The forest was silent in a way the palace never was, a silence that brought him peace and Solence, he signed as he walked deeper.
Lucien stood among towering blackwood trees, their twisted roots curling through the damp earth like veins. This place was ancient older than the palace, older than the throne itself. Few knew of it, and fewer were permitted here. It was where he came when thought became noise and restraint felt like burden.
His crimson red eyes darkened, cold air did little to calm him.
He exhaled slowly, eyes closed, listening to the distant pulse of life. The forest did not judge. It did not speak. It only existed and has been his only companion.
When Lucien finally turned back toward the palace, his expression was once again composed kingly, distant, controlled.
But the unrest followed him home.
He had barely stepped into the palace when a messenger approached, bowing deeply. "My king,
Lucien turned his gaze cold and sharp, causing the massager shiver from dear, his head hung low not daring to look up.
"Speak" the king ordered.
word has arrived from the northern territories. The lords request your presence immediately."
Lucien did not hesitate. "Which town?"
"Viremont," the man answered. "They speak of growing unrest and demand council."
Lucien's jaw tightened. Viremont was far. Strategic. Important.
"Send Rowan," he ordered.
The butler appeared moments later, ever calm, his silver brows lifting slightly as Lucien spoke. "Prepare a carriage. I leave at once. I will return in two days."
Alfred bowed. "I will see to it personally, my king."
Within the hour, the palace gates opened. Torches flared as the carriage rolled out into the night, Lucien seated within, already turning his thoughts toward politics, alliances, and blood debts. The palace disappeared behind him along with a presence he refused to name.
---
The servants' corridor buzzed softly that evening.
Aria was carrying folded linens when a timid voice stopped her. "Aria… please."
She turned to see the maid who had caused the incident days before. Her name was Mirelle a slender girl with warm brown skin, soft hazel eyes, and dark curls always escaping her bonnet. She wrung her hands nervously.
"I wanted to thank you," Mirelle said quietly. "And… apologize. I was afraid. I let you take the blame."
Aria studied her for a moment, then shook her head gently. "It's over. I'm still here. That's what matters."
Mirelle's eyes shone with relief. "You didn't have to do that. No one ever does."
Aria allowed a small smile. "Maybe someone should."
From that moment, something eased between them. They spoke as they worked, sharing quiet words, small laughter. It felt strange almost forbidden to have a friend within those walls.
Later that morning, Aria was assigned to clean the king's chambers.
The room felt different without him.
The air was colder, emptier, as though it still remembered his presence. She worked quickly and quietly, dusting the shelves, straightening the bed, careful not to linger too long. His study door stood open, untouched.
"He's gone," one of the senior maids whispered when Aria asked.
"For how long?"
"Two days, maybe more."
Relief and disappointment tangled unexpectedly in Aria's chest.
She finished her duties and slipped out, her thoughts already shifting. With the king gone, the palace would be less watched. Less rigid. Opportunity stirred quietly in her mind.
That night, seated on her narrow bed in the servant quarters, Aria stared at the stone wall.
Two days.
Two days without the king's eyes on her. Two days where guards would rotate, routines would loosen. It wasn't freedom but it was something close.
Her fingers curled into the thin blanket.
Somewhere within the castle, answers waited.
And she intended to start looking.