Chapter 2: The Softest Trap in the Empire
The initial wave of "I'm cooked" finally receded, replaced by a cold, numbing clarity.
If I broke character now—if I suddenly acted like a cold, distant stranger—I wouldn't just be a villain. I'd be a dead man. In my sister's frantic rants, she'd mentioned that the "original" Lucien was a scoundrel who used women as political stepping stones.
"He didn't deserve her!" she had screamed, throwing a cushion at the TV. "He took everything from Sofia—her honor, her heart—and then he tossed her aside to save his own skin during the Scandal Arc!"
Right. So if I pull back now, Sofia won't just be sad. She'll think the "betrayal" has already started. And a woman with the resources of a Grand Duchess and the fury of a woman scorned is a catalyst for an Express Ticket to the Guillotine.
I had to play the part.
"I'm just... overwhelmed," I whispered, shifting my weight.
I didn't pull away. Instead, I did something shamelessly tactical. I moved my head, resting it directly in her lap. My face pressed against the silk of her nightgown, the warmth of her thighs radiating through the thin fabric.
"I'm tired, Sofia. Truly," I murmured, closing my eyes.
"Oh? The fierce heir of House Auremont is admitting defeat?" Her voice dropped an octave, a playful, purring sound. She began to stroke my hair, her fingers lingering at the nape of my neck. "If you stay like this, Lucien, I might never let you leave this room. I'll lock the door and tell the world you vanished into the Mistveil Woods."
Internally, I winced. Is that a joke or a threat? In this novel, it's probably both.
But God help me, despite the looming threat of beheading, her lap was incredibly soft. My lizard brain, the part of me that wasn't currently screaming about plot points, thought: If I'm going to die anyway, this is a top-tier way to go.
"My visits..." I started, trying to sound drowsily affectionate. "They aren't too suspicious? We've been... bold."
She let out a soft, melodic giggle, her hand sliding down to trace the shell of my ear. "You dummy. You've been coming here for months. 'Diplomatic delegations,' remember? Since Alaric is always at the border, I handle the household's foreign relations. You're just a very... dedicated diplomat."
"And if the Grand Duke returns early?" I asked, my heart doing a nervous drum-roll against my ribs. "If he walks in and sees a 'diplomat' in his wife's bed?"
Sofia leaned down, her hair cascading over us like a silver silk tent, sealing us in a private world that smelled of vanilla and impending doom.
"Then I stayed up all night tending to a sudden, feverish illness," she whispered, her lips agonizingly close to mine. "And you, being the noble, chivalrous Duke-heir, stayed by my side to ensure the Lady of the House didn't perish while her husband was away. It's almost... heroic."
I opened my eyes and looked up at her. "A hero who forgot to put on his clothes?"
"Details, Lucien," she teased, her eyes flashing with a dangerous, hungry light. "We can blame the 'fever' for making us lose our senses. Besides... do you really think Alaric would suspect you? He thinks you're an arrogant, posturing peacock. He doesn't think you have the... stamina... to move in on his territory."
Ouch. Even the husband thinks I'm a loser. I forced a small, tired smile and reached up, cupping her cheek. I had to be the lover she expected. I had to be the "idiot" who risked everything for her, while secretly being the man who would find a back door out of this disaster.
"He underestimates me," I said, my voice dropping into a low, seductive register I didn't know I possessed. "They all do."
"I know," she breathed, leaning in. "That's why I chose you."
As she pressed her lips to mine, a single thought echoed in my mind: I need to find a gym, a weapon, and a very good lawyer. But first... I need to survive this 'illness' with the Duchess.