Chapter 6

SAPHRA'S POV

I don’t know why my hands are shaking.

The tray is not heavy. It’s only porcelain dishes, silverware, a steaming pot of tea, and a bowl of cut fruit arranged with almost insulting delicacy. Yet as I carry it through Lucien’s private corridor, every step feels like I am walking into a battlefield with no armour.

The palace is too quiet.

No servants whispering. There are no courtiers laughing behind silk sleeves. Just the echo of my own footsteps against polished stone and the soft rattle of cups as I try to keep them from betraying me.

Two guards stand outside Lucien’s chambers. They don’t question me. They don’t even look surprised to see me.

They simply step aside and open the doors.

No announcement.

No warning.

Just an open path into the lion’s den, into a place i did not want to be in.

The doors swing inward, revealing a vast chamber dominated by a massive desk. Territorial maps are spread across it, weighted down by carved stones and daggers. Borders are marked in ink, some lines are clean, others scratched and overwritten as if someone could not decide where one empire ended and another began.

Lucien sits behind the desk, dark hair falling into his eyes, and sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. He does not look up when I enter.

Not even a flicker.

It’s as if I am invisible.

I step inside anyway.

The doors close behind me with a dull, final thud.

I walk slowly toward him, and the tray balances carefully in my hands. Every inch of my body is aware of him, his stillness, his quiet power, the way the air seems heavier around him.

I set the tray on the side table near his desk with meticulous care. The teacups don’t clink. The plates don’t slide. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me nervous.

Still, the silence stretches.

It coils.

It presses in on my ears until I can hear my own breathing, shallow, and uneven.

Lucien continues studying the maps, one hand braced on the desk, the other holding a quill that moves slowly across parchment. I wonder if he’s doing this on purpose, if he knows how much this waiting unsettles me.

Finally, he speaks.

“Tell me something, Saphra.”

My name on his lips sends a shiver through me.

I don’t answer. I just stand there.

He gestures to one of the maps. “There. Along the eastern border. What do you see?”

My breath catches.

I follow his gaze, my eyes scanning the inked terrain. Mountain ranges, river crossings, and fortifications. It’s instinctive, the way my mind starts to dissect it. The angles, supply routes, and choke points.

I should pretend I don’t understand.

I should shrug and say I’m just a prisoner, just a woman carrying his breakfast.

But pride flares hot in my chest.

And something deeper.

I look at the map and speak.

“There is a defensive weakness along the river bend,” I say quietly. “Your forts are too far apart. An enemy force could slip between them and take the crossing before reinforcements arrive. You need an outpost here and another along the ridge to create overlapping fields of defence.”

The words come out smooth and certain. Too certain.

Lucien’s quill stills.

Slowly, he lifts his head.

Our eyes meet.

Something sharp flashes in his gaze, not surprise exactly, but recognition. As if a final piece of a puzzle has clicked into place.

“You’ve had training,” he says.

It’s not a question.

My pulse pounds in my ears. I do not answer. I don’t need to.

He knows.

I see it in the way his posture shifts, the way his eyes sweep over me with new understanding. I am not just a political hostage. I am not just a woman.

I am something else... something dangerous.

The tension in the room thickens, turning the air electric. Neither of us looks away. For a moment, it feels like the entire world has narrowed to the space between us.

I move to pick up his empty plate from last night, desperate to break the spell.

He moves at the same time.

Our fingers brush.

The contact is light, barely more than skin against skin, but it feels like fire. We both freeze, hands still touching the porcelain plate, neither willing to pull away.

Time stretches.

I can feel the warmth of him, the strength in his hand. My heart hammers so hard I’m sure he can hear it. His pupils darken, widening as his gaze drops to where we are touching, then lifts back to my face.

Heat floods my body, sudden and overwhelming. Every instinct screams at me to step back, to put distance between us.

I can’t.

Not for a heartbeat.

Then reality crashes back in.

I jerk my hand away, the plate wobbling dangerously before I catch it. My breath comes out in a shaky rush as I step back.

Lucien does not move.

He just watches me.

His gaze follows every inch of my retreat, intense and unblinking, as if he is memorising me.

I back toward the door, my skin still tingling where he touched me, my mind reeling from everything he’s seen.

What I have shown him.

I reach the door and turn, pulling it open with more force than necessary. I don’t look back.

I can’t. I escape into the corridor, my heart pounding.