Dorothy’s hand lingered on the doorknob, and she paused, looking back at Magnus. A wry, almost rueful smile touched her lips.
“In a way… perhaps,” she said softly, her voice catching just enough to make him look at her, “I am like Clytie in this story, am I not? And you…” She hesitated, twisting the words carefully. “You are Helios, the one I can never quite reach?”
Magnus remained rooted in place, staring after her as she lingered at the doorway, her words echoing softly in the quiet room. “What?” was all he could whisper, not fully grasping what she meant.
He watched her go, each step measured and determined, and a pull in his chest begged him to call her back. Yet, he held himself firm, clenching his hands at his sides to resist the urge. Still, her statement, and the question embedded in it, lingered relentlessly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Do you think Helios was a bad person?” Magnus asked, his voice low, almost contemplative, as he leaned against the edge of the study desk.
Rowan froze where he sat, a quill in hand, blinking at him. “Pardon?”
Magnus pushed off the desk slightly, pacing, his gaze distant. “The story—Clytie and Helios. Clytie’s devotion. Love unreturned. Did Helios do wrong? Was he cruel?”
Rowan set the quill down and rubbed his forehead. “I… well, in the end, perhaps it depends on perspective, Magnus. I mean, certainly to some people, he might have done wrong, but it wasn’t his fault that Clytie doted on him.
Magnus stopped pacing and looked sharply at him. “Hm,” he murmured. “That does not help.”
Rowan sighed. “Are you ready to talk about it?”
Rowan stepped closer, voice soft but steady. “I mean, these past two weeks, I have seen you here almost every day, working as though the world rests solely on your shoulders. You have sent for me for the littlest of things, and we have been working without stopping. But Magnus… you’ve eaten little, slept less, and your eyes, they look… exhausted. I have never seen you so unkempt. I mean no disrespect, but you look miserable.”
Magnus leaned back in his chair, stiff and controlled, and said, “Nothing is wrong, Rowan. I simply need to work. To occupy my mind with something tangible. That is all.”
Rowan shook his head, a faint frown creasing his brow. “Do you want to know how I know something is wrong?”
Magnus’s gaze flicked toward him, wary, but he said nothing.
Rowan’s eyes softened as he sat back. “Because Eugenia, the child who barely speaks, saw me when I arrived here a week ago and ran to me, asking where Dorothy was. Do you know how shocked I was that Eugenia spoke to me? I had no idea she had even started talking. This very morning, she insisted on knowing if I had brought Dorothy back with me.” He paused, letting the weight of the observation sink in. “Yet, you still deny that nothing is amiss in your household?”
Magnus exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Dorothy went to her father’s house,” he said evenly. “To spendsome time away. She needed to clear her head. Everything is fine.”
Rowan, arms crossed and brow furrowed, fixed him with an incredulous stare. “Stop it, Magnus,” he said sharply, uncharacteristically serious. “Don’t hide behind that. Tell me what the issue is. We cannot keep working like this.”
Magnus hesitated, the quill in his hand hovering over the desk before he reluctantly set it down. “Very well,” he said, voice low. “We had a slight quarrel concerning the matter of an heir. She required some time away from me. That is all.”
Magnus straightened, resting his hands on the edge of the desk. “Do not worry, Rowan,” he said firmly. “I will speak with Eugenia about it myself. There is nothing more for you to concern yourself with.”
Rowan’s expression softened, though the seriousness in his eyes remained. “Perhaps it is time for you to let go,” he said carefully.
Magnus’s brows lifted, but he feigned ignorance. “Let go of what?”
Rowan pressed on, leaning slightly forward. “It has been many years, my friend. You cannot possibly still be thinking about how your sister?—”
Magnus’s hand shot up, cutting him off. “We are not speaking of that,” he said sharply, his voice ice-cold. “Don’t do that, Rowan.”
“You are the one doing it,” Rowan argued. “More than anyone else, I understand, Magnus. I get why you would prefer that the Fitzgerald name die with you. But Dorothy does not understand that, and I think it is unfair?—”
“I do not wish to work anymore. I believe you should leave,” Magnus snapped, rubbing his temples.
Rowan, knowing better than to quarrel with Magnus in such a state, stood silently and moved toward the door. Before stepping out, he paused and looked back. “You should think within yourself, Magnus. Deep down, you know that if your sister were to discover the reason for your determination, she would not approve.”
Magnus’s glare followed him to the door, sharp and deadly. Rowan gave a small, knowing nod and quietly left, closing the door behind him.
Magnus sank back into his chair, burying his face in his palms as a dull ache pressed behind his eyes. He could no longer deny it. He felt miserable, unsettled, and restless.
Slowly, he rose from where he sat and made his way to Eugenia’s room. Despite his anger, despite his insistence on the boundaries he had set, he knew, with an undeniable certainty, that he needed to be near Dorothy. Even if he could not bring himself to speak to her, even if he would not force her to confront his desires or his choices, the thought of being apart from her made the walls of his home feel tighter, colder.
