The sun shone brightly overhead, bathing the Western Palace in warm light. Birds perched in the trees, singing in cheerful harmony. A gentle breeze brushed against Lucien's face as he walked along the stone pavement.
Tall fortification walls surrounded the grounds. Knights patrolled the parapets and the courtyard below, their armor gleaming under the sunlight while servants hurried about their errands.
Today marked the fourth day he possessed Lucien's body.
Last night, Duke Godfrey—Lucien's grandfather—sent a letter expressing his devastation over the assassination attempt. Though he wished to visit personally, the Emperor stationed him at the Zerounix–Solairé sea border, leaving him no choice but to dispatch his own knights to guard Lucien instead.
In the novel, there was a passage that briefly mentioned the power struggle between Duke Godfrey and Duke Vazquez for the throne. However, the conflict ended abruptly after an unspecified accident brought the downfall of the Godfrey duchy—long before the story even began.
Despite Lucien's powerful background, he was none other than a fucked up character with red flags surrounding both him and his family. And somehow, he inherited that fate the moment he took this body.
"Are you even listening to me?" An irritated voice cut into his thoughts.
Lucien turned to find Tristan standing still, his emerald eyes pinned on him. He halted and nodded confidently. "Of course, I am."
This was the first time he met the protagonist after his encounter in the forest, as he was reluctant to meet him.
Tristan narrowed his eyes, his suspicion palpable. Unfazed, Lucien held his gaze steadily, feigning calm. Actually, he HAD been listening—at least at first—but Tristan had been talking nonstop for what felt like hours. While it was impressive how he never ran out of things to say, it was starting to grate on his nerves.
Was he really the same Tristan from the novel?
Tristan was supposed to be the epitome of an edgy, brooding protagonist—not this relentless chatterbox. Could it be that he'd somehow transmigrated into a parallel version or something?
After an intense stare-fight, Tristan eventually gave up with a snort. "Very well," he said, folding his arms. "Then tell me, what did I say just now?"
"About where we used to play here." Lucien shrugged nonchalantly.
Honestly, it was a wild guess. That was because Tristan had been repeating that line at every stop.
"Ho?" Tristan arched an eyebrow, clearly amused, "Surprisingly accurate for someone with such an unconvincing face."
Lucien's eye twitched. "I beg your pardon?"
"Let's keep moving," Tristan whirled on his heel and strode off, blatantly ignoring his simmering annoyance.
'Seriously?' Lucien watched Tristan's back in disbelief.
Tristan paused and glanced over his shoulder. "Are you coming?"
With a heavy sigh, he followed. "Yeah, yeah. I'm coming."
They were on a tour of the Western Palace, with Tristan acting as their guide and their knights trailing behind. Located in the western region of Solairé, the palace was the birthplace of the Empire's founder. According to imperial tradition, the heir to the throne was required to train here for five years before coming of age.
When the sound of water flowing reached his ears, he glanced toward the noise and spotted a grand fountain made of ivory marble in the distance. However, what truly drew his eye was the towering monument rising from its center.
As they approached, his gaze caught on the inscription carved into the stone:
In realms where shadows dance and play,
And secrets lurk in the light of day,
Let not ambition's fire ignite,
For in its blaze, lies endless night.
Beware the path where power gleams,
For in its grasp, reality teems.
"—We used to play here—"
"What is that?" Lucien cut in, pointing at the poem.
Tristan followed his hand and shrugged indifferently, "A warning."
Lucien rolled his eyes. "A warning for what? Not to climb the fountain?" Of course, he understood it was a warning against seeking power. "What I'm asking is, why write something so cryptic here of all places? Is there something special about it?"
"Hmm," Tristan hummed thoughtfully, adopting a thinking pose before smirking mischievously, "Perhaps it's here to spark curiosity. Worked on you, didn't it?"
Lucien's fists clenched as he fought the urge to smack the back of Tristan's head. The more time he spent with him, the more his patience frayed—almost as if Tristan existed solely to erode his sanity.
"Your performance as a guide is truly lacking, I must say," he spat in exasperation.
Tristan's smirk widened, visibly enjoying his frustration, "And your capacity for forgiveness seems equally deficient."
Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose at the insufferable headache. Letting out a heavy sigh, he walked past Tristan. Talking to Tristan drained his energy, and he refused to dignify him with a response.
'This guy is impossible.'
Footsteps trailed behind him, followed by Tristan's weary sigh. "I don't know the extent of your memory loss, but the main point of the training is that we shouldn't chase power. We're meant to be keepers of balance instead."
"Yes, thank you very much for the heartfelt explanation," Lucien replied dismissively without slowing his stride. He wasn't in the mood for further conversation.
"I'm sorry."
Tristan's melancholic tone broke the silence.
"What are you apologizing for?" Lucien answered curtly.
But as there was no footstep behind him, Lucien halted and turned to find Tristan staring at him with an apologetic expression. And an unfamiliar emotion stirred inside him, which he didn't like.
"I'm truly sorry," Tristan repeated.
Gone was his usual mischief; only helplessness remained. "It was my fault. If I'd come sooner, you wouldn't have been hurt… and you wouldn't have lost your memory."
Lucien said nothing and regarded the man before him.
Nonetheless, whenever Tristan displayed his vulnerable side, he couldn't help but wonder: was his apology genuine, or merely an act?
Roseanne said that despite the enmity between their factions, Tristan and Lucien shared a bond akin to that of siblings. Tristan often stepped in to thwart assassination attempts ordered by his mother and his grandfather.
But if that were the case, then why did Tristan kill Lucien?
What could drive him to such a betrayal?
Was it… the throne?
In feudal societies, fratricide for power wasn't uncommon.
Yet, what puzzled him more was the novel's repeated emphasis on Tristan's overwhelming grief over Lucien's death. He even suffered recurring nightmares and relied heavily on sleeping pills to sleep.
Just why?
'Did he… regret it?'
Lucien brushed it off with a sigh, "I don't know if it's my place to accept that apology," he said at last. "Still… thank you for saying it."
How could he accept an apology meant for a brother he had never truly been?
He was simply borrowing Lucien's body, and nothing else.
Tristan offered him a faint smile. "…You're right."
After a pause, he added, "Perhaps I don't deserve it."
Lucien's brow furrowed. 'What is he talking about?'
The loud ringing of a bell split the air—marking midday—cutting through his thoughts.
Tristan approached him, asking, "Shall we head to the family luncheon?"
He nodded, "Sure."
Tristan offered him a warm smile and ruffled his hair lightly before stepping away. "Let's go."
Lucien stiffened at the gesture but said nothing before following him.
He watched the broad shoulder before him. Whatever Tristan's reason for killing him might be, for now, he would just observe to keep him in check in case he tried anything funny.