The Duke's Slave Daughter

Dreams of a Lost Face

The air in Duke Azrael’s chamber was cold and heavy, a sharp contrast to the earlier warmth of the hearth, now dying down to faint embers. He lay in bed, eyes closed, yet his mind refused to follow the silence of the room. He turned restlessly, the sheets twisting around him, trapping him in an uncomfortable cocoon. Shadows played on the walls, stretching and morphing into shapes his mind clung to with unnerving insistence.

A soft, familiar voice drifted to him through the haze of half-sleep—a gentle, lilting sound, and yet his heart seized as he recognized it.

“Cytherea?” he whispered, the name slipping from his lips. “Why are you here?”

In the darkness of his thoughts, a warmth bloomed. Slowly, an image formed—a soft glow, almost like candlelight, illuminating a figure he knew too well. There she was, his beloved Cytherea, standing just within reach. Her silvery hair cascaded like moonlight, her ruby-like eyes filled with the kindness and warmth that had been his comfort in darker days. She was smiling, a gentle expression that held traces of both laughter and sadness. He reached for her, but his hand only touched empty air.

“Oh, Azrael…” she chuckled, her laughter as light as a melody. “I wanted to see you… and our daughter.”

“Daughter?” His voice cracked. “What do you mean? Cytherea, what is this?”

But she only smiled, her gaze slipping away from his, looking somewhere beyond him, somewhere far away. Just as he opened his mouth to speak again, she began to fade, her presence slipping like sand through his fingers.

“Wait, don’t go!” he called out, desperation creeping into his voice.

The shadows closed in around him, the light of her presence extinguished, and Duke Azrael’s eyes flew open as he jolted awake, his heart racing, the silence of the room pressing in.

-----

Sleep found him again, but this time his mind drew him into a familiar place—a sunlit meadow from his youth, where wildflowers painted the landscape in hues of violet and yellow. He hadn’t thought of this place in years, and yet it appeared in vivid detail, the warmth of the sun brushing his face, the scent of wild grass and spring blossoms filling the air.

And there she was again, standing in the meadow, her face softened by the golden light. She was as beautiful as he remembered, her white dress flowing in the gentle breeze. He took a step toward her, feeling the warmth of her presence surround him. Her face was peaceful, her gaze serene.

“What do you want, my love?” he asked, his voice hesitant, laced with both longing and confusion.

Cytherea looked at him, her expression shifting, her brows knitting together with an almost pleading sadness. “Our daughter, Azrael,” she whispered. “Protect her. Don’t let her be alone…”

Azrael shook his head. “But… our daughter is safe, Cytherea. She’s here with us,” he assured, though the words felt strange on his tongue, heavy with an emotion he couldn’t place. “Daeva is here.”

Cytherea’s expression remained troubled, and she opened her mouth as if to say something more. But before he could understand the depths of her gaze, before he could grasp her words, she faded once more.

He awoke with a start, disoriented and unsettled, his heart pounding and the question hanging in the silence—What did she mean?

------

Another night for the Duke. Azrael slumped back onto his bed, his mind racing, his breathing heavy as he tried to shake off the lingering shadows of the dream. He rubbed his eyes, as if he could wipe away the images that had taken hold of him.

But, as he closed his eyes, an unsettling realization began to take shape, and his stomach twisted with dread. In that meadow, standing before him, his beloved Cytherea had not been alone. Her face, so warm and familiar, had blended, however briefly, with another.

Urania.

The shock of recognition hit him, anger and confusion rising in a bitter wave. He clenched his fists, struggling to reconcile the face of his gentle, lost wife with the girl he had cast out, the girl he had been convinced was an imposter, a threat to his family’s honor.

“No… not her,” he muttered, a shiver running down his spine as he tried to push the thought away. “Why would I think of her now, of all times?”

But he couldn’t deny what he had seen. For a brief, agonizing moment, he had looked upon Urania’s face, her eyes filled with the same warmth, the same love as Cytherea’s had once held. His heart clenched as he grappled with the impossible truth, a flicker of doubt tugging at his resolve. Had he made a mistake? Had he turned away from someone who—

“No,” he whispered sharply, his voice barely more than a growl. “I banished her for a reason. She deceived us. She is nothing like Cytherea.”

Yet the memory of that look in her eyes, of the unspoken plea, would not leave him. It lingered, stirring emotions he had long buried, gnawing at him with a quiet, persistent ache.

Azrael sat up, pushing himself to the edge of the bed, his hands running through his hair in a vain attempt to steady himself. His chest felt tight, his thoughts racing as he tried to make sense of it all. He paced the room, clenching his fists, a heavy frown darkening his brow.

“This is madness,” he muttered, his voice strained with frustration. “Why would I see her in Cytherea’s place? After everything she’s done… after the lies…”

But even as he said it, he could feel the doubt creeping in. The pain of his decision to cast Urania out resurfaced, mingling with the memories of Cytherea’s love and warmth. He tried to push the thoughts away, but they clung to him, as relentless as the memories that refused to fade.

He stared out the window, his gaze unfocused, his heart a tangled knot of regret and confusion. He had been so certain, so sure of her deception, so confident in his decision to protect his family. And yet…

The voice of his wife echoed in his mind, her words a haunting reminder: “Protect her. Don’t let her be alone…”

Azrael’s shoulders slumped as he looked down at his hands, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. He thought of Daeva, of the trust he had placed in her, of the loyalty he had assumed unquestioned. But as Cytherea’s voice lingered in his mind, a chill ran down his spine, a flicker of doubt creeping in where he had once felt certainty.

“Cytherea…” he whispered, a quiet desperation in his voice. “If I have erred, show me the way.”

But the room remained silent, the shadows unmoving, offering him no comfort or answers.

Alone in the dim light of his chambers, Duke Azrael sat, weighed down by a sense of loss and a heart grown cold, torn between the memory of a love that had once given him life and the shadow of a betrayal he could no longer ignore. The image of Urania’s face, mingling with Cytherea’s, lingered in his mind, haunting him, as if daring him to question everything he had once believed.

----

One morning, Duke Azrael moved down the hall with weary steps, dark circles under his eyes from another restless night. As he walked toward his study, Daeva noticed him from a distance and approached with a cheerful smile.

“Good morning, Father! Did you sleep well?” she asked warmly.

The Duke seemed lost in thought, barely acknowledging her presence. He didn’t respond, his gaze distant as he continued walking. Confused, Daeva stepped in front of him, calling out again.

“Father? Is everything all right?”

He blinked, as if suddenly becoming aware of her. “Oh, Daeva… yes. Good morning,” he finally replied, his voice absent.

Daeva’s brow furrowed as she watched him. What’s gotten into him? she wondered, sensing a shift in his mood she couldn’t quite understand.

Azrael tried to shake off his thoughts, silently scolding himself. Enough of this. Urania has no place here anymore, he reminded himself firmly. Daeva is my only daughter—that’s all that matters.