CHAPTER 81: THE ONE HE WANTED

Hadrian’s heart pounded as Leroy pinned him down with unnerving precision. His elbows dug into Hadrian’s chest, the blade hovering just above his jugular, poised to drink the pulse that throbbed wildly beneath his skin.

"Leroy?" he gasped.

The man above him smiled.

No, not the smile Hadrian knew. This one was cold, sharp, and unrecognizable in its malice. Candlelight danced over Leroy’s face, catching the sharpness of his cheekbones, the glint in his eyes.

"Leroy’s in his study," he murmured with a mock tilt of his head. "Are you hallucinating, Hadrian?"

The name dripped from his mouth like venom.

Hadrian swallowed hard.

This couldn’t be the same boy who used to lower his gaze in his presence, the same one who used to politely smile and bow and take every insult like a dog licking boots.

This man was something else. This man had claws.

And he had somehow, impossibly, broken into the Arvand estate...his estate. No servant stirred. No guard came running. He’d secured this place like a fortress, and prided himself that not even a fly could enter here without his permission... and yet here lay a beast on top of him, teeth bared, blade at his throat.

For the first time in years, Hadrian’s pride fractured beneath a shudder of shame.

A man was on top of him. In his bed. Uninvited. Dominating. Holding him down like a whore.

And Hadrian could do nothing.

His entire body trembled, not from age, but from fury and fear. Still, he forced himself to stay still. He had to survive. This wasn’t a man here to bargain. This was a warning cloaked in flesh.

"I’ve been patient..." Leroy’s voice was low, his teeth gritted. "I won’t be anymore. Consider this your one and only warning. Stay out of my marriage."

Hadrian let out a breathy scoff, trying to reclaim some semblance of dignity. "Are you going to tell me you’re in love with that wretched little—"

He froze as the blade kissed his skin, just enough to sting.

Leroy’s gaze turned lethal. "I know the games you play, Hadrian. I know exactly what you did to her. I’ve seen the scars on her back. The ones you carved. The damage you left. Because of you... she can’t even..."

His voice cracked, not with weakness, but the kind of rage that comes from knowing you were too late to stop the bleeding.

The dagger trembled in his hand. Barely.

But Hadrian saw it.

And somehow, some twisted part of him was... proud.

So, the broken little mongrel managed to hook a man like this. One who would defy kingdoms and powers for her. There was Arvand blood in her after all. Maybe she was not all that useless.

"You didn’t even want her," Hadrian said slowly, carefully. "You wanted my eldest. I should never have gone back on my word. It was a mistake to hand you damaged goods."

"Mistake?" Leroy echoed.

His voice was quiet. Too quiet.

The room chilled.

"Who’s the mistake?"

The candle sputtered beside them as the fury in Leroy’s eyes darkened. His body tensed as if holding himself back from plunging the blade deeper.

"You’re calling her a mistake?" Leroy’s voice dropped, sharp as a blade.

"The woman I fought for, for three goddamn years... The one I broke myself for, trained till my bones cracked and bled, just to be worthy of standing beside her. The one I nearly died for in the Warrior Games, because her father, the great Grand Duke, wouldn’t even look at a hostage prince unless he earned it. That woman? You call her a mistake?" His jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might shatter.

Those were only the few steps he had to go through so he could be closer to the girl he wanted. Only a few.

"I know how broke she was because of you. And I wanted her for myself. I still want her."

Hadrian couldn’t speak. The blade hadn’t moved. But the danger felt closer than ever.

Leroy’s eyes burned.

"She’s not the mistake, Hadrian. You are."

Hadrian snapped out of his reverie, his heart thudding with disbelief. All this time, he had been so sure—so certain—that Leroy had done it all for Elyse. All the blood, the devotion, the public spectacle of sacrifice. He had thought, with some reluctant pride, that at least one man had seen the worth in his beloved daughter.

But now?

Lorraine?

"You asked for the hand of my eldest," Hadrian said slowly, confusion creeping up his throat like bile. "You courted my eldest."

"I did!" Leroy’s voice cracked through the chamber like thunder. "And I married the eldest, didn’t I?"

Hadrian flinched. "Elyse is my eldest."

Leroy scoffed, the blade easing back from Hadrian’s throat, as though he no longer considered him a threat worth piercing. "Spoken like a man clinging to delusion. I’m from Kaltharion, remember? The land of so-called savages. Even we know that legitimacy trumps birth order. Lorraine’s mother was your wife. Elyse’s mother was your mistress. That makes Lorraine the true firstborn of House Arvand. The rest? Just footnotes you stuffed into your family tree out of guilt or pride. Either way, irrelevant."

Hadrian’s fists clenched, veins bulging as rage and helplessness surged through him. "You dare speak of legitimacy?" he bellowed. "To me?"

In a fit of fury, he lunged at Leroy with a wild punch, but the prince merely deflected him with the blunt side of his dagger. Hadrian collapsed backward onto the bed, coughing and gasping as pain bloomed in his ribs.

Leroy stood above him, shadowed by candlelight, a god of wrath in a prince’s skin.

"I left a gift for your bastard daughter," he said coldly, "for defacing my wife’s portrait and making her cry. Let this be the only warning. If she so much as looks Lorraine’s way again..."

He crouched, his voice dropping to a whisper that still cut like a blade.

"...remember Lord Vernon’s bastard daughter?"

Hadrian’s blood ran cold. He had heard of that woman. She went mad and killed her children. Then herself.

Leroy straightened, towering. "Tragic. But what a merciful end for someone so forgettable."

He turned, opening the tall window with practiced ease, and leapt out without another word, vanishing into the night.

Hadrian gasped for breath, gripping the edge of the bed, his bones shaking.

Was that a threat?

Was Leroy threatening to murder Elyse... His precious, perfect Elyse and her children, and make it look like some sordid scandal? A hysterical tragedy, just like Vernon’s girl?

He gritted his teeth as the weight of it settled.

Leroy was declaring war.

-----

Leroy jumped out the window and landed on the ledge with practiced ease. But just as his boots kissed the stone, a sharp glint flashed to his side.

He pivoted fast.

The blade missed him by a breath.

Steel hissed as he drew his sword in one fluid motion, his body coiled, ready to strike.

His gaze narrowed at the figure before him—draped in shadows, face hidden, his posture poised and deadly. But it wasn’t a sword he wielded.

It was... a fan?