Beneath the moonlight, under the guise of darkness, red eyes peered from its depths.
Lucien sat at the table—fork in hand, knife in the other.
He had done this countless times now.
Yet, the taste never improved, and his body recoiled as it fought what it knew was wrong.
So, he put his hands together. Curling his middle finger and pinky inward.
Then he sliced, the knife cutting through the heart on his table.
The iron scent piercing through him.
Perhaps, he could've cooked it to pretend it was anything other than human.
But a sin is a sin because it is hard.
He must never forget the cost of his power, never distance himself from his sin
So he bit down, locking his eyes with his shadow..
The red eyes glowed in response.
He chewed, each eye a reminder of his sin, each eye a soul.
Each eye a reminder of when it all started.
The time when he lost it all and gained the sin he must bear.
The last time he saw her smile, the last time he ever felt love.
He forced down the memories, the heart, the hand, the smile on her face.
The Devil that judged them both in silence.
He swallowed away the thoughts.
As another pair of eyes appeared across the darkness.
Another soul forced into his shackles.
All for power, survival, and the tomorrow he promised her.
May God have mercy on his soul.
For none should ever do.
———————————
The bell tolled, and the sounds of celebration rang across the streets
The Hero of the Empire, the Hero of the Battle of Flint Ridge, Lucien.
Now, he stood before the golden throne, before the three-pointed star.
The first peasant to rise through the ranks and attain nobility since the founding of the Empire.
"All rise for His Majesty, Emperor Richard the Fourth, Emperor of the Holy Empire of Albion, Vicar of the Three Pointed Star, Duke of Whitehall, and the Patriarch of House Godwin."
Lucien knelt as a man entered, taking small, uneasy steps, his voice ragged.
Lucien looked up and saw the end of the Empire.
Eyes sunken, cheeks caved in, white hair matted with dirt as he limped to the throne of gold.
The crown on his head was unfitting for the man before him.
"Lucien, rise." his voice was a mere wisp.
Lucien arose all the same, "Your Majesty."
"So… you are the one." The Emperor said hoarsely.
His eyes narrowed, "For the Empire to fall so low, to require a peasant for a hero. Disgusting."
Lucien pushed down the revulsion in his chest and smiled, "It is simply my duty, your majesty."
"Then lower your head, peasant, and be elevated to a place few could only dream of." The Emperor unsheathed Gram as he stood over him, resting its blade on his shoulder.
Sliding its edge against his throat.
Lucien's eyes met his, its hollow and dark glow reminding him of his own.
A man who seemed to have died long ago, alive only by the curse others have placed upon him.
Such a thought was cut off as the sword Gram roared with flames.
The flames danced between them, but never burned.
The Emperor's voice roared with vigor. "With your contributions at the Battle of Flint Ridge. You who have led to the annihilation of the Veymarch Invasion. You who have shown these meritorious deeds are hereby granted the name Blackwell.
Gram intensified as the Emperor's voice reverberated like a declaration, "You are hereby known as Lucien Blackwell. Earl of Blackwell County, Margrave of the Eastern Plain, rise! And be known that Gram has found you true, and God has found you worthy."
The flames died. "Now kneel! Beneath the three-pointed star."
The palace hall shook, knees struck the floor.
The choir melodies echoed.
As light bathed down on them.
The people proclaiming. "One God, One Empire, One People."
Lucien stood as the Emperor turned to his throne.
And Lucien turned to meet his peers.
The years of sacrifice, bearing fruit.
———————————
Lucien gripped the insignia in his hand.
A black dog over a red background.
The first one of his house to be ever made.
"Oh? The man of the hour. Why are you hiding there?" A man walked up to him, a glass in hand.
Lucien raised an eyebrow and smiled, "Ah, Duke Fenwick. It is a pleasure."
"Already up to your studies, I see." Fenwick smiled genially. "It seems we'll be working in tandem for a while."
Lucien sipped from his cup, "Of course, I am more than happy to serve with you."
"Almost thought, His Majesty would make you my vassal, but a Margrave? You must be surprised."
"I am, I was not aware of the designation until now."
Fenwick scratched his beard before his mouth curled. "Really? What games are you playing Blackwell?"
Lucien sipped his cup, "I do not know what you mean. Your Grace."
"We had a deal, you upstart! And now I find you, a rank similar to mine?"
"Then why do you presume to order me? Fenwick?" Lucien stepped, mouth in his ear.
"Why do you presume you have the authority to question me? Question his majesty's authority?"
Fenwick's face paled, mana in his hand, "You! You think your fucking county can stand me!"
"I destroyed Veymarch for you; that was the deal. Don't think they won't try again."
"You will regret this, Blackwell. Whatever hold you think you have over the Empire. You will lose it, and I will cast you down as the devil you are."
"A Devil you bargained with, don't forget that." Lucien's eyes glowed red.
Fenwick scoffed. "Nothing but a dog."
Lucien leaned back and bared his teeth, "A dog that bites."
Fenwick left with a huff, face red, teeth gritted.
Though Lucien could understand where the indignation had come from.
His eyes flitted to the crowd; the crowd was watching him like a hawk.
Becoming a Margrave with the ability to raise armies across the Eastern Front was a title reserved for a Duke, or a House with lineages tracing back to the Founding.
Lucien should have known his ascension would have its caveats.
How vexing.
"Duke Fenwick seems quite pissed with you." A voice trickled by his side. "The first time I've seen him walk away like a duck."
He turned to meet it, just to be met with golden eyes that seemed to gaze straight through him.
A burnt scar marring her face, covering her left eye.
Watching all his sins, watching all his schemes, and aware of the souls gazing from his shadow.
Lucien smiled politely, "It is a simple misunderstanding, Princess Solenne."
"Oh? You know of me?" She pursed her lips and offered her hand, scars tracing around her arms. "I was hoping I'd at least surprise the hero."
He brushed his lips upon her scars. "To know of every member of the Imperial Family is a duty."
She grabbed his arm, "Does it involve granting this one a dance?"
"A duty, I am more than willing to do."
"Great!" She smiled, a smile so familiar that something in him tensed.
His hair stood on end, as his eyes stung at the edges.
She pulled him to the center, "Then let us give your crowd something to talk of."
With a spin, she offered her hand, he grabbed it, and intertwined her fingers with his.
Lucien smiled as she stepped closer, her breath soft as she guided his hand over her waist.
She was a whirlwind.
His mind caught up only when the court had already turned on them.
For an upstart to dance with a princess, an unloved one sure.
But a princess all the same, has attracted more sight than he would want.
"Quite the commotion, you've made. Princess."
Her eyes narrowed, "I needed your attention, Your Grace."
"I suppose a letter wouldn't have sufficed?"
"A letter wouldn't be enough." Her eyes locked with his.
And there it was, a gaze so familiar.
Something in him clicked, "Whatever you need of me, Your Majesty."
Her brows furrowed before she breathed out. "Marry me."
Lucien Blackwell spun her on her heels and gripped her waist as she lay in his hand.
He knew not what she had planned.
He knew not what it all meant.
But if that gaze meant anything.
It meant change was coming.
And he'd be a fool to deny it.
"Quite the introduction, Darling."