Chapter 4

I was deeply engrossed in the King’s vellum when the study door burst open with a force that rattled every scroll and book on the shelves. 

Lucian didn’t bother with niceties like knocking. He stepped in like a storm, sword sheathed at his hip, his face twisted in a grimace that suggested he had been gnawing on glass. The moment he entered, every muscle in my body tensed before my mind caught up to the situation.

“Leave us,” he commanded Cassian, his tone an iron fist.

“Your Highness, she’s in the middle of the translation...” Cassian started, eyes darting between us, but Lucian’s glare brooked no argument.

“Leave,” he repeated, and Cassian, his eyes impossibly unreadable, bowed and exited. The door clicked shut, and suddenly the room felt claustrophobic, as if the air was thickening around us.

“Cassian says you lied to him,” Lucian said, the accusation sharp and dangerous.

My heartbeat quickened, but I forced my expression to stay neutral. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Border law.” He prowled around the desk, slow and deliberate, like a wolf circling its prey. “Cassian saw your hands go cold as you read that page. Fear has a scent, human, and yours is unmistakably loud.”

“You smell what you wish to smell,” I replied, matching his intensity. “You’ve already judged me guilty. Nothing I say can change that, so why ask?”

“Because I want to hear you lie again,” he said, his voice low and menacing.

“Then you’ll be disappointed. I’m out of lies. All I have left is contempt.”

His mouth flickered, an almost smile, but twisted and cruel. He paused just within an arm’s reach, and the electric pull between us ignited. I tightened my jaw, despising my body’s betrayal, as if my blood pulsed with a mind of its own.

“Give me the translation,” he demanded. “All of it.”

“You can’t read it,” I shot back, every instinct screaming at me. I knew the word *Solis* was a dagger I couldn’t afford to hand him.

“Then read it to me,” he pressed.

I fixed my gaze on him, every instinct protesting that revealing the truth could be my undoing. “The text is full of treaty contingencies: borders, tribute, penalties. If your father concealed something, it’s buried deeper than one morning’s work.”

“Or,” he said, his eyes narrowing, “you’re buying time.”

“For what? To flee? I’m chained to a shelf.”

That was when he made a decision. His gaze fell to my chained wrists, raw and inflamed, and something flickered across his face, not pity, never pity, but cold calculation. “You’re of no use to me with a rotting arm.” He produced a small key from his belt and unlocked the chain from the shelf ring. The cuffs remained, binding my wrists together with a short length of iron. “You’ll work faster this way.”

Silence enveloped us. I rubbed at my raw skin, feigning submission as I studied every detail: him pocketing the key, the sword hanging at his hip, the closed door just a few paces behind him.

Fool, I thought. You’ve just shown me the exit.

He turned his back to me, arms crossed, eyes focused on the courtyard below. Four heartbeats passed. That was all I needed.

In one swift motion, I seized the heavy brass inkwell from the desk and swung it with all my might.

He must have sensed the danger, spinning around just a moment too late. The inkwell struck him squarely across the temple with a sickening crack, black ink spraying across his collar like blood. I darted past him, yanking his sword from its scabbard, both hands gripping the hilt its weight felt foreign but exhilarating.

“Don’t move,” I commanded, adrenaline surging through me.

Lucian straightened, ink running down the side of his face, his molten gold eyes alight with something primal and wild. 

“You’re trembling,” he observed, a dangerous edge to his voice.

“Not from fear.”

“Then what?” His tone turned soft, a whisper edged with danger. “You feel it too. Every time I come near you. Speak it, human. Say what you did to me.”

“I did nothing to you!” The sword wavered an inch from his throat. “Whatever this is, I want it gone more than you do. Open that door and let me out of this Citadel, or I swear I’ll spill your blood on this floor.”

“You won't.”

“Try me.”

His gaze flickered from the blade to me, a low, ugly laugh escaping his lips. “You’re no killer, Elena Voss. Just a scholar wielding a stick. The second you pull that blade back to strike, I’ll have it from your hand, and your wrist will be broken.”

Hearing him say my name felt like fire wrapping around my throat.

“Then let me prove you wrong,” I challenged, swinging the sword with fierce determination.

I wasn’t fast. I had no training. But fury can ignite what skill cannot, and the blade whistled down in a wide arc that would have severed his arm, if he hadn’t moved as if he had been expecting it. He caught my wrist mid-swing, his grip ironclad as pain shot up my arm, leaving the sword clattering to the floor.

With a furious heave, he thrust me back against the desk, rattling my spine, pinning me there with his forearm across my collarbone, his face mere inches from mine, his breath hot with rage.

“That,” he said in a low growl, “was the last mistake you’ll make in my father’s house.”

“Do it then,” I gasped, glaring up through my watering eyes. “Kill me. You’ve wanted to since the moment you saw me. Stop pretending you’re waiting for proof.”

His forearm pressed harder, suffocating the air between us. For one agonizing moment, I thought he would. The electric current between us buzzed like a live wire, and something flickered in his eyes, a conflict I couldn’t decipher before it vanished, replaced by an all-consuming hatred that had me shivering.

"You tried to kill me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of his accusation hung heavily in the air. "When you had the chance to flee, you chose the blade instead. You are precisely what I suspected: a spy, an assassin, a threat to everything I’ve sworn to protect."

"And you're exactly what I expected," I shot back, venom curling in my words. "A merciless brute who disguises cruelty as duty."

He released me so abruptly that I stumbled, almost losing my balance. "Guards!" he barked, and they stormed in like a tide, Cassian at the forefront. His gaze swept over the scene—the spilled ink, the fallen sword, the blood trickling from Lucian’s temple. His expression darkened as he took it all in.

“She took advantage of my lapse,” Lucian declared, his voice cold as ice. “Chain her. Both wrists and both ankles. She will see no light, speak to no one, and touch nothing until I decide otherwise.”

"You gave me an opening," I countered defiantly as they bound my arms behind my back. "That's not my fault. That’s your weakness."

His eyes bore into mine, dark and menacing. “Then let this be the last moment of weakness you ever encounter.”

They hauled me away, and as I was dragged through the doorway, the last sight seared into my memory was Lucian bending to retrieve his sword, wiping the ink from his face with the back of his hand, staring at the weapon as if it were an alien object.

I promised myself I would come out on top next time.

And I forced myself to ignore the ache in my chest that whispered it was disappointment for not cutting deeper.