"Princess! Wait! Elle!" The desperate plea hung in the air, tinged with a nervous tremor. Chris's cheeks flushed crimson. He used my name, Elle thought, a flicker of surprise amidst her rising impatience. She paused, her red heels clicking softly on the polished floor. Chris, a classmate and a few months her junior, both fifteen, had asked her to meet him at the palace's garden at three. It was a novelty, a boy daring to approach her without the usual fear. Elle, ever punctual, had arrived with meticulous care, the crimson dress a perfect fit, her makeup flawless, the jewelry shimmering, and her hair a cascade of carefully styled curls of gold. She had wanted to look perfect, for herself, and for him a little. He was handsome, undeniably, and she had allowed herself a sliver of hope.
But two minutes stretched into an eternity, a silent tableau of awkward stares. Her patience snapped. "What? Aren't you going to say anything?" She demanded, her voice edged with frustration. No compliments, no tentative steps closer, just a frozen silence. She knew what he wanted, or thought she did. A simple declaration, a touch, and she would have granted him his desire. She craved the experience, the elusive sensation of love she had only read about. Yet, he remained a statue, pathetic in his hesitation. A disappointment. She turned to leave, the click of her heels a sharp punctuation mark. He had used her name then, a last ditch effort. She turned back to face him, the son of a congressman, a lineage that should have instilled pride, not this crippling timidity.
The memory, a bitter aftertaste, dissolved as Lucian's voice, sharp as a honed blade, sliced through the air. "She is mine." His autumn eyes, the color of dying leaves, blazed with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine, like an ember igniting a wildfire. He stood between her and Boris, a wall of protective possessiveness, his fists clenched, the tension in his body a tangible force, a coiled spring ready to unleash the fury of a storm. "Mine alone," he hissed, the words a low, guttural promise.
His declaration, so unlike Chris's hesitant stutter, sent a wave of heat through Elle. Her winter, always embracing that pathetic autumn display and refusing to give the stage to spring, now felt the warmth of the true summer. It melted. Had he really just said that? Her heart hammered against her ribs, her breath catching in her throat. This man, with his raw power and unyielding gaze, had claimed her, again, and he looked like he was going to fight the world for her… again.
"I can see that," Boris chuckled, a low rumble in the technologically charged air. Drones, his creations, whirred in the background, assembling intricate tools and devices. Boris's left arm, a gleaming chrome prosthetic, and his right leg, a complex network of wires and hydraulics, moved with fluid precision. "Her scent is... interesting, Lucian. She managed to drag my attention to her."
"I can see that," Lucian grunted.
"Oh, please, not in that way. She is very beautiful," Boris said, his gaze lingering on Elle. "But my feelings inspire me to want to learn more about her, unlike you who only want to breed her. Does she know?"
"She's well aware," Lucian replied, a hint of amusement easing his hostility.
"Then she is your woman, like the news said… I can't believe it!" Boris said. "Congratulations, I guess."
"She is not," Lucian corrected, flat.
"But you just said that she is yours," Boris repeated with concern in his eyes.
"Exactly," Lucian said with a hint of a smile finally playing on his lips. Boris's eyes widened, comprehension dawning.
"You think you're fighting your DNA," his laughter echoing through the workshop. "How foolish you could be, captain? The moment you found her, your DNA won."
"Say whatever you want," Lucian said, his gaze unwavering. "As long as you do your job."
"I will, I will, I'm just stating a fact," Boris said, his muscular frame, as tall as Lucian's, suggesting a shared lineage. "Another batch of tier one keys?"
"A tier four key," Lucian corrected.
"What?!" Boris exclaimed, his disbelief clear. He stepped closer, his cybernetic limbs whirring softly, and Elle felt a certainty, a primal instinct, that this man was also a Praetorian. Boris studied her again and then looked at Lucian. "Very interesting! She's engineered for Quantum affinity. Fascinating! Why would the Aethera work on a beautiful creature like her?"
"Arthur Devereux asked them," Lucian replied.
"Oh," Boris said, understanding. "Makes sense."
"What? You know my father?" Elle asked. She loved he father, but there was some dark irony in that love because she knew little of him.
"Boris was his teacher," Lucian revealed, his words sending a jolt through Elle. Her father's teacher? This crippled man?
"Child, do you have brothers?" Boris asked in a casual tone but Elle could tell that this question was very important.
"No," Elle replied, deciding that it would be better to be honest with the man who forged her father.
"I see..." Boris continued, his gaze thoughtful. "How many sisters do you have?"
"Ah... I don't know, the last time we counted, almost three hundred," she answered, a hint of disdain in her voice. "But Father always acquires new women, and new children are born."
"Of course," Boris said with pity in his voice. "He keeps trying to make his own Praetorians…" He sighed. "What a silly boy... Well… It is what it is." His eyes went towards Lucian. "As for that key, Lucian. No."
"Tier three then?" Lucian countered. "And a good batch of tier one keys."
"I only have enough materials for a tier two key," Boris said, his tone apologetic. "And yes, I have a batch of tier ones ready."
"Perfect. Add to that one a second batch then, and that tier two key," Lucian stated, his voice leaving no room for argument.
"Alright. Anything else?" Boris asked, his gaze flickering between Lucian and Elle, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. He could see something that made him smile.
"How much would it cost for a tier four?" Lucian persisted, his jaw tightening.
"First," Boris began, laced with a hint of exasperation, "we don't have access to Aetherita dense enough to contain a Quantum reaction of such a level. Second, even with her being your woman, nothing guarantees her mental stability exposed to such raw Quantum Energy, so I won't risk giving divine powers to a child." He paused, his gaze softening as he looked at Elle. "Third, crafting a level four would blow my cover. I enjoy living here."
"I knew it! You are like him!" Elle declared with a mix of accusation and reluctant admiration.
"Yes, I am a Praetorian, Child. I am Boris S-RM124. Nice to meet you," Boris introduced himself, his green eyes, surprisingly tender for a warrior, looking at her with a grandfatherly warmth. His artificial hand, with its intricate network of delicate joints, moved with surprising grace, removing a couple of stray black threads of hair from his field of view.
"Elle Devereux," Elle replied with a newfound respect. She executed a graceful reverence, a movement as princess-like as her upbringing demanded.
"Arthur is not going to stop until he gets his daughter back, Lucian," Boris warned with concern. "Especially if he's well aware of her potential, which I'm sure he is."
"How long until the tier two keys and the second batch of ones are ready?" Lucian asked, ignoring the warning.
"One hour," Boris replied, his gaze unwavering.
"Price?"
"Twenty."
Lucian placed twenty gleaming gold ingots on Boris's desk, the metallic clink echoing through the workshop.
"The Spanish Empire paid really well, huh?" Boris chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "I should contact them and offer them my service too."
"We'll be back in one hour, Boris," Lucian stated, turning to leave.
"Everything will be ready by then," Boris assured them. "Any particular design for the tier two key?"
"A ring of ouroboros," Lucian said, his gaze lingering on Elle's hand. "With Aetherita eyes."
"Good choice," Boris murmured, a knowing smile playing on his lips.
"Elle, give him a drop of blood, or hair, whatever you prefer," Lucian instructed, his voice calm and authoritative.
"What? Why?" Elle questioned, her brow furrowing.
"Nothing serious. Just so I could weave the bond between your key and you," Boris explained.
Elle's eyes flickered to Lucian, seeking confirmation. He gave a subtle nod.
"But you didn't give him anything," she pointed out with a hint of suspicion in her voice.
"I have Lucian's blood," Boris replied, casual. "He's always burning through these tier one keys very fast. So whenever he comes, he drops a good amount of blood so I can work on his keys." He pointed out at the black box next to the golden ingots, then opened it and four vials blood were inside.
"I never knew this was part of the manufacturing of keys," she murmured, her gaze lingering on the vials.
"Elle, I won't let anything bad happen to you. Give him a hair. Just one," Lucian reassured with a gentle firmness. And just like that, Elle felt a surge of confidence, a warmth spreading through her veins. Absolute safety. What? He made me... No!
She defiantly plucked three strands of hair and handed them to Boris, her eyes locking with Lucian's in a silent challenge.
"Okay. Now leave. Let me and my drones work," Boris said, his tone dismissive but not unkind. A maniacal laughter beginning was heard as the elevator's doors closed.
The elevator ascended, carrying them twenty levels upward. The secret facility, hidden beneath the unassuming façade of the bazaar, was a living proof of the massive city's hidden depths.
"Are they that powerful, the tier four keys?" Elle asked, breaking the silence.
"If you had one, you would be unstoppable," he answered low and serious, with a hint of nostalgia.
"Me?" She chuckled, a hint of disbelief in her tone.
"Elle," his gaze was intense, his hands cupping her face, gently forcing her to meet his eyes. He had stolen kisses in this manner before, his touch both demanding and tender. "You have enough potential to wield a tier four key. Elle... precious Elle... you are very powerful."
Is he going to... kiss me... again? A flutter of anticipation, mixed with a hint of apprehension, stirred within her.
"Don't!" She pushed him away, her voice sharp, though the force behind it was minimal. He broke contact and looked away.
"Are you hungry?" He began nonchalantly, as if nothing had happened. "This city has good food, and it's not too far."
Elle narrowed her eyes, studying him. She liked the respect and that he wasn't giving up. "Alright. Show me," she said, deciding to play along. I soon will have a key, and when I did... I'll make you pay for everything... Maybe I won't kill you though... after all. She thought.
The market throbbed with life, a kaleidoscope of neon hues painting the rain-slicked pavement. Lucian's hand, firm yet gentle, guided her through the throng, his touch was warmth amidst the cool, damp air. Elle, despite herself, found a sliver of comfort in his presence. She had never done this before, walked by the hand with a man as if they were close. She was enjoying it.
They halted before a food stall, the air thick with the tantalizing aroma of grilled meats and exotic spices. Her stomach growled in protest. "You're going to love this," Lucian said in a low, persuasive murmur. "Best street food in Neo Switzerland."
Elle eyed the skewered meats with a delicate disdain. "What is it?" She inquired, her nose wrinkling slightly. It smelled delicious, looked delicious, but… It was street food.
"Does it matter?" He teased, a playful, his autumn eyes glinting. "It's food, and you need to keep your strength up."
A lady does not eat on street fare, Elle thought, her inner princess rising in rebellion. With a disdainful sniff, she turned away from the tempting aromas, draggin him with her, her gaze sweeping the bustling square for a more refined establishment. "Mmmm..."
"What?" Lucian asked, his brow quirking. He was loving to be dragged like that by that little creature she was.
"Take me to a real restaurant. The center of the city," she declared, her voice a subtle challenge.
"Elle, this is a real place," he countered, amused. "But if you insist on dining like royalty, I suppose I can accommodate. We'll go to 'Olympus Peak'."
"Olympus Peak? Is that a joke? What sort of establishment is that?" She asked, her curiosity piqued. The name was funny,
"It's where the elite congregate," he replied, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "You'll feel like home."
"We can't possibly go dressed like this then," she stated, gesturing to her simple black dress. "We'll require proper attire."
He sighed, a theatrical display of resignation. "As you wish." He hailed a passing hover-taxi. "To The Hidden Tailor," he instructed the driver.
The taxi glided smoothly through the city's intricate network of aerial lanes, eventually descending before a grand, brightly lit building. The facade was a vibrant display of color and elegance, a colourful difference compared to the hidden alleyways they had traversed earlier.
"Welcome to The Hidden Tailor," a melodious female voice announced as they stepped into the opulent boutique. Mannequins, adorned with exquisite garments, lined the walls, each piece was a work of unparalleled craftsmanship. The air was perfumed with the delicate scent of fine fabrics and a subtle, intoxicating fragrance. A woman with hair like spun gold, her smile warm and professional, greeted them. "Good evening, Lucian, and...?"
"This is Elle, Charlotte. Elle, Charlotte," Lucian introduced them. "I require a deep charcoal gray suit for myself, you know my taste. And for Elle... something revealing, something that proclaims her as the princess of summer coming out of a long winter." His gaze softened as he looked at Elle. "And silver, of course. She loves silver."
Elle shot him a sharp glare, a mix of annoyance and something akin to a thrill coursing through her. He merely grinned in response. Despite her reservations, she couldn't deny the flutter of excitement that stirred within her as Charlotte led her to a private fitting room, the walls lined with garments that whispered of power and elegance. He figured out my favorite color, she thought, a warmth spreading through her chest. He is trying to seduce me. Despite herself, she was intrigued by this new facet of him, this man who claimed her with such fierce possessiveness, yet was indulging her every whim.
Inside the fitting room, the scent of fine silks and delicate lace made her feel like home. Charlotte's touch was light and efficient as she presented a selection of gowns, each more breathtaking than the last. Elle's gaze was drawn to a shimmering silver gown, its fabric catching the light like liquid moonlight. The neckline plunged daringly low, and a high slit revealed the elegant curve of her thigh. It was a declaration, a challenge, a whisper of power.
"This one," Elle declared, her voice firm, her eyes sparkling with a newfound confidence.
Charlotte smiled, a knowing glint in her eyes. "An excellent choice, young lady."
As Elle slipped into the gown, the fabric molded to her body like a second skin, accentuating every curve and contour. She emerged from the fitting room, her reflection in the full-length mirror a vision of ethereal beauty. The silver fabric shimmered and danced with every movement, casting a soft, luminous glow around her. She felt powerful, confident, and undeniably alluring.
Lucian's breath hitched as he turned to face her, his autumn eyes widening slightly. He was a vision of masculine elegance in a deep charcoal gray suit, tailored to perfection, the fabric clinging to his powerful frame. His dark attire and her radiant silver gown were a visual representation of their complex dynamic.
"You are breathtaking," he murmured with his voice low and husky, the words a raw, honest expression of his admiration. He presented her with a delicate silver necklace, its pendant a cluster of shimmering diamonds. "Your stars," he said with tenderness.
Elle's heart skipped a beat, a strange mix of emotions swirling within her. She allowed him to fasten the necklace around her neck, the cool diamonds and the warmth of his fingers against her skin made her shiver. He is trying to seduce me, she thought, her internal monologue a constant battle between resistance and reluctant attraction. Attraction? How?
"You are not so bad yourself," she retorted, her voice a playful challenge, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. She knew she should resist, should push him away, but she found herself unable to move, her gaze locked on his.
"If you asked me right now to make you mine," he murmured, a low, seductive whisper. "Nothing in the world could stop me..."
"I'm not asking," she replied, barely above a whisper, her eyes never leaving his.
"But you want it," he whispered, warm, against her ear. "I can feel it."
"I'm doing this because of my key," she clarified with playful defiance. "The moment I get it, I will kill you."
"And I will be waiting," he whispered back, his eyes gleaming with a dark amusement. "And the moment you fail... You are mine."
She giggled, a soft, breathy sound that betrayed her amusement. I'm enjoying this… I…
"Would you sit for me?" he interrupted he thoughts and asked, revealing a pair of silver high-heeled sandals. Their eyes met, a silent challenge passing between them. "No, I won't kiss your foot, even if you asked."
Elle giggled again, a playful glint in her eyes. I can't believe he brought that up! So embarrassing! And yet… Stay calm! Calm as ice.
"And I was considering becoming yours if you did," she playfully declared, her voice laced with mock disappointment. "You missed a golden opportunity."
"Silver..." He breathed out, his gaze lingering on her, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He knelt before her, the silver sandals gleaming in his hands. "May I?"
Elle hesitated, a flicker of surprise and something akin to anticipation in her eyes. No man had ever touched her feet in such a respectful, intimate manner. No man had touched her. Only him. This was not like her ritual, an evil act she performed with men to see if they were truly men, a challenge meant not to be passed, but this was the real deal, her expectations made into a living man. This was something real. She nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "Yes."
She sat on the plush velvet bench and crossed her legs. Lucian gently took her foot in his hand, his touch was warm and tender. He carefully slipped the sandal onto her foot, his fingers brushing against her skin with a feather-light touch. Elle's breath hitched, a strange coctel of emotions swirling within her. She had always prided herself on her feet, their delicate arches and perfectly manicured nails. But to have them touched, to have them cradled in the hands of this man, made her feel… in his hands.
He repeated the process with her other foot, his movements slow and deliberate, his gaze never leaving hers. There was a quiet intensity in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the intimacy of the moment.
As he fastened the delicate straps, Elle felt a wave of vulnerability wash over her. This simple act, this gentle touch, was more disarming than any battle or confrontation. It was a surrender, not of power, but of a carefully guarded part of herself.
She looked at him, her eyes searching for something in his, a silent question hanging in the air. What are you doing? She thought. Her internal monologue was a storm of confusion and reluctant attraction.
He stood, his gaze unwavering, his expression a mix of tenderness and something akin to triumph. "Perfect," he murmured, low and husky.
Elle's heart pounded in her chest. She was vulnerable, exposed, yet strangely empowered. She had allowed him this intimacy, this touch, and had discovered in him someone with who she could be truly herself.
"Let's go," she said, firm, her eyes sparkling with confidence. She rose, the silver gown shimmering around her, her silver heels clicking softly on the polished floor.
"I'll send the bill as usual." Charlotte, who had been watching in silence, was smiling. "You two are a stunning couple," she said, her gaze lingering on Elle's hand. "Congratulations, Lucian, on your wife. She's radiant."
Elle's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of shock crossing her features. Wife? The word echoed in her mind, and she wanted to protest again, but she didn't. You've been acting like one though, a small, traitorous voice whispered in her thoughts, mocking her.
"Thank you, Charlotte," Elle replied, her voice smooth and regal, ignoring the wife thing.
"Thank you, Charlotte," Lucian said, his voice a low rumble.
As they walked through the grand doors of The Hidden Tailor, Elle couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between them. They had subtly changed, not in a way that diminished her, but in a way that deepened their connection. They were no longer simply adversaries; they were something more, something complex and undeniable. The question of what lingered, unspoken, yet charged with a palpable tension that crackled in the air between them.
What if… Something in you called for something in me?