Duke of Fyre (Braving the Elements #1)

Chapter 30

CHAPTER 30

T he longer Lydia was gone, the more pressing and suffocating the silence in Fyre Manor became.

Elias had told himself that Peter needed time, space to explore his feelings on his own. But he was beginning to see the flaws in his reasoning. Peter was only a boy—one who had come to rely on Lydia's warmth, her gentle understanding, and the life she had brought to Fyre Manor. Without her, Elias could see that his son was withdrawing further each day, growing quieter, more remote . And tonight, as Elias stood outside Peter's door, he felt the weight of that guilt pressing down on him.

From within the room, he could hear a soft, muffled sound—a sniffling, so quiet that it would have been easy to overlook. But Elias knew immediately what it was, and the sound pierced him in a way he hadn't expected. It was the sound of a child trying to hold back tears, of someone who didn't want to be heard or seen in their pain. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand and knocked softly, then opened the door without waiting for a response.

Inside, Peter lay curled up on his bed, his small frame swallowed by the thick blankets around him. Mug lay beside him, pressed close against Peter's side, his head resting protectively on the boy's arm. At the sight of Elias, Mug lifted his head, giving a soft, concerned whine, but Peter sat up quickly, swiping at his cheeks, trying to compose himself in front of his father.

"Peter," Elias said quietly, stepping further into the room. He kept his tone gentle, steady, though his heart twisted at the sight of his son's red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. "May I sit with you?"

Peter glanced away, nodding stiffly, his shoulders tense. "If you want to," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Elias crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed. For a long moment, he simply sat in silence, watching Peter, unsure of how to start, of what to say. The right words, the reassurances he should have given days ago, eluded him, leaving him feeling uncharacteristically uncertain.

Finally, after a pause, he reached out, his hand resting gently on Peter's shoulder. "You don't have to pretend, Peter," he said softly. "Not with me. At least… at least not anymore."

At his words, Peter's shoulders began to shake, and he let out a shuddering breath. Fresh tears filled his eyes, and he looked up at his father with a vulnerability that Elias hadn't seen before. "I miss her so much, Father," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Why won't she come home?"

The raw pain in his son's voice struck Elias deeply, more than he'd expected. Without thinking, he moved closer, gathering Peter into his arms. Peter's small frame trembled against him, and Elias could feel the boy's carefully constructed composure crumbling entirely.

"I'm sorry," Peter sobbed, his voice muffled against Elias's coat. "I'm trying to be brave, I promise. But everything feels wrong without her here. The house is too quiet, and nothing feels right."

"Shh," Elias murmured, one hand coming up to gently stroke Peter's hair. "You don't have to be brave all the time, Peter," he said quietly. "It's alright to miss her. I miss her too."

Peter pulled back slightly, looking up at Elias, his face streaked with tears. "You do? You… you miss her?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Yes," Elias said, his own voice low. "I miss her every day."

Peter studied him for a long moment, seeming to absorb his father's words, and a small glimmer of hope appeared in his eyes. "Then… can't we bring her home?" he asked, his voice filled with a simple, unguarded hope that caught Elias off guard.

Elias hesitated, feeling the weight of Peter's question settle over him. How could he explain to a child what he himself struggled to understand? But Peter's gaze held only a quiet, unwavering belief, and Elias found himself nodding.

"I'll do everything I can to bring her back," he said softly, his voice filled with a determination he hadn't felt in days. "You have my word on that."

Peter's face softened, relief evident as he nodded, and a small, tentative smile crossed his lips. They sat in silence for a moment, Elias's arm still around Peter's shoulders as the boy's breathing gradually steadied, the sadness that had weighed on him easing, if only a little.

After a while, Peter looked up, his voice soft and hesitant. "Could you… could you read with me? Like Lydia used to?"

Elias blinked in surprise, but he reached for the stack of books on Peter's nightstand, picking up one that was well-worn and familiar. He settled back on the bed, opening the book as Peter leaned into his side, his small frame relaxing in a way that made Elias's chest tighten.

Clearing his throat, Elias opened the well-worn book, the familiar words sitting heavy on the page as he began to read aloud. His voice was soft at first, a low rumble that gradually steadied, smoothing into the cadence Lydia had used when she'd read this story to Peter.

"In the deep woods, where shadows stretch long and strange, the knight knew he would find his way…"

Peter shifted closer, his head coming to rest against Elias's arm, his small body finally relaxing, releasing the tension he'd been holding all evening. As Elias continued, he could feel the gentle rise and fall of his son's breaths slowing, each exhalation a faint warmth against his sleeve. With each sentence, Peter seemed to lean in a bit more, and Elias felt something loosen in his own chest, a tightness he hadn't realized was there until it began to ease.

The story's familiar rhythm flowed between them, each word a step into the world of heroes and quests. Elias glanced down, watching Peter's eyelids flutter as he sank deeper into the comfort of the tale. And in that moment, Elias could feel the bridge being built between them—an unspoken understanding that hadn't needed words or reassurances, only time together.

As he read, Elias found himself unexpectedly drawn into the story's depth. He had thought of these words as simple once, a child's tale of adventure and bravery, but tonight each line seemed to hold a weight he hadn't noticed before. His voice grew steady as he read of the knight venturing into the unknown, his path winding through shadows that stretched across ancient trees.

"In the deep woods, where light fades and the world grows strange, the knight tightened his grip on his sword. He did not know what dangers lay ahead, but his heart held steady, for he knew his quest was true…"

Elias paused, glancing at Peter. His son's small fingers clutched the edge of the blanket, his wide eyes fixed on the page, hanging on every word. There was something in Peter's expression—a fierce attentiveness, a glimmer of hope—that stirred something deeply protective in Elias.

"Though the shadows whispered fears into his mind, the knight moved forward, step by step," Elias continued, his voice low, resonant. "For courage was not the absence of fear, but the will to walk on despite it."

Peter's grip on the blanket tightened, and he shifted closer, nestling into Elias's side, finding a steady warmth there. Elias could feel Peter's trust, solid and unspoken, as he leaned against him, and the moment filled him with a quiet resolve of his own.

Each word, each turn of the page, built a bridge between them—a connection Elias hadn't realized he'd been longing for. He continued, his voice unwavering as the knight moved deeper into the dark, facing the unknown with a quiet resolve that, tonight, felt personal.

When he reached the end of the chapter, Peter looked up, his eyes thoughtful. "Do you think the knight was afraid?" he asked softly.

Elias considered the question, glancing down at the illustration of the knight standing before a dark forest, his sword raised, his stance resolute. "Perhaps," he said slowly. "But he kept going, even if he was."

Peter nodded, satisfied with the answer, and leaned his head back against Elias's shoulder, his eyes growing heavy. Elias closed the book gently, his gaze lingering on his son's face, watching as the worry and sadness that had marked him seemed to fade, replaced by a peaceful stillness.

"Goodnight, Peter," he whispered, brushing a hand over his son's hair. He rose from the bed, tucking the blankets around Peter's small frame, ensuring he would stay warm through the night.

He had reached the door when hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway. Miss Nancy appeared in the doorway, her expression pale and tense.

"Your Grace," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but her urgency unmistakable. "A message has just arrived from town. It concerns Her Grace."

Elias turned sharply, feeling a chill settle over him. "What about her?"

"She's been hurt, Your Grace," Miss Nancy said, her voice wavering slightly. "Some sort of attack in the street. The message wasn't detailed, but…"

He was moving before she could finish. "Where is she?"

"At her parents' house," Miss Nancy replied, struggling to keep pace as Elias moved quickly into the hall. "The doctor has been sent for, but we don't know?—"

"Have my horse saddled immediately," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

"Father?" Peter's voice, soft and filled with fresh worry, reached him from the doorway. "Is Lydia… is she going to be alright?"

Elias crossed back to him, pulling Peter into a quick, fierce embrace. "She'll be fine, Peter," he said firmly, hoping his certainty would be enough for both of them. "I'll bring her home."

With those words, he left, his mind a whirl of fear and urgency as he made his way to the stables. The grooms were already preparing his horse, alerted by Miss Nancy's instructions, and he swung into the saddle, his focus fixed entirely on reaching Lydia.

"Your Grace!" his steward called out as he passed. "Shall I send word ahead? Prepare a carriage?"

"Yes," Elias replied sharply, urging his mount forward. "And quickly."

The night air sliced across his face, stinging his skin, but Elias barely felt it. The cold bit deep, but his focus was entirely on the road stretching out in the darkness, each shadowed tree and twisting path a blur as he pushed his horse to the brink. Beneath him, he could feel the powerful, rhythmic surge of muscles as his mount strained forward, steam rising in thick clouds from the horse's nostrils. Elias leaned closer, urging him faster still, as if sheer speed could shorten the endless distance that lay between him and Lydia.

Images of her flickered through his mind, hauntingly vivid, each one twisting his gut tighter. Her face, pale and still, as he might find her; her eyes closed, or worse, her gaze dimmed and unfocused. The thought made his stomach clench, a sharp pain that radiated outward, and he gritted his teeth, forcing down the bile that rose in his throat. His hands clenched around the reins until his knuckles ached, but he couldn't release them; if he loosened his grip even slightly, it felt as if he might fall apart entirely.

Each beat of the horse's hooves against the ground echoed the thundering of his heart, relentless and punishing. What if he was already too late? The question tore through him, leaving an emptiness in its wake that he couldn't bear to face. His chest tightened, breaths coming faster and more shallow as the cold night air scraped his throat, but he pressed on, refusing to let himself falter. He could see Lydia's face as he had seen it last—hurt, disappointed, but still so alive, still so… hers. The image seared his mind, feeding the terrible urgency that drove him forward.

"Please," he whispered, barely audible over the wind. His jaw was clenched, and he could feel the muscles in his neck straining as if they, too, were pushing him onward. "Please, Lydia, be alright."