The morning air was crisp, laden with the scent of dew and the faint perfume of lavender drifting from the castle gardens. Lucien stood on the high terrace outside his chambers, cloak wrapped loosely around his shoulders as he stared toward the distant peaks. Somewhere beyond those mountains, war drums might already be stirring. But here, in this moment, the world was still.
His thoughts, however, were far from calm.
Eiran.
Lucien's pulse quickened at the memory of last night—the way the prince had looked at him, the way their conversation had melted into something deeper than politics or duty. There had been honesty. Fragility. Something close to trust.
And beneath it all, that electric hum of something unspoken.
He hadn't dared dream of it before. That Eiran, the one he'd known from page to page, could ever look at him without hatred. And yet here they were, standing at the edge of something uncertain and infinitely more dangerous than war.
He closed his eyes. The wind brushed through his hair like a whisper.
He couldn't afford this. And yet he couldn't let it go.
---
Eiran stood in the quiet of the palace stables, brushing down his stallion. The rhythmic motion helped clear his mind. He needed clarity, especially after last night.
What was he doing?
Why had he gone to Ravencroft's chambers?
No. Not Ravencroft. Lucien.
He had to admit, there was a difference. The man he had feared his entire life bore little resemblance to the one standing beside him now. Ravencroft had been chaos incarnate, unyielding and cruel. But Lucien... Lucien hesitated. He asked questions. He sought peace.
And for a moment—just one fragile heartbeat—Eiran had believed him.
The way Lucien had looked at him, spoken to him… it was not the gaze of a rival. It was something else. Something that made his chest tighten in a way he didn't fully understand.
He remembered the warmth in Lucien's voice, the sorrow in his eyes when he spoke of the past. There had been no deception. No agenda. Just a man trying to be something more than what the world believed him to be.
Eiran leaned his forehead against the horse's neck, fingers tightening on the brush.
If this was a game, it was a cruel one.
And if it wasn't…
That terrified him even more.
---
The grand hall was alive with murmurs by midday. The Council had been summoned again, this time under the pretext of renegotiating territory rights with the southern baronies. But Lucien knew better. The tension in the air was different.
They were watching him.
Whispers had begun to spread—of his change in demeanor, of his odd new alliances, and most of all, of his growing closeness with the Crown Prince.
He entered with a mask of cold civility, flanked by his ever-loyal steward Garrick. His gaze swept the room, catching the eye of General Strathmere, who gave the barest hint of a nod.
But there were others—Duke Leontis, Lady Myrene—whose stares lingered too long, their smiles too thin.
He took his seat at the head of the long table and let silence stretch.
"Begin," he said, voice clipped.
As the meeting unfurled, Lucien let their voices wash over him. Tax disputes. Border patrols. Trade route sabotage. All important, all tedious. He responded with measured interest, but his mind remained elsewhere.
Eiran was not in attendance. He had sent a message, claiming sword training had run late.
Lucien wasn't sure if that was truth or avoidance.
---
Later that evening, Lucien found himself walking the palace corridors aimlessly. His thoughts were a whirlpool, dragging him deeper with each passing hour. He needed to see Eiran. He needed to talk. To explain. Or maybe to say nothing at all—just to exist beside him again.
He found him in the old conservatory.
Eiran sat among the shadows of moonlit glass and blooming night flowers, a book open in his lap, though his eyes weren't reading. His gaze was on the stars above, visible through the transparent ceiling.
Lucien paused at the entrance, breath catching.
Eiran turned slowly. "You're not in council anymore. Thought I'd get some air without politics."
Lucien smiled faintly. "I'm not here for politics."
Eiran hesitated, then gestured to the stone bench beside him.
Lucien sat.
For a while, they didn't speak.
Just sat.
The night was soft, the kind of quiet that asked nothing and offered everything.
"I used to come here with my brother," Eiran said at last. "He liked the moonflowers. Said they smelled like hope."
Lucien turned to him. "You never mention him."
Eiran's smile was brittle. "He died in a skirmish. One of Ravencroft's early campaigns. I stopped talking about him. It hurt too much."
Lucien's heart twisted. "I'm sorry."
"I don't say that to make you feel guilty," Eiran said quickly. "I say it because... it's strange. I hated you for years. For things you did. Or someone wearing your face did."
Lucien closed his eyes. "I wish I could undo it."
"You can't," Eiran said. "But... you can be different now. You are different. And I see that."
A long silence.
Then, so soft it could've been mistaken for the wind, Eiran asked, "Who are you really, Lucien?"
Lucien's breath caught.
"I wish I knew how to answer that," he said, voice raw. "I'm not the man I once was. Not completely. I remember things I shouldn't. I see people and know how they die. How they hurt. How they break."
Eiran turned to him fully, face unreadable. "Are you cursed?"
Lucien let out a breathless laugh. "Maybe. Or maybe I was given a second chance."
"And what will you do with it?"
Lucien looked at him. Really looked.
"I'll protect the people I failed. I'll change the ending. Even if it means rewriting fate itself."
Eiran's throat bobbed. "That's a dangerous path."
"So is doing nothing."
A long pause.
Then Eiran leaned in, just slightly. "Then don't walk it alone."
Lucien's heart stilled.
And slowly, cautiously, he reached for Eiran's hand. Their fingers brushed. Then curled together.
The touch was simple.
But it meant everything.
---
In the shadows beyond the glass, a figure watched.
Aeloria's lips curved into a cruel smile.
"Oh, my dear Lucien. You think love can save you?"
She turned away, her hands weaving another spell, her voice a soft hum of prophecy.
"Let's see how much you're willing to sacrifice… before I tear it all away."
---
To be continued...
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