By the time we dried off and changed into something less rain-soaked, the late afternoon sun had fought its way back through the clouds. A soft golden glow pooled along the balcony floor, painting the stone railings and garden below in warm amber.Lucien was already waiting when I stepped out with a tray of tea and fresh bread—courtesy of Annabelle, who pretended not to watch us from the kitchen window.“I figured we deserved this,” I said, setting the tray between us on the small round table. “Tea. And strategy.”Lucien was no longer wearing his royal coat—just a plain linen shirt rolled at the sleeves and dark trousers, still regal somehow, but less formal. His dark hair was half-dry, curling faintly at the edges.“Tea and war,” he echoed with a lopsided grin. “That’s a very Abby combination.”“Flatter me again, Lucien, and I might make your tea bitter on purpose.”He chuckled but said nothing more as I poured for both of us. The tea was a light blend—citrus and spice. Strong enough
He stepped beside me, hands in his pockets, tilting his head as he studied the array of materials. “You really work on this alone? Duke Alaric lets you?”I shrugged, trying not to think about a certain overprotective Duke. “Alaric’s busy. And I can handle myself.”“I’m sure you can.” There was something behind that grin now. Thoughtfulness. Maybe even respect. He crouched down, trailing one gloved finger along the chalk line. “Same sigils as the old grimoire?”“Mostly. I tweaked them. Fewer shadow elements, more lightning.”Lucien chuckled again. “Typical.”For a while, we practiced in silence. I traced the lines, focused on holding steady power. He showed me how to balance mana between my palms, creating miniature shadow wisps without letting them crackle into full-blown spells.There wasn’t any flirtation. Not really. Just... company.Until I casually mentioned: “You know, we used to tell stories like this back home.”“Home?” Lucien asked absently, watching the shadows spin. “You me
That morning when Alaric left.The library smelled faintly of lemon oil and old vellum, with the steady crackle of a low fire from the hearth. Light streamed through tall arched windows, dust motes floating like lazy snowflakes. I sat perched on the edge of a dark oak table, ledger open, as Renato stood across from me—gloved hands resting on the back of a chair, his expression as properly neutral as always, but with a flicker of curiosity in his dark eyes.“I took a walk around the western fields this morning,” he said evenly. “The soil is good but tired. Rotation’s been neglected, and the livestock pens nearby are beginning to wear out the ground. If we intend to expand the farm, there’s a decision to make: buy new land, or find a way to rejuvenate what we have.”I smiled faintly, flipping a page in the ledger. “We won’t need to buy more land. Just improve the one we already have.”Renato tilted his head slightly. “You have something in mind, my lady?”I did. But I had to word it car
The room flickered with shadows from the firelight. My sheets cool against my skin, his body warm where he pressed against me.One hand cupped my cheek. His other slid along my thigh, fingers rough with calluses but careful—like even now, after everything, he still couldn’t believe I was real.When I arched beneath him, my breath shuddering, he caught my lips again.This time, he didn’t rush.Slow. Deep. As if we had all night and maybe all the rest of time.The moan escaped before I could stop it—quiet but honest.Outside, the rain started. A steady, soft rhythm against the windowpanes. Thunder low in the distance.His voice against my ear was quieter than the storm:“I should go slow...”“You should,” I whispered back, fingers tracing the line of his abs, hot and damp with sweat. “But I don’t want you to.”A rough, low laugh.One that vibrated through both of us as he leaned down again.The world narrowed to heat and skin and lips and hands. His thumb brushed my lower lip, eyes neve
Finally, I asked the other question burning on my tongue."And Max?" I whispered. "What happened to him?"Lucien’s jaw tightened."He vanished. One day, I woke up in the clearing, and he was gone. No sign. No trail. Just... shadows."I closed my eyes. Let that sink in.When I opened them again, Lucien’s gaze was steady."So," he said quietly, "storm knight. What do we do next?"I stared at him.At the man everyone feared. The man I’d started to maybe understand.And I gave him the only answer that made sense in that moment:"We get ready."*****The private fallout happened, as always, not in some grand ballroom or council chamber—but in the quieter, quieter corners of the castle where real things got said.It was past dusk when I found him.Alaric wasn’t in the royal chambers. Not in his office. Not by the war table.No—of course not.He was in the training hall, half-dressed, sword in hand, slashing through the air like the walls had done something to offend him.The scent of steel
And the more Lucien taught me—small movements, subtle balances of lightning and shadow—the more I realized he wasn’t the cold, terrifying prince everyone painted him as.He was easygoing. Teasing. Funny, even.“You grip your sword too tight,” he joked as I tried channeling lightning through a practice blade. “Do you stab your breakfast eggs like that too?”“Only when people sass me before my coffee.”Lucien barked a laugh.Alaric, though? His face might as well have been carved from granite.When I caught him looking, finally, he met my gaze full-on—blue eyes locked on mine like the whole world had narrowed down to just that moment.Lucien cleared his throat. “We should pause. I don’t want to burn you out.”“Yeah,” I agreed, wiping sweat from my brow. “Good idea.”As I turned, Lucien caught my hand—not in a flirtatious way, more like steadying my wrist as a fellow mage.But Alaric moved.In three steps, he was beside us, his hand closing gently—very gently—around my other wrist.“That