table was spread with maps, markers, coded reports from the border.Lucian was speaking, finger tracing the southern ridge. “The patrol near the Kelthian pass reported movement again. If Alistair Mercer is—”Damian shifted in his seat.Not dramatically. Just enough that Alessio’s eyes flicked to him, waiting for a cue or a command.Damian didn’t speak.He looked… off.Lucian continued, but slower now, measuring every word. “We doubled the warding lines near the crossing. If anyone tries to slip through again—”Damian’s jaw moved, then stilled. His fingers twitched once atop the table before curling into a fist.Alessio frowned. “My lord?”Damian didn’t answer. A muscle jumped near his eye.Then he tugged at his collar.Once.Twice.As though the fabric had turned to iron.His breathing had changed too—shallow at first, then jagged, like each breath missed its mark on

Damian didn’t wait for the gates to fully open.The Cross guards barely had time to scramble aside as his horse barreled through the archway. The escort behind him reined in sharply to avoid trampling anyone, but Damian didn’t break pace—he was already off the saddle before the horse fully stopped.Servants froze mid-step. A maid dropped the basket in her hands; apples clattered across the stones.Someone whispered his title in disbelief. Another turned and bolted into the manor.By the time Damian crossed the front steps, three attendants were scrambling over each other to find Lady Maria. Footmen scattered in every direction, tripping over apologies and poorly aimed bows. The steward, pale with panic, nearly choked on his own breath while shouting for someone—anyone—to run to the main wing.But Damian didn’t wait for their order or invitation.His boots left muddy prints on the Cross estate’s pristine marble as he strode inside. His gloves were still on, his coat unfastened from the

Damian drew in a slow breath—steady, measured, controlled. Every trace of that flicker of anger, that pang of hurt, was forced back behind the mask he’d worn long before Nathan ever came into his life. When he spoke, his voice was calm—soft in a way that cost him something.“Alright,” he said quietly. “If that’s what you’re afraid of, then breathe. I’m not going to disgrace you. I’m not going to humiliate your house or drag your name through anything.”Nathan’s breathing was still ragged, but the sharpest edge of panic stilled at Damian’s tone. His fists were still twisted in Damian’s sleeves, but his grip loosened just slightly—enough to show he’d heard him.Damian kept his hands gently braced on Nathan’s shoulders, grounding him. “I won’t dissolve anything publicly. I won’t make a scene, and I won’t let anyone think you were cast aside. If your reputation—your family’s honor—is what matters to you most in this… then consider it protected.”He held Nathan’s gaze, even as something un