Chapter 15 : The Darkest Night
'What does this bastard think? Using my dear Thalira as a pawn?'
Empress Althaea moved through the palace corridors with barely restrained fury, Senior Maid Zeta following two steps behind. The wine from earlier sat warm in her stomach—a pleasant heat that had been growing steadily more distracting over the past few hours.
She gestured sharply for the guards stationed outside Lucien's chambers to leave. They obeyed instantly. ' Why I'm feeling this so early?despite that I'm active with—' She snapped this thought.
Zeta knocked on the oak door embedded with golden flowers. No response. She tried the handle—unlocked—and pushed it open.
The chamber was empty of its occupant.
They entered cautiously. Used bedsheets lay tangled across the large bed. The air smelled of rose and lavender, but beneath that, something muskier. Recent Luxury. The walls were adorned with portraits of former emperors and one striking painting of Serenya Aurevane, Lucien's mother, her violet eyes seeming to follow visitors across the room.
Althaea continued deeper into the suite until she reached the extended balcony.
And stopped.
Lucien was there, shirtless, holding a perfect handstand in the pale light of a blue moon—rare eclipse turning the usual silver glow into something otherworldly. Muscles defined in sharp relief, sweat gleaming on pale skin, perfectly still except for controlled breathing.
"I didn't think you'd come to my room—" He spoke without breaking form, voice steady despite being inverted. "Especially since this time isn't for anything you're thinking about."
He flipped upright in one fluid motion, landing on his feet with predatory grace. The moonlight caught his violet eyes at an angle that made them seem to glow.
'Hmm.' Althaea forced herself to look away from his body toward the couch nearby. 'This bastard is trying to seduce me too.'
The heat in her stomach intensified. Her skin felt too tight.
Senior Maid Zeta stood frozen, utterly hypnotized by the sight. 'Prince Lucien is majestic. I wonder if he would ever...'
"Do we have anything important to discuss?" Lucien asked, the question carrying implications beyond its surface meaning. "Or should I get dressed first?"
"I'm here to ask—" Althaea's voice came out less controlled than she intended. She steadied herself. "What was on that note? The one that's sending my Thalira to a rebellious state?"
"Zeta." She snapped at her maid without looking away from Lucien. "Go stand by the balcony door. Now."
The senior maid hesitated, then obeyed, moving to the doorway between chamber and balcony.
Althaea lit a candle on the nearby table, needing something to do with her hands. The flame seemed too bright. Everything seemed too intense.
"Ah, so that's what's eating you." Lucien remained shirtless, that torso still glistening in moonlight and sweat. "Not your daughter's actual condition or safety. The Art of Rebels."
He said it like an accusation.
"I—I'm here for my daughter. What do you know about anything?" She tried to establish authority, to sound like an Empress rather than a woman whose body was betraying her with increasing urgency.
"I don't know anything about that note." Lucien moved closer, close enough that she could smell sandalwood and something darker beneath. "It was just an exchange. I behave as the Emperor asks, and in return I get my new maids."
He leaned in, his breath warm against her neck as he inhaled deliberately.
Althaea felt heat flood her face, her chest, lower. She looked away desperately, trying to focus on anything—the furniture, the portraits, the moon—but her body screamed at her to look back at him, to close the remaining distance, to—
'What is happening? I'm avoiding looking at him but I feel like I should lean—'
She pressed her thumb hard into her index finger. The familiar pain bloomed sharp and clarifying. Blood welled up from the permanent scar tissue there, a mark from years of this same desperate technique.
The pain helped. Barely.
"I need to go." She didn't wait for dismissal, didn't finish the conversation, just fled toward the door with what little dignity she could salvage.
Behind her, Lucien had already returned to his training—eyes closed now, feet moving through complex patterns, dodging and weaving against invisible opponents only he could see.
---
Several minutes passed in silence after the Empress departed.
Then Lucien stopped mid-movement and opened his eyes, looking directly at a shadow on the balcony wall.
"Come out, Alcine."
The shadow separated itself from the wall—a figure in black emerging from darkness that should have offered no concealment. Alcine stepped into the moonlight and immediately dropped to one knee.
Lucien wiped sweat from his face with a towel and settled onto the couch. "Stand up. Sit."
Alcine obeyed, taking the opposite couch with perfect posture.
"Master, I replaced her usual wine with Kapiva wine as you ordered." His head remained bowed respectfully. "The dosage should peak within the next hour."
"I noticed." Lucien's tone was neutral, stating fact rather than praise or criticism. "Did you set up the imposter who'll spread the poison rumors in Zyrick?"
"It's done. He'll arrive at the banquet posing as a minor noble from the eastern territories. No one will recognize him."
"Good." Lucien stood and began walking back toward his chambers. Alcine followed a step behind. "What about those Kazzara spies you caught last week?"
"Still detained, Master. What should I do with them?"
Lucien paused at the threshold, his grin catching the candlelight in a way that made it look more like a baring of teeth.
"They aren't part of my plan, Alcine. Do what you want."
The words were casual, dismissive. Three lives rendered meaningless with the same tone one might use to discuss disposing of spoiled food.
"As you wish, Master."
Alcine bowed deeply, then turned and ran toward the balcony edge. He leaped, caught the wall with hands and feet, and scaled the exterior of the palace with the fluid efficiency of someone who'd done this a thousand times. Within seconds, he'd disappeared into shadow again.
Lucien watched him go, then returned to his chambers.
The used bedsheets from his earlier encounter with Stella still lay tangled on the bed. He should probably have them changed before morning, but exhaustion pulled at him despite the late hour—only ten o'clock, but it had been a long day of performance and strategy.
He collapsed onto the bed without bothering to change them, staring up at the ceiling where moonlight painted strange patterns.
Tomorrow, training with Ethelia would begin.
Tomorrow, the game would shift to a new board entirely.
But tonight, he allowed himself a moment of something that might have been satisfaction, or might have been the emptiness that always followed victory.
It was getting harder to tell the difference.