CHAPTER 181: FEW STAND UP TO HIM

Her fingers curled into fists. Damn him.

Pacing to the window, Selene stared into the courtyard. Lanterns flickered across the stone paths, casting gold and crimson shadows that looked like blood and fire. It suited this place, this prison of twisted games and unspoken war. Every time she thought she had found a crack in Zavian’s armor, he exposed one in hers instead.

Don’t fall for me, he had said.

Too late.

But falling didn’t mean surrender.

A soft knock on the door pulled her back to reality. Edgar entered quietly, bowing with the same old precision. "My lady, Lord Zavian asked me to escort you to the east wing. The council has sent a message, and he wants you present."

Her brows furrowed. "Council? Why would he want me there?"

"I don’t question his orders, my lady," Edgar replied with a practiced smile. "Only carry them out."

Selene followed, her mind spinning. Zavian had always been cagey about his dealings with the inner court. For him to involve her now, especially after that kiss meant something had shifted. Was this trust? Or manipulation?

They walked through narrow corridors and archways bathed in cool torchlight until they reached a towering set of ebony doors. Inside, a long table stretched across the room, flanked by three men in formal robes and one veiled woman whose presence felt oddly regal.

Zavian stood at the head of the table, arms crossed. He looked up as she entered, eyes unreadable. "Sit."

Not please. Just sit. She obeyed.

"This," he said, addressing the others, "is Selene. My wife, and the one who intercepted the poison meant for me."

Gasps rippled. Selene’s heart pounded.

The veiled woman leaned forward. "You’re the girl who wrote the warning note?"

Selene nodded cautiously.

Zavian’s jaw tightened. "From now on, any decisions regarding the household or its security will involve her." He turned slightly, eyes flicking to hers. "She is no longer just a concubine."

Shock hit her like a slap. She didn’t even notice her lips parting in disbelief.

One of the councilmen frowned. "You’re elevating her? So soon?"

"I make my own decisions," Zavian said coldly. "And I stand by them."

Selene’s throat dried. This was dangerous. This was power and a hundred new enemies cloaked in polite smiles.

When the meeting ended, Zavian brushed past her and whispered, "Now they’ll watch you. Be careful what you do with their attention."

She caught his wrist, bold and defiant. "Why did you do that?"

He looked down at her hand, then up at her face. "Because if you’re going to burn, you might as well learn how to set fire to others first."

The door creaked open just a sliver.

Liora froze.

No footsteps. No voices. Just the slow, calculated breath of someone trying not to be noticed.

Lucien’s gaze darted toward the gap in the door, and without a word, he reached under the folds of his robe, pulling free the small blade strapped to his thigh.

Liora moved quietly to the side, her body tensed. She could feel her pulse hammering in her throat, the remnants of the moment they’d just shared now replaced by the cold rush of instinct.

Lucien took two silent steps forward and slammed the door wide.

No one.

But the curtain across the corridor window fluttered unnaturally.

Lucien didn’t give chase. Instead, he pulled Liora close to his side and shut the door completely, bolting it.

"That wasn’t one of my men," he said grimly. "They know better than to breathe near this wing."

Liora clutched the edge of the bedframe, trying to calm her breathing. "Do you think...?"

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. "Someone’s already aware you’re here. Or worse aware of us."

The air thickened.

He turned to her, his hand brushing her hair behind her ear gently. "This changes things."

"What will you do?"

Lucien stepped back, thoughtful, then looked her over. "First, we get you out of these robes. No one should see you in anything remotely close to mine."

A flash of heat returned to her cheeks.

But his tone was serious, bordering on harsh. Not out of scorn but urgency.

"You’ll stay in the concubines’ wing tonight," he muttered. "I’ll send Edgar to arrange a false reason for your presence. If anyone asks, you were assigned there by the Queen Dowager’s steward for additional training."

"And if they don’t believe it?"

"Then I’ll feed them something far more scandalous," Lucien said dryly, "but less dangerous than the truth."

He stepped away from her, the blade still in his hand. "I need to find out who’s watching. And why."

"But if you go now, they’ll know you’re onto them."

Lucien turned halfway to face her. "Then let them know."

There was something terrifyingly beautiful about him in that moment. Still shirtless, his body half-illuminated by the candlelight, shadows playing across the faint scars on his torso, his jaw clenched not in anger but in calculation.

"I’ll see you in the morning," he murmured, approaching her one last time.

She nodded silently.

He cupped her cheek again, and she leaned into his touch. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to kiss her again but then he blinked and stepped away.

He slipped out the door with the stealth of a phantom.

And Liora was left with the knowledge that something...or someone...had just marked them both.

Whatever they had begun between them—it wasn’t just theirs anymore.

The room Liora had been locked in was now cleared. The maid who’d tended to her before the one who dared not meet her gaze, had returned to bring her a fresh robe and food. This time, she didn’t bolt. She lingered at the threshold, uncertain.

"You were brave," the maid whispered as she set down the tray. "Few stand up to him."

Liora didn’t speak. She hadn’t slept all night. Her body was sore, her mind on fire. Every word Lucien had uttered last night repeated in her head like the toll of a bell sharp, inescapable.

"I wasn’t trying to be brave," she finally murmured. "I was trying to survive."

The maid hesitated. "He didn’t order me to hurt you... or punish you further. I think he regrets what he did."

Liora almost laughed. Regret? Was that what that expression on his face was before he left? Or was it simply confusion at feeling anything at all?

"I don’t think he knows what regret is," she replied, drawing her robe closer around her arms.

By noon, Edgar came.

Not with an apology, not with an explanation. Just an invitation.

"His Highness has summoned you," Edgar said. "To the south pavilion."

Liora raised an eyebrow. "Summoned?"

"I advise you to go," he said softly, his usual formality lowering for a moment. "This meeting might be... different."

She didn’t know what to expect when she walked into the sunlit garden behind the pavilion. The flowers were blooming, the air thick with the scent of lilac and something sharper like crushed pine. It was serene, unnaturally so.

Lucien stood under the stone arch, hands behind his back, posture rigid. There was no wine today. No fire in his eyes. Just silence.

"You look alive," he said finally.

Liora stopped a few feet away. "And you look like a man unsure of what to say."

His lips curved slightly, though there was no warmth in it. "I’m used to my silence speaking for me."

"And I’m not used to being dragged through shadows just to listen to it," she shot back, tone clipped.

His jaw tightened. Then, after a moment, he motioned to the marble bench nearby. "Sit. Please."

She sat, but didn’t let her guard down. Her heart thudded too fast. This wasn’t the same Lucien from last night. It wasn’t the cruel prince who had pinned her in fury. But it wasn’t quite the composed mask either.

"I found something," he said, pulling out a small black pouch from his robe. He opened it carefully and took out a silver hairpin twisted with a sapphire nestled into its center.

Her breath caught.

"That belonged to my mother," she whispered.

"I know." His voice was low. "It was recovered from the ash piles near the storage chambers. Burnt. Hidden. Someone tried to destroy everything linked to the Miral family."

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the pin. The silver was singed at the edges, the jewel cracked but it was hers. Or rather, her mother’s.

"I thought you hated me," she said, voice shaking.

"I thought I did too." His eyes lifted to meet hers, stark and unreadable. "But hate doesn’t burn like this. Hate doesn’t make you question every order you’ve given. Hate doesn’t make you afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped to her fingers, now clutching the pin like a lifeline.

"Afraid that the moment I open the doors of truth," he whispered, "I’ll lose the only person who ever dared to face me."

Liora didn’t flinch. "Then don’t open the door halfway. Either show me what’s behind it, or close it forever."

Lucien’s hand twitched at his side. The wind stirred his robe; the sun caught the edge of his scar.

"I’ll show you," he said. "But you must be ready."