The Duke’s Captive Velaryn

"Your Grace, there is no hope."

The words vibrated, pressing against the chest of Orion von Hawthorne as if the edge of a blade prepared to strike. He did not budge, did not flinch, his gloved hands clasped together under chin. Behind the gleaming oak desk, the old doctor stood strained, drops of perspiration collecting at the temple, even as the air turned cold. The fellow was nervous, and well he should.

Orion did not tolerate failure.

"No hope?" he repeated, voice lowered, lethal.

The physician gulped, his Adam's apple prominent. "Not one human woman, Your Grace."

A slow, heavy stillness enveloped them. The dancing flames across the fireplace crackled, casting flickering shadows across the stones, but the flames did little to thaw the ice accumulating in the veins of Orion.

"Not with an adult woman."

So this was it. His penalty. His body had turned against him, just as no enemy had ever managed. He, the strongest warrior in Ebonvale, the one even the royal court feared, could not father an heir.

"And yet," replied Orion, his silver eyes narrowing, "you sound as if there is an exception."

The physician’s hands shook. "There. there is a theory, Your Grace."

Orion leaned forward, predatorlike. "A theory."

The physician hesitated, but under scrutiny by Orion, had no choice but to proceed. "Rumors. Documents, lost in scattered writings. It is rumored only a woman from the line of Velaryn may bear the children of one so cursed."

Silence.

Then, slowly, Orion sat back.

Velaryns.

The word by itself had an effect that was primal, as if an old, dormant past had risen to whisper it in his ear.

He had only ever seen one, ever. In his lifetime. Many, many years back. A little girl, no more than ten, dragged by chains down the streets of the capital like an animal. Moonlight pale. Spun silver hair. Violets, wine-stained eyes. Beautiful, even as a child—dreadfully so.

The nobles had bid on her as if she were nothing more than an exotic jewel one collected. Orion's father had avoided the display, considering it below the level of House Hawthorne.

Years later, the woman had disappeared. Some had told stories she had been sent away to marry an eastern king, while others had stated she had been executed so that she would not cause war.

Since then, the Velaryns had become mere legend.

"Continue," Orion commanded.

The physician nodded hastily. "Velaryns are not human women. Their bodies. accommodate. There are records—few, mind you—of noblesmen who could not father children by their wives but did father children by Velaryns." He exhaled, voice dropping further, as if it was dangerous to say these things out loud. "It is rumored that they are nature's cure for those men who would otherwise remain sterile."

A correction.

Orion’s fingers tapped out the wood. His father’s voice continued to ring out in his head. "A man without an heir is one whose name turns to dust."

He would not permit it.

Orion exhaled, slowly, calmly. "How do I obtain one?"

The physician turned pale. "Your Grace. they disappeared. The last recorded Velaryns had either been captured or had disappeared. Some say that they had been eradicated—"

"Find me one," interrupted Orion.

The physician’s lips parted, only to close. He stopped.

Orion smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "You have one month."

The man winced.

"And if you mess it up…" Orion leaned back, tone soothing. "Well. You won't mess it up, will you?"

The physician bowed so hastily that he lost balance. "N-No, Your Grace. I shall try my best."

"Good." Orion waved a hand. "Leave me."

The physician fled. The heavy doors creaked shut, leaving Orion enveloped in silence.

He leaned back, exhaling slowly, while the flickering flames from the flames cast dancing shadows upon the walls.

A child.

An heir.

Something in his chest tightened, but he could not name the emotion. He had committed years—his entire lifetime—to building his empire unshakable. His enemies feared him. His peers looked up to him. No one dared cross the name Hawthorne.

And yet, none of it would matter if there wasn't an heir waiting to inherit power.

The thought sent an unsettling twist through his chest.

No. He would not agree. If there had to be one, he would locate one.

Even if it had meant reducing the earth to ashes.

Hours passed. The weather had grown fierce, the wind howling through the fort walls as if an animal roamed the darkness. Rain hammered against the glass, an unrelenting beat against the stillness.

A knock at the door.

Orion did not look up. "Come in."

The door opened, and one figure stepped across the threshold, dressed in a black, well-tailored coat, the silver pin over his chest gleaming. Henry. His best, if not only, soldier. The one who had grown up alongside him, the only one whom he absolutely, unconditionally trusted.

"You called for me, Your Grace?" asked Henry, his voice calm, but his eyes flicking over the untouched glass of whiskey on the desk, the only hint there had ever been an issue.

"I need facts," declared Orion. "Regarding Velaryns."

A beat of silence. Then, slowly, "Your Grace, Velaryns?"

Orion finally looked up. "You heard me."

Henry studied him, then gave a slow nod. "Most are gone. The ones that remain… they do not reveal themselves."

"Then find someone who does," replied Orion.

Henry sighed, moving closer. "Velaryns comprehend what they are. They comprehend that they are hunted, exploited, discarded. They will not reveal themselves to men like us."

"Then I shall cause them to reverence me greater than they reverence the earth."

Henry was very still for an unusually long period. Then, finally, he spoke.

"There is a rumor."

Orion’s pulse did not quicken, but an inner quickening occurred. "Go on."

Henry lowered his voice. "Men who venture too deeply into the Dark Forest speak of an creature—a woman covered in gold, untouchable, unseen." He paused. "She is neither human nor ghost. Any who try to approach. do not return."

Orion’s grip closed tightly over the edge of the desk.

"And you think this one is a Velaryn?"

"If it is, Your Grace." His expression did not change. "She is the last one."

The last.

Something darkened in the chest of Orion.

The last one. Entombed in a region from which no human had ever emerged.

If she ever did exist, she'd be his.

A sudden clap of thunder broke the air, causing the fort walls to quake. Henry barely flinched, but it gave reason to Orion.

Fate had decided beforehand. Now, all that awaited him was to claim that which was rightfully his.