4

Chapter 4

Lucien

I never wanted a bride. Not really.

The whole idea of it—choosing someone to stand beside me, when I could barely trust the people I shared blood with—was laughable. But here I was, standing on the dais, watching masked smiles and sharp eyes parade before me like wolves dressed in silk.

Father called it strategy.

Mother called it tradition.

I called it bait.

“Keep your head up,” Elias muttered beside me. “Don’t let them see you drift off.”

“I’m not drifting,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I’m watching. Every twitch. Every step. Especially him.”

I didn’t need to point. Elias knew who I meant.

The one who called himself Medor Thornwell.

He was too smooth, too clean for an exile. Every movement of his tonight had been too controlled. I watched the way he fought Marcus—fast, precise, like someone who’d been trained to kill in silence. Not someone who’d been banished and left to rot.

“He’s good,” Elias said after a pause. “But not clever enough to fool you?”

“Not yet,” I said, eyes narrowing. “But he’s hiding something. I can feel it.”

The crowd cheered as another contender tried to impress us with fire dancing between his hands. I didn’t even blink.

I had enemies. Plenty. And some of them were standing here tonight, dressed like suitors, pretending they wanted to win my heart.

What they really wanted was my neck.

That’s why this event was necessary. Not for love. Not for companionship. But to draw them out.

Let them all come to me, instead of hunting them one by one in the dark. It was safer this way. Cleaner.

And if I happened to find someone useful during it all—someone I could bend to my will—then fine.

Still… I hated every second of this.

I watched Medor return to the crowd, chest rising and falling like he’d just walked through hell and come out standing. His eyes met mine again. Too bold.

I should have looked away. But I didn’t.

*****

I didn’t sleep that night.

Too many faces. Too many masks.

And many of them was lying.

I sat alone in the reunion room, the cold of the marble floor creeping up my spine even through the velvet seat. The fire in the hearth burned low, casting shadows across the stone walls. I stared into it, barely blinking.

The door opened behind me.

“Lucien.” My brother’s voice. Cold, sharp.

“Elias,” I said without turning. “They’re late.”

He walked in, took the seat across from me. “You sound surprised.”

I shrugged, finally meeting his eyes. “They’re always late when it’s about me.”

As if on cue, the double doors opened again.

My mother swept in first, in a deep blue cloak that made her look like a moving storm. My father followed, stiff-backed, face unreadable. He always looked like he was attending a funeral.

“Lucien,” Mother said as she lowered her hood. “You look thinner.”

“I’m not,” I replied simply. “You’re just used to seeing me in armor.”

Father grunted as he took his seat. “Enough pleasantries. Let’s speak of the real reason you’ve called us.”

Elias raised a brow. “It’s your idea, remember?”

Mother waved a hand. “The bride selection. A tradition older than this castle.”

“It’s not about tradition,” I said, voice flat. “It’s a trap.”

Father leaned forward. “Exactly. You’re a target, Lucien. More than ever.”

I nodded. “I know. That’s why I agreed to this madness.”

Elias folded his arms. “We draw them out. The rebels, the spies, the traitors. Let them come dressed like suitors and see who takes the bait.”

“Better to cut the snake’s head than chase its tail,” Father said.

“But you’re walking straight into their arms,” Mother said quietly. Her eyes were on me now, softer than I expected. “You’ve had six attempts on your life in the last three months. What if they try again?”

“They will,” I answered. “That’s the point. I’d rather have them in front of me than hiding in the dark.”

Mother looked to Elias. “And you support this?”

Elias shrugged. “He’s not wrong. This way we can watch them. Test them. Control the battlefield.”

“I don’t want a bride,” I said plainly. “I never did.”

“You may not want one,” Father said. “But you need someone at your side. You’re too visible now.”

I shook my head. “Someone at my side is another weakness. Another place they’ll strike.”

“Unless she’s stronger than you think,” Mother said. “There are men in that ballroom who could kill with a smile.”

“And one of them almost did,” I said under my breath.

They looked at me.

“There’s a man,” I continued. “Calls himself Medor Thornwell. Says he’s an exile from the West.”

Elias scoffed. “Too clean to be a real exile.”

I nodded. “He’s fast. Skilled. He fought Marcus and nearly put him on the ground.”

Father’s eyes narrowed. “You think he’s here to kill you?”

“I think he’s here for something,” I said. “And I plan to find out what.”

Mother sat straighter. “Then watch him. Test him. And if he fails…”

I looked into her eyes. “I won’t hesitate.”

There was silence. Just the fire crackling. Then Father spoke again.

“We’ll post more guards. Quiet ones. No one leaves the grounds without our eyes on them.”

Elias nodded. “And we’ll keep him close. Medor. See what he does when we turn up the heat.”

Mother gave a slow, thin smile. “A mouse runs faster when there’s fire behind it.”

I stood, brushing off my coat. “Then let’s light the fire.”

Father rose. “You’ve grown into a cold ruler, Lucien.”

I met his gaze. “You made me one.”

He said nothing. Neither did Mother.

They turned and left. Elias lingered, eyes on the dying fire.

“You think he’s the one?” he asked.

“I think he’s dangerous,” I said. “And danger… deserves attention.”

Elias chuckled as he walked out. “Try not to fall for this one.”

I didn’t answer.

Because I wasn’t sure if I already had.