Chapter 33 – Eyes That Were Never Meant to See
The silence stretched.
Sirius stood before the canvas, lost in her.
He didn't turn. Didn't sense them. Not because he wasn't sharp—but because in this room, he let the world fall away. Here, there were no threats. No servants. No eyes. No need to guard his heart.
It belonged to her. And no one else ever entered this place.
His parents had crossed a line. Even if he had left the door unlocked, this room was sacred.
And they knew it now.
The Grand Duke stood in the shadows, gaze fixed on his son—not the powerful young noble the empire whispered about, but the quiet, grieving boy no one else had seen. He took in the soft furrow of Sirius's brow, the way his fingers trembled slightly as he reached for a new brush, and the faint, almost invisible smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
It wasn't just love.
It was devotion.
A private, all-consuming kind. The kind you don't move on from. The kind that breaks you quietly over time.
And yet, the Grand Duke didn't feel sadness.
He felt... peace.
He had feared that his son—brilliant, terrifying Sirius—was becoming too distant. Too cold. Untouchable. A boy who had learned too young how to shut the world out. But now he saw the truth.
Sirius could love.
And he had loved deeply. Enough to build a world for her. Enough to keep her alive in paint and silence and memory.
The Grand Duke's expression softened.
She must have been someone rare. Someone strong enough to keep his heart.
But beside him, the Grand Duchess felt no such relief.
Her eyes moved across the room, taking in the magnitude of it. Every painting, every carving, every inch of space shaped in the image of a woman she did not know. A woman who wasn't family. Who wasn't noble. Who wasn't her.
A stranger.
A phantom who had stolen what was hers.
Her son.
The Grand Duchess had long believed Sirius loved no one. That his distance was coldness. That if she could just guide him to someone suitable—someone the court would accept—he would finally soften. Finally need them again.
But here was the truth.
Sirius didn't need them.
He had already chosen someone long ago. Someone unreachable. Someone not even death or time could steal from him.
Her jaw clenched as she watched him lift a cloth and gently wipe a smudge from the corner of the canvas—like tending to a wound.
That girl. Whoever she is... she's already taken everything.
Not with ambition. Not with games.
But with love.
The kind that didn't fade. The kind that made this boy—this ice-born genius—look so human.
The Grand Duchess had never seen Sirius speak to anyone the way he spoke to that painting.
She hadn't even known he could.
Her hands curled into fists at her sides.
She wanted to turn away. To storm out. To drag him from this place and demand answers—who she was, where he met her, why he hid her from them.
But the Grand Duke's voice stopped her.
Soft. Calm. Warm.
"I'm glad."
She blinked, as if the word stunned her.
He was smiling. Just faintly. But it was real.
"I'm glad he loves someone," he said, almost to himself. "And I'm glad she loved him back."
"You don't know that," the Duchess hissed.
"She kissed him under a willow tree," the Duke replied gently. "I don't need to know more."
The Grand Duchess looked at him as if he'd betrayed her.
"She's a memory," she snapped. "Not a future. Not someone real. What happens when the world starts demanding more from him? When nobles ask about marriage? When the Emperor calls for alliances?"
"Then he'll answer them," the Duke said. "Like he always does. Calmly. Precisely. Coldly."
He looked back at his son.
"But not here. Not in this room."
A beat passed.
Sirius, still unaware, began writing something down in his leather-bound sketchbook. The curve of his pen was delicate. The language wasn't common tongue. Neither of them could read it. But the lines looked like poetry—like the sound of a heart breaking quietly.
The Grand Duke felt something tighten in his throat. His wife turned away.
She couldn't watch anymore.
Not the paintings. Not her son's face. Not the expression in his eyes.
She walked toward the door, and this time, the Grand Duke followed.
But just before he stepped out, he paused one last time.
Sirius was looking at the painting again.
He said nothing.
But his eyes were full of something the Grand Duke hadn't seen in years.
Grief. Longing. Love.
Not lost, the Duke thought. Just hidden.
He closed the door without a sound.
And behind them, the silence wrapped Sirius up once more—utterly unaware that the world he had built in secret had just been seen by the only two people who weren't meant to witness it.