He didn't say a word when he left.
Didn't argue. Didn't beg.
Just bowed once - low, slow - like the weight of her words had carved themselves into his spine.
Then he turned and walked away, his boots heavy on the wet floor, dragging rain and silence behind him.
When he reached the outer hallway, he didn't lift his head. The knights posted there stiffened, expecting orders, explanations - anything.
Instead, they heard only five words.
"None of you go near her."
No one moved.
He didn't repeat himself.
He didn't have to. His tone left no room.
The knights exchanged glances, but they didn't speak. Not yet.
The Duke's mood was foul - and dangerous. That much was clear.
He rode back to the duchy without another word. Soaked through. Covered in mud. A silhouette of nobility dragged down by silence.
No servants dared approach when he passed through the gates.
No advisors followed when he climbed the stairs to his chamber.
He closed the door behind him - hard, but not slammed - and locked it.
And then...
Then the walls finally heard what no one else did.
A scream. Not loud. Not long. Just sharp. Raw. A tear in something tight.
And after that - nothing but sobs. Gutted. Shaking. Muffled by sleeves he bit into just to keep himself from falling apart completely.
He collapsed beside the hearth, not even bothering to light it. The cold didn't matter anymore.
...
The Duke's steps had barely faded before the knights dared glance at each other.
No one spoke at first. Not until the rain started again - even then, only in low voices, like the walls might be listening.
"He told us not to go near her."
"At all?"
"Not a word. Not a look. Nothing."
A pause.
"Didn't he order us to find her?"
"Yeah. A few days ago."
"Said we had to do it as quickly as possible."
"So what changed?"
No answer.
"We thought she was some kind of fugitive."
"He made it sound like she was a criminal or something."
Another pause, heavier this time.
"And now we're not even allowed to be near her."
"That's not just strange. That's... something else."
"Did you see his face?"
"Looked like he hadn't slept in days."
"He looked like he'd been hit. And kept walking anyway."
"He didn't even look at us."
One of them shifted uncomfortably. The armor creaked.
"What happened in there?"
"She's not the one who looked broken when the door opened."
A silence.
"He gave the order that got her killed, didn't he?"
That sentence landed hard. No one moved for a while.
The wind slipped under the windows again, brushing cold against their boots. One of them stared at the candlelight, flickering just like before.
"Still. He never shouted."
"No."
"Didn't explain."
"Just told us to stay away."
"And we will."
Another silence.
"But I don't get it."
"Me neither."
The final voice was quieter than the rest.
"She wasn't what we were told."
They all fell quiet again. Not because the conversation was over - but because no one dared ask the real question out loud.