The chamber smelled of smoke and silk, heavy with the kind of silence that only followed violence-or desire.
Priscilla sat upon the edge of her bed, hair cascading over her bare shoulders, her crimson gown slipping down like spilled wine. Her eyes, cold and sharp as blades, locked on the man kneeling before her.
Lucas.
His shirt was gone, revealing a body scarred by steel and whip alike. His muscles were taut, trembling not from fear but from the anticipation of her touch.
"Closer," she commanded.
He obeyed without hesitation, crawling forward until his knees touched the hem of her gown. His breath was uneven, but his gaze stayed lowered, fixed on her legs as though they were holy ground.
Her fingers slid through his hair, tightening suddenly, yanking his head back so he was forced to meet her eyes. "Tell me, Lucas," she whispered, her lips a breath away from his. "Why do you crave this?"
His voice was rough, honest. "Because even when you hurt me... I am yours. And I would rather be broken by you than touched by anyone else."
Her mouth curved into something cruel, something dangerous. She kissed him then, not with tenderness but with fire, her teeth grazing his lip hard enough to draw blood. His groan was swallowed into her mouth, his hands fisting against the sheets though he never once resisted.
She pushed him back onto the bed, straddling him with the same authority she wielded in the throne room. Every movement was deliberate, claiming, as though she were proving again and again that he belonged only to her.
When her nails dug into his chest, leaving angry red trails across his skin, he arched into the pain as though it were a gift. When she bit his neck, he gasped, not in protest but in surrender.
She took what she wanted from him, merciless and relentless, until sweat slicked their bodies and the sound of ragged breathing filled the chamber. To her, he was not a lover-he was a weapon to be used, a body to exhaust, a need to be satisfied.
And to him, every cruel kiss, every whip of her tongue, every moment of her weight pressing him down was salvation.
When it was over, Priscilla rose first, adjusting her gown, her expression already hardened back into ice. She glanced down at him-bruised, panting, marked by her hands-and her lips curled faintly.
"As usual you did well" she said this coldly as she walked towards his still naked body "but do not mistake this for affection" her finger traced his face like a predictor studying it's prey.
He leaned into her touch "you mean everything to me your highness, not even silver and cold can be measured to the love I have for you"
Her laughter was soft and cruel, filling the chambers like poison. She turned her back on him already dismissing him as though their intimacy meant nothing at all. But to Lucas it meant Everything.
Eight years ago.
The village square was alive with noise, merchants calling, children laughing, guards keeping the streets orderly. Princess Priscilla walked with her retinue, only thirteen but already commanding silence wherever she stepped.
That was when she saw him.
A boy of fifteen, forced to his knees by two guards, his face bloodied, his eyes unbroken. He had struck a noble's son-a crime worthy of death.
Priscilla stopped, her sharp gaze cutting across the crowd. "What has he done?"
The guards bowed. "Your Highness, he dared raise his hand against a noble."
The boy spat blood onto the ground. "I raised my hand against a coward who beat a child half his size. Call it treason if you wish."
The villagers gasped, horrified. Yet the princess did not recoil. She studied him, her expression unreadable, and then commanded:
"Release him."
The guards hesitated. "But, Your Highness-"
Her voice snapped like a whip. "Do as I say."
The boy stood, chin high despite his wounds. She stepped closer, her crimson gown brushing against the dirt.
"What is your name?" she asked.
"Lucas Darcy."
Priscilla leaned close, her voice low and cold. "You interest me, Lucas Darcy. Do not waste that fire. One day, I may have need of it."
Then she turned, her gown sweeping the dust, leaving him behind.
But her words branded themselves into him, deeper than any scar. And from that day on, Lucas Darcy belonged to her-body, soul, and heart. Eight years has passed since that day in the village. Eight years of loyalty, blood and chains he had willingly fastened around himself.
NOW
Immediately the sun had risen soldiers were already lined up and ready for battle awaiting for the Empress command.
"Your Highness we are ready" said Lucas who was also dressed in his best armor, and in his right hand held his sharped headed sword. A black hair knight rushed forward "Commander we have report that the Kingdom of Rauthen are already matching forward towards Calmaria"
"Then we have no more time to waste" Lucas Said.
"The kingdom of Rauthen are so little yet they seek war, then so be it kill them all but don't touch their King I want to use my blade to cut off his head"
"Then expect the king of Rauthen begging at your feet" with that Lucas turned towards the awaiting knights with his sword ready to destroy whatever comes it's way.
----
The war with Rauthen did not last a day. Calmaria's force overwhelmed them-numbers, training, hunger for victory all tipped the scale. Men fell; banners burned; the seas carried debris back to shore.
When the dust settled, banners of Calmaria flew where Rauthen's had once been. Lucas wiped blade and blood, the taste of war already familiar. He thought of the chamber and the way her hand had traced his face. He thought of a promise spoken long ago in a dusty square.
The war chamber was thick with incense and fear. The long table stretched with generals and nobles, their jeweled rings trembling as they lifted goblets of wine they dared not drink.
At the head sat Priscilla, her crimson gown glinting like fresh blood beneath the torches. Lucas stood at her side, armored, unyielding, his presence as sharp as his blade.
"Victory," she said at last, her voice cool, measured. "Rauthen's king kneels headless in his own square. Calmaria has grown stronger." "we've always been stronger, were are an Empire and what is Rauthen? Not more than a little village, and you and I know that it was obvious from the beginning who was going to win, and you still seek war. So tell me King Ferran who sent you to your death?"
The king of Rauthen stammered face pale. I--I don't know what you mean" he lied, even if his eyes betrayed him. 'ohh really how nice of you, you and I know am no fool and I have you a chance to confess but still you decided to be a coward and now you die" with that his head was cut off rolling off his neck with blood falling off my blade. No one could make any noise as everyone watched in silence and fear.
"Rejoice for Calmaria has won another battle" Priscilla's lips curved faintly but there was no warmth in it.
The victory parade thundered through the streets that afternoon.
Trumpets blared. Drums shook the earth. Soldiers marched in perfect unison, their blades flashing in the sun. The people crowded the avenues, tossing flowers, crying out her name.
"All hail the Empress!"
"Long live Priscilla!"
Yet their cries were heavy with awe, with fear. They loved her because they had no choice-because she alone had kept Calmaria safe, because she alone had shown the world what it meant to defy her.
Priscilla rode a black stallion, her crown gleaming like fire. Lucas rode just behind her, his face hard, proud, his heart swelling as the people shouted. To him, this was proof of her greatness, of why he had chosen to kneel to her.
But through it all, she never once turned to look at him.
----
That night, the halls of the palace fell silent again.
The Empress dismissed her attendants, dismissing even the flickering warmth of candles until only shadows kept her company. Lucas entered her chambers, still carrying the scent of steel and blood.
He knelt before her, unarmored, vulnerable.
"My Empress I heared you've been skipping your meals and even fainted when I was at battle" For a long moment her face For a long moment, her face was unreadable. Then, slowly, she rose, her silk gown whispering as she crossed to him. Her fingers brushed his cheek, deceptively soft.
"The matters of Calmaria can't solve their selves so I have no time to eat"
"But you might fall I'll" he said leaning Into her touch as he kissed her cold and scared palm.
"You should go rest, we will be having a visitor tomorrow, the crown Princess" she finally pulled away letting the dim night light from the window cast down on her face, like as if she's trying to hide a truth.
"At least can I spend the night on your bed I don't mind sleeping on the floor I just want to be close to you, st least I deserve some affection after winning the battle My Majesty" even if he knew he was being foolish but, they both no he won't leave till she gives in"
"Do whatever you want" her words weren't straightforward or sincere buy it was enough for him to smile like a child given a candy.