Chapter 13
Moonlit Night

Unlike the day she had stormed off in a fit of temper, Layla returned looking every bit the demure young lady. Lounging lazily on the sofa, Matthias watched her.

“I sincerely apologize for intruding on you so suddenly, Your Grace.”

Layla, fidgeting, bowed her head as if to avoid his gaze. Her lashes, thick and long, cast delicate shadows against her cheeks. Perhaps that was why the simple act of lowering her eyes seemed so striking.

“I beg your pardon, but I have something I must ask you.”

After opening and closing her lips several times, she finally managed to speak. But just then, the telephone rang.

Matthias rose unhurriedly, brushing past the startled Layla who instinctively stepped back, and lifted the receiver. It was clearly business—complicated negotiations over contracts.

Layla, wide-eyed, watched him as he spoke. His words were measured, his tone polished, his brief smiles courteous. Yet beneath the civility lay authority, the unshakable poise of a man accustomed to commanding respect. In that moment, he seemed every inch the perfect Duke of Herhardt whom Karlsbar adored.

Then surely…

The suspicion that he might have taken her glasses suddenly felt absurd. Foolish, even.

Maybe it really had been the crow.

Thinking of the nests scattered in the woods, Layla decided she should simply slip out quietly. She dipped her head in silent farewell.

But Matthias turned, cupping the mouthpiece with one hand.

“Wait.”

The single word sounded nothing like the perfect duke she had just witnessed—it was curt, stripped of all polish.

Layla froze awkwardly. He turned back to his call, as if nothing had happened.

As she watched, she realized something new. Even in the midst of easy, affable conversation, his eyes remained oddly still. His smiles hardly touched them. His posture, though, never wavered—always straight, elegant. Even over the telephone, where no one could see him, he held himself with impeccable form. It was second nature.

The call stretched on for several minutes. When it finally ended, Matthias returned to the table and began to jot something down. Layla twisted her hands behind her back, anxious, half-afraid he had forgotten she was there.

At last, his gaze returned to her.

“Speak.”

“Excuse me?”

“What you came to say.”

The weight of his stare made her drop her eyes again.

“Ah… it’s about my glasses. The day I… fell into the water. Did you, by chance, see them at the dock?”

“Hm. Perhaps I didn’t… or perhaps I did.”

Matthias rose slowly from the sofa, approaching her.

“Perhaps I hid them.”

“Wh–what?”

Layla’s head shot up in shock.

“You… truly hid my glasses, Your Grace?”

“What do you think?”

“I can’t imagine you would,” she said, frowning faintly.

“Why not?”

His dark hair shifted with the tilt of his head, gleaming like crow’s feathers. He was amused.

“Because… because that would be cruel.”

Layla braced her feet, refusing to back away.

For days she had scoured the woods with Kyle, checking crow nests, before summoning the courage to come here. Whatever else he was, the duke was at least someone she could reason with. She thought it better to confront him outright—to eliminate at least one suspect, crow or duke. But now she wasn’t sure. His cryptic replies only deepened the mystery. Was he truly someone one could reason with?

The silence stretched, the two locked in each other’s gaze. It might have gone on longer if Hessen hadn’t returned with urgent telegrams and post.

Cheeks flushed, Layla retreated toward the window. Matthias murmured briefly with his butler, then lifted his head and glanced back at her. Though she couldn’t be sure without her glasses, she thought she saw the corner of his lips curve faintly.

“I…”

She gathered every scrap of courage—but he cut her off with a small flick of his chin toward the door.

Clear. Cold. There was no place for Layla Llewellyn here.

“A bird? Since when did you pick up such a strange hobby?”

Riette stared at the gilded cage. Inside perched a golden bird, its feathers shining as brightly as its bars.

“What’s next—will you start training it to hunt for you?”

His joke set the parlor laughing. Even Matthias allowed a small smile. As expected, he offered no reply. While Riette rambled on with more idle remarks, servants brought in champagne.

The cousins had gathered in Arvis for the summer, and tonight’s dinner was followed by drinks among the younger generation. At Claudine’s insistence, the gathering had moved to Matthias’s master suite parlor—a rare concession, given he seldom shared his private space. Perhaps he was more lenient with his fiancée.

Their engagement was, for family, already a foregone conclusion. Countess Brandt had brought her only daughter here year after year; the House of Herhardt had made its intentions plain by openly favoring her. No one was surprised. If Matthias had chosen anyone else, that would have been the scandal.

“That bird must not know what sort of man the Duke of Herhardt is,” Riette laughed as the bird flew to Matthias’s shoulder.

“To love a master hunter—it’s either foolish, or pitiful.”

When Matthias extended his hand, the bird hopped obediently onto his finger.

“What do you think, Claudine?” Riette asked. All eyes turned to her.

“Hm. Let me see…”

Claudine glanced briefly at the bird perched on Matthias’s hand.

“How about… foolish and pitiful, both?”

Her compromise drew another ripple of laughter.

They had known one another all their lives. Their conversation was easy, punctuated by familiar names and shared anecdotes, laughter rising and falling like music.

“And the bird—does it have a name?” Claudine asked, her tone light.

“If not, shall I give it one for you?”

“It’s hardly worth the trouble, my lady.”

Matthias turned his eyes to her with a smile. On the surface, the same as always, yet subtly different.

“A bird is just a bird.”

His words were colder than the gentle look he had given the creature in his hand.

“Foolish and pitiful indeed,” Riette clicked his tongue.

“To love a hunter who won’t even grant it a name.”

The gathering dissolved late into the night, the suite finally emptying of laughter.

Brushing past the servants who came to tidy, Matthias stepped out alone into the quiet. The smile was gone. His face was as still as the night.

The trap was set. Now came the wait. She was not such a fool as to miss it. And if she had noticed, she would not simply let go.

She would walk into it.

Matthias wandered the rose garden, the night air cooler near the river. Moonlight silvered the pavilion by the bank, where he finally stopped.

Inside the parlor, he opened the console drawer. The glasses lay there, gleaming faintly under the moon.

He cupped them gently, as one might cradle a bird, then reclined on the sofa, body languid.

What bait is this meant to be?

He turned the glasses in his hand. The answer was elusive, but he felt no impatience. He would know once the prey was caught.

He tossed the glasses lightly, catching them again and again, while the night deepened.

The moon shone bright.

This is madness.

Layla knew it full well. Sneaking into the duke’s pavilion was not something a sane person would do.

“Forget it. Sleep. Just sleep.”

She paced her room, then threw herself on the bed, pulling the thin blanket up to her chin and squeezing her eyes shut.

“My glasses…”

But again, she couldn’t sleep.

The duke had hidden them. Of that, she was now certain. Why, she could not fathom. But he had.

And so she had to retrieve them.

She sat up abruptly, resolve hardening on her face. Surely he wouldn’t have taken them all the way to the manor. They must still be somewhere in the pavilion.

It was remote, and it was late—near midnight. If she was quick, careful, left no trace, perhaps she could get in and out unseen. The moonlight was bright, the dark not so frightening tonight.

“It’ll be fine,” she whispered to herself, opening her door.

The cottage lay hushed in silver gloom, save for Bill’s snores rumbling from his room.

Snatching the lace shawl by the door, Layla hurried out. Every time fear tugged at her, she reminded herself of all the berries she had picked, all the jam she had stirred until her arms ached—every effort spent saving for those glasses.

“They’re mine, after all.”

The Schulte River glittered in the distance. Layla quickened her steps, her long golden hair flowing with her pace.

The duke is strange, she thought as she walked onto the dock connected to the pavilion. Does he like shiny things… like a crow?

Her irritation mingled with bewilderment as she reached the pavilion. Only then did she realize she had come in nothing but her nightdress. But at this hour, who would see?

Drawing a deep breath, she forced down her hesitation and stepped forward.

As always, Matthias’s expectations were not disappointed.

The sound of her footsteps climbing the stairs grew nearer, and his breathing slowed. Though he had left the door ajar, she lingered outside for some time before finally sliding open a hallway window.

Predictable… yet always with a twist.

Through that window she slipped. Still reclining, Matthias listened as the floorboards creaked beneath her cautious steps, followed by a quiet sigh of relief.

He smirked faintly and lowered his gaze from the ceiling. Soon she crept into the parlor. Stiff with tension, she glanced around, then tiptoed toward the window to begin her search.

His eyes, already accustomed to the dark, found her easily. The moonlight through the open curtains bathed her in silver as she bent over the table.

When she moved on to the cabinet, her white nightdress swayed lightly with each tentative step. Thin fabric clung to her slender calves, translucent in the moon’s glow.

What bait is this meant to be?

Matthias stroked the cold, smooth arm of the glasses in his hand, clarity sharpening within him. Layla reached the console opposite his sofa.

Moonlight traced her back as he studied her.

That woman.

He finally admitted the reason for the trap.

Not the little girl any longer—this woman, Layla.

“Is this what you’re looking for?”

His voice broke the stillness as he slowly raised the glasses, letting them glint in his hand.

Layla, fingers on the drawer handle, spun around as if struck. She clapped trembling hands over her mouth, stumbled back until her shoulders hit the wall.

Matthias rose from the sofa. Moonlight fell across his face, long hidden in shadow.

Their eyes met in the pale, silvery light.