Count Rodhe's ledgers, the evidence of his treason and embezzlement, were stacked high on the mahogany surface, delivered by the terrified Count earlier.
Kaelus pulled the heavy chair out, sitting down so that he was directly facing the bed. He unbuttoned the high collar of his coat, resting his hands on the armrests.
"I will be exactly here when you open your eyes," Kaelus promised. His violet eyes glowed faintly in the dark, a silent vigil. "Nothing will cross this threshold."
Seraphina looked at him through the gloom. He looked like a dark gargoyle, a terrifying guardian carved from shadow and steel.
To anyone else, it would be a nightmare, but to her, it was the most beautiful sight in the world.
Relieved, safe, and finally unburdened by the fear of the unseen, Seraphina closed her eyes. Her breathing evened out, slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep within seconds.
The room fell entirely silent, save for the soft rhythm of her breathing.
Kaelus did not touch the ledgers. He did not read the reports.
He sat in the chair, as still as a statue, and watched the small, rhythmic rising and falling of the duvet.
His mind was a storm. The reality of what he had just done was settling in.
He had bound a civilian, a child, to his soul and introduced a massive vulnerability into his meticulously guarded life.
He had enemies who would spend decades trying to exploit what he had just created in a few minutes.
It was a tactical error, a strategic nightmare.
And yet, as he listened to the soft breathing of the little mushroom who had refused to let go of his coat, Kaelus von Nacht felt something he hadn't felt since he was a young boy freezing in the Northern wastes.
He felt a terrifying, overwhelming warmth.
The cold persona did not fall away. His face remained an impassive mask.
But as he sat in the dark, standing guard over a sleeping six-year-old, the Archduke knew that the ice around his heart had definitively cracked, and there was absolutely no magic in the world that could freeze it back together.
***
The morning sun did not gently peek through the curtains of Count Rodhe's guest suite; it aggressively invaded, slicing through the small gap Kaelus had left in the heavy velvet drapes.
Seraphina groaned, a tiny, rumbling sound of pure protest.
She burrowed deeper into the mattress, pulling the massive, fur-lined cape over her head to block out the offensive light.
For a few blissful minutes, she hovered in that warm, twilight state between sleep and wakefulness.
She felt safe.
The oppressive, gray fog of the cursed estate was nowhere to be found, completely scrubbed from the room by the lingering, metallic scent of the Duke's mana.
But eventually, a six-year-old's bladder and stomach wait for no one.
She poked her head out from under the heavy wool. The room was bright, quiet, and completely empty.
The heavy oak chair sitting opposite the bed, where the Reaper of the North had spent the entire night maintaining a terrifying, unblinking vigil, was vacant.
"Papa Duke?" Seraphina mumbled, her voice raspy from sleep.
There was no answer.
She sat up, rubbing her eyes with the back of her small fists.
She looked down at herself.
She was still wearing the slightly oversized, white cotton nightgown the orphanage had provided, now hopelessly wrinkled.
But the true disaster was located on top of her head.
Due to tossing, turning, and sweating out the spiritual terror of the previous day, Seraphina's dark hair had completely defied the laws of gravity.
It was sticking out in every conceivable direction, a chaotic, static-filled bird's nest that made her look remarkably like a startled hedgehog.
She wriggled to the edge of the massive bed, her short legs dangling in the air, then slid down, her bare feet hitting the cold hardwood floor with a soft pat.
Leaving the oversized cape on the mattress, she padded over to the heavy double doors, reached up on her tiptoes, and grabbed the ornate brass handle.
With a grunt of effort, she pulled the door open and peeked out into the hallway.
Standing at absolute attention, his silver armor polished to a mirror shine, was Sir Gallahan.
He had a hand resting casually on the hilt of his broadsword, his face set in the stoic, unreadable mask of an elite knight of the Black Bastion.
He looked ready to deflect an assassin's arrow or wrestle a bear to the ground.
Then, he looked down.
At the bottom of the doorway stood a tiny, sleepy creature.
Her eyes were half-closed, her cheeks were flushed a soft, warm pink from sleep, and her hair was an absolute, catastrophic mess.
She was clutching the doorframe with tiny fingers, swaying slightly on her feet as if gravity were a mere suggestion.
Bang! Boom!
Critical hit.
Inside Sir Gallahan's chest, the hardened heart of a veteran warrior completely flatlined, only to restart at triple the speed.
'By the Gods,' Gallahan screamed internally, his stoic mask cracking violently. 'What is this? Why is she so small? Why is her hair like that? It's a crime! It's an imperial crime to be this adorable! Must... maintain... knightly... dignity!'
Gallahan bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted copper.
He stiffened his spine, fighting the overwhelming, primal urge to drop to his knees, scoop the child up, and aggressively squish her cheeks.
"G-good morning, Lady Seraphina," Gallahan choked out, his voice an octave higher than usual. He cleared his throat loudly. "Did you sleep well?"
Seraphina blinked slowly, tilting her head. "Where did Papa Duke go?"
Gallahan nearly had a second heart attack.
Papa Duke...!!!
She actually called the most terrifying warlord on the continent 'Papa'!
If the other knights heard this, they would spontaneously combust.
"His Grace had... urgent business to attend to early this morning," Gallahan managed to say, offering a strained, polite smile that looked more like a grimace of physical pain. "He instructed me to guard your door until you woke."