Chapter 28 – That's Rare, Even for him

Chapter 28 – That's Rare, Even for him

Selene’s POV

He’s early.

Panic tightens around my chest the moment I hear the front door creak open. The sound feels sharper, louder than it should, slicing through the gentle hum of laughter and soft music like a blade. I freeze mid-step, dessert tray balanced precariously in my hands, as Lucian’s silhouette emerges from the shadows of the entryway.

He wasn’t supposed to be back yet.

I barely have time to register the startled gasps around the room before the air shifts. The streamers, the soft golden lanterns, the hand-painted “Happy Birthday” banner—what once felt like a humble celebration now looks like a glaring mistake under his gaze.

The chocolate cake in my hands, modest though it is, suddenly feels too much. A single candle flickers at the center, its light dim against the storm that’s just walked in. Beside it, a small gift wrapped in deep violet paper catches the light like it’s mocking me. There’s no time to hide anything.

Lucian steps fully into the room, his presence turning warm air frigid. He says nothing, but his gaze slices clean through the gathered crowd. The conversations that had been bubbling moments ago die instantly. No one dares speak. Not even to whisper surprise.

It’s as if winter walked in behind him.

I try to move, to turn and retreat, but my limbs betray me. He’s already looking—no, watching—with a kind of focused stillness that freezes me in place. My face heats under his gaze, cheeks burning with humiliation and dread.

He walks forward, slow and purposeful, each step echoing like a countdown in my ears. He stops just inches from me, the space between us filled with the weight of everything unsaid.

I can’t meet his eyes.

I feel like a child caught sneaking sweets past bedtime—ashamed, embarrassed, but not fully understanding what rule I broke.

Then, to my utter disbelief, he leans in... and exhales.

The candle goes out in a quiet puff of breath.

I flinch anyway, bracing myself for a reprimand or a cruel remark. Instead, silence stretches between us until he calmly dips a finger into the frosting. He lifts it to his mouth and tastes it, eyes on me.

“It’s... sweet,” he murmurs.

The words are simple. The tone, unreadable.

My breath stutters in my chest. Was that... amusement? A touch of warmth?

“I—Lucian, I didn’t know,” I rush out, my voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know today was her anniversary. I wouldn’t have planned this if I had—”

He doesn’t let me finish. Instead, he dabs a bit of frosting onto the tip of my nose. Light. Playful.

I freeze.

The room holds its breath with me.

For a fleeting moment—no longer than a heartbeat—something soft flickers in his eyes. A kindness. A memory. A ghost of who he might’ve been before all the darkness. Then, as quickly as it came, it vanishes behind his familiar mask.

Without another word, he picks up the small wrapped gift from the tray.

“This for me?”

I nod, awkwardly. “It’s... a draught. To ease your sleep. A blend I’ve been perfecting for weeks.”

He turns the box over in his hands, thoughtful. The silence stretches again, but this time it’s... different. Not sharp. Not cold. Just waiting.

Then Seris breaks it, her voice clear and curious.

“What’s going on with you, Lucian?” she asks. “You’ve always ignored your birthday. Why make an exception now?”

Lucian doesn’t answer her. Instead, he turns back to face the room, his voice even but unmistakably final.

“Thank you for coming,” he says, “but the evening’s over. Selene and I will be dining alone tonight.”

A ripple moves through the room. Confusion. Surprise. And—faint, but unmistakable—a murmur of envy. My heart pounds so loudly I can barely hear anything else.

Before I can process it, his arm slips around my shoulders. Not rough, not possessive—steady. Guiding me forward. Shielding me from the silent questions radiating from the crowd.

He’s not angry?

I glance up, finally meeting his eyes. And what I see there nearly undoes me.

He’s protecting me.

The realization sends a tremor through me. He’s not here to punish or scold. He’s here to pull me out of the fire—maybe even share his warmth.

Lucian leans in just slightly, and with a cool finality says to everyone else: “Good night. And thank you.”

Isolde’s POV

The ride back to the palace is quiet, but my thoughts scream.

He stood beside her. Defended her. Chose her.

Selene.

The little girl who didn’t even know what today meant. Who planned a party on a day meant for grief. Who doesn’t understand the weight of history or the names that still burn behind Lucian’s eyes.

He should’ve been furious. Should’ve thrown her out. Should’ve torn her apart.

But he didn’t.

He shielded her. Held her. Told everyone else to go home.

My hands curl into fists inside my sleeves.

Theron lounges on the chaise in the drawing room like he’s watching a comedy unfold. His smile is easy, almost entertained.

“Well,” he says with a chuckle. “That wasn’t the outcome anyone expected.”

I don’t respond.

“My brother seems... satisfied,” he continues, studying me with an edge of interest. “He looks at her like she matters. That’s rare. Even for him.”

A knot twists in my chest, slow and cruel. My pulse pounds, but I keep my expression serene.

He should be mourning me.

I was the one who walked away. The one who left him behind. He should still be bitter, lonely, bleeding in silence. Instead, he’s... celebrating.

And not alone.

“You don’t regret it, do you?” Theron asks suddenly. His voice is casual, but there’s something sharp buried beneath. “Leaving love behind for politics and power.”

For a moment, I can’t answer. The words dig deeper than I want to admit.

I smile, tilting my head toward him.

“I didn’t marry you for power, Theron. I married you because I love you.”

He laughs. One short, cutting sound. His eyes glint like he’s looking straight through me.

“You’re good,” he says, voice lower now. “Too good. But we both know better. We’re alike, you and I. We lie with grace and kiss with knives.”

I narrow my eyes just slightly, trying to read what game he’s playing. But he’s elusive tonight. Cloaked in shadows, charming and dangerous in equal measure.

He reaches for a crystal decanter and pours himself a drink, voice light.

“You know, Selene’s done something none of your family ever could. Two rare potions—perfectly brewed. Both with effects lost to time.”

He takes a slow sip.

“And,” he adds casually, “she even looks a bit like Lady Nyra.”

The name makes my spine stiffen. The legend. The ghost. The one whose blood was said to burn silver under the moon.

“Wouldn’t it be ironic,” Theron muses, “if there was more truth to the stories than anyone believed?”

I force a soft laugh, airy and dismissive.

“Now you’re just telling fairytales.”

“Am I?” he asks, his eyes locking onto mine. There’s a weight behind them now—dark and searching. “Or are you just afraid of what it might mean?”

I walk over to the nearest pillar and lean against it, more to steady myself than for effect. My hands tremble slightly, hidden in the folds of my dress.

He’s not just amused anymore.

He’s suspicious.

And I can’t afford that.