CHAPTER 8: DUST AND DUTY

Lucian’s POV

The afternoon sun hit the stone terrace in bright, blistering sheets as Leo and I tossed our riding gloves onto the iron table.

My shirt was damp with sweat, my shoulders aching from breaking in a stubborn bay stallion for two hours. Beside me, Leo collapsed into a wicker chair with his usual dramatic flair, pouring himself a tall glass of iced lemon water and downing half of it in a single gulp.

“You pulled the reins too late on the turn,” I said, pulling my chair out and sitting down. “If that horse was any sharper, you’d have landed face-first in the dirt.”

Leo grinned, tossing his wet hair out of his eyes. “Ah, but I didn't land in the dirt, big brother. That’s called style.”

I couldn't help the quiet exhale that escaped me. Leo hid it behind jokes and easy charm, but I caught the subtle way his eyes darted toward the far end of the terrace, waiting for our father to look up from his papers.

He craved the Duke’s approval.

He could pretend all day that he only cared about music, late nights, and freedom, but I saw the quiet flicker of disappointment whenever Father looked right through him.

“A man who relies on luck in the saddle eventually breaks a collarbone,” Father said flatly, not even raising his eyes from a grain ledger. “Lucian managed the turn effortlessly because he pays attention to discipline. You would do well to learn from him, Leo.”

I saw Leo’s jaw tighten just for a fraction of a second before he forced a bright, careless laugh and leaned back in his chair.

“Discipline is overrated, Father. Leaves no room for fun.”

Before the cold tension between them could settle, Mother stepped onto the terrace.

As always, Lady Eleanor was the quiet glue holding this family together. She didn't raise her voice, but the moment she sat down at the head of the table, the sharp edge in the air melted away. She reached out, smoothing a stray lock of hair from Leo’s forehead with a soft, affectionate smile, then gestured for the footman to serve the roast chicken and fresh figs.

“Frederick, leave the boy be,” Mother said gently, her tone smooth as silk as she placed a hand over Father’s wrist. “Leo rode brilliantly today. I watched from the balcony.”

Father’s expression softened slightly under her touch. He gave a single, gruff nod before returning to his meal. Leo didn't say anything, but the tight line of his shoulders finally relaxed, a small, genuine smile touching his lips as he looked at Mother.

She always knew how to shield him. And I was grateful for it, because if it were up to Father, Leo’s spirit would have been crushed long ago.

I picked up my glass, taking a quiet sip as my eyes drifted toward the open horizon beyond the estate walls.

God, how I envied the open road.

If I hadn't been born the heir to Valenridge, I would have bought a quiet piece of farmland in the southern valleys or boarded a ship to see the far edges of the continent. I wanted soil on my hands, wind in my face, and the freedom to exist without a crest weighing down my chest. Instead, I was trapped in velvet coat tails, managing trade tariffs and preparing to rule a duchy.

“Lucian.”

Mother’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. She set her linen napkin down, looking at me with a calm, unyielding gaze that immediately set off alarm bells in my chest.

“The Sterlings’ courier arrived this morning,” she said smoothly. “The final trade audits are almost complete. Which means it is time we finalize the betrothal contract with Lady Genevieve.”

The glass in my hand felt suddenly heavy.

“Mother,” I began, my voice dropping into a low, strained register. “We’ve discussed this. The Sterling alliance is strong enough through our trade agreements. A marriage is entirely unnecessary.”

“It is entirely necessary,” Father interjected, his voice firm and leaving no room for debate. “House Sterling controls the eastern shipping ports. Binding our families by blood secures Valenridge for the next fifty years.”

“I have no desire to marry,” I said, leaning forward, my hands gripping the edge of the iron table.

The very thought of marriage suffocated me. The idea of being tied to a woman purely for political leverage, playing the role of a dutiful husband in a cold, performance-driven union, felt like a life sentence. I wanted a life of my own making—not a contract signed in ink.

“You are twenty-six, Lucian,” Mother said, her tone gentle but completely firm. “You have rejected every court debutante for three seasons straight. We have allowed you your freedom, but your duty to this family comes first.”

“Genevieve Sterling?” I countered, unable to hide the sharp distaste in my voice. “She is self-absorbed, arrogant, and cares for nothing beyond capital fashion and court gossip. If a marriage is required for the family, let Leo take her!”

Leo instantly choked on his wine, coughing violently into his napkin as his eyes went wide with sheer terror.

“Hey!” Leo wheezed, waving his hands frantically. “Leave me out of your execution! I would rather jump off the high balcony than spend five minutes listening to Genevieve complain about the quality of her silk!”

“Leo,” Mother warned softly, shooting him a look that made him instantly clap his mouth shut, though a mischievous smirk was still dancing on his lips.

She turned back to me, her gray eyes locking onto mine with an unreadable depth.

“You are the future Duke, Lucian,” Mother said quietly, shutting down any further argument before it could start. “Leo has the luxury of playing the carefree younger brother. You do not. Lady Genevieve arrives at Valenridge in two weeks for the formal announcement. I expect you to receive her with the honor your title demands.”

Silence settled over the terrace, heavy and suffocating.

Beside me, Leo caught my eye and mouthed, Good luck, big brother, shaking his head in mock pity.

I leaned back in my chair, staring down at the untouched food on my plate, my jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached.

Trapped.

Completely and utterly trapped.

I looked back out toward the distant hills beyond the estate, the quiet freedom I craved slipping further and further out of reach.