CHAPTER 182: WE’VE BEEN FOLLOWED.

The air in the corridor leading from the pavilion felt different, denser, like secrets clung to the walls. Lucien walked ahead, and for once, Liora didn’t trail behind like a passive shadow. She walked beside him.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, still gripping the cracked hairpin. It felt heavier than it should.

"To the lower wing," he said. "There’s something you should see."

They passed through several locked doors, Edgar following at a distance, his expression unreadable. Down a spiral staircase, into a cold corridor lit only by wall sconces. The deeper they descended, the more the scent changed from lilacs and sun to dust and secrets.

"This part of the palace was sealed years ago," Lucien murmured. "After the incident."

Liora’s steps slowed. "What incident?"

"My brother’s first wife," he said. "The one whose death was pinned on me."

A flicker of discomfort rippled across her features. She hadn’t heard much about her. Only whispers that Lucien had been found with bloodied hands, and the princess had died under mysterious circumstances. It was the scandal that led to his disgrace.

Lucien paused before a large wooden door reinforced with iron. "This was her chamber."

He pushed it open. The hinges groaned like they hadn’t moved in years.

The room was preserved, eerily so. Dust coated everything, silken curtains, a silver mirror, and an ornate vanity. A broken comb lay on the ground, snapped in two. But what drew Liora’s attention wasn’t the furnishings. It was the tapestry.

Hung above the fireplace, half-burned, frayed at the edges.

It bore the crest of the Valcour family. But just beneath it, almost invisible unless one looked close, was the faint symbol of the Miral house, embroidered in thread so pale it nearly disappeared.

"That’s impossible," she whispered.

Lucien stepped beside her. "Your house’s crest was hidden beneath another. This room was meant to conceal it. The woman who lived here wasn’t just a princess. She was tied to your bloodline."

Liora turned sharply. "You’re saying your brother’s wife was a Miral?"

"She was a cousin. Not by blood...by oath. Your father’s family had more ties than you were told." He gestured toward the fireplace. "And someone didn’t want that connection known. The fire that killed her wasn’t an accident."

Her heart pounded in her ears.

"So they covered it up," she said slowly. "And blamed you."

Lucien gave a short nod. "It was convenient. I was already the one they distrusted. One false step and they buried me in it."

Liora’s grip tightened on the hairpin until her knuckles whitened. "Why are you showing me this now?"

His gaze moved to her. For a moment, there was no coldness, no calculation. Just weariness.

"Because you need to understand that our stories were tied long before you stepped foot in my estate."

Silence fell between them, heavy and raw.

Lucien reached forward and gently brushed her hair back. "They used us both, Liora. And I won’t let them do it again."

Her breath caught as his hand lingered, palm warm against her cheek. For the first time, he wasn’t pulling her close to prove dominance. There was something gentler in the gesture.

"Then don’t hide things from me again," she whispered.

"I won’t," he said. "But it’s time we fight together."

She met his gaze and, without thinking, leaned forward, not for a kiss, but for the truth. To hear it fall from his lips and echo through this cursed place.

But before either could speak further, Edgar’s voice rang out behind them...low, tense.

"My lord... We’ve been followed."

Lucien stiffened, fingers brushing the hilt of the dagger tucked into his belt.

Liora turned to the doorway, her heart slamming against her chest.

No one was supposed to know they were here.

Lucien crossed the chamber in two swift strides, pushing the door halfway closed and motioning for Edgar to speak. The steward leaned in, voice barely audible above the beat of Liora’s pulse.

"There was movement on the upper staircase. Just a flicker of fabric. Whoever it was is trained, they left no sound."

Lucien’s jaw flexed. "And you only noticed now?"

"They were careful," Edgar replied. "Too careful."

Liora stepped closer to the door, her fingers curled tightly around the broken hairpin. "If they followed us down here, they knew where we were going."

Lucien nodded, his gaze flicking to the tapestry again. "Then someone wanted to know how much we’d uncover."

"Could it be one of the maids? Or the guards?" she asked, trying to keep her voice calm, though her skin tingled with unease.

"No," Edgar said. "This wasn’t a curious servant. Whoever it was knows these halls... and knows how to hide."

Lucien turned to Liora. "We’ll draw them out. But not now. Not here."

He took her hand without warning. His palm was warm and steady, an anchor in the storm of shadows swirling around them.

"We’re not safe here anymore," he said.

As they exited the chamber, Edgar remained behind, locking the door with a thick iron key and tucking it deep into his coat. The staircase groaned beneath their weight as they climbed, the silence too perfect, as if the very walls were listening.

When they reached the upper floor again, the light was dimmer. One of the sconces that had been burning when they arrived was now extinguished. Liora felt her stomach tighten.

A warning.

"Back to your chambers," Lucien murmured.

"No," she said quickly. "If someone’s watching me, I’m not hiding behind silk curtains while you chase shadows."

He turned to her, eyes dark. "And what will you do? Stab them with your broken hairpin?"

She didn’t flinch. "If I must."

A breath passed between them tension, recognition.

He gave a bitter half-smile. "You’re as foolish as I am."

"And you’re more reckless than I thought," she returned.

He stepped closer, his breath brushing her forehead. "Then we deserve each other."

Their eyes met equal parts fire and fury and for a moment, the world narrowed.

His hand slid behind her neck, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw. The gesture was far from soft. It was searching, intense, as if trying to carve the truth from her skin. She didn’t look away. Didn’t breathe.

And then his lips were on hers.

Not a kiss of warmth or patience, but of urgency. Frustration. A collision of truths long buried. Her fingers clutched his sleeve as her back hit the wall, and he didn’t pull away. The taste of him was bitter, like wine gone sharp, and she drank it anyway.

When they parted, it wasn’t from lack of desire, but from the sound.

A faint creak in the corridor.

Lucien turned his head sharply, releasing her with a final brush of his thumb. The moment shattered.

"We’ll finish this later," he murmured, low and dangerous.

She nodded, still catching her breath.

But in her mind, one question burned:

Who would go to such lengths... to follow a disgraced prince and a discarded concubine into the shadows of a forgotten wing?

Lucien moved first, his steps precise and purposeful but quieter than before. Liora followed close behind, her fingers still tingling from the kiss they hadn’t spoken of. Shadows clung to the corridor as though reluctant to release them, and the once-familiar hallways now felt like foreign terrain.

They passed no one. Not a single guard. Not a wandering maid. Not even the usual patrolling echoes of the palace night shift. It was too quiet.

Too convenient.

"I don’t like this," Liora whispered.

"Neither do I," Lucien replied. "Stay close."

They turned down the hall that led toward the west wing, the rarely used quarters that once belonged to lesser nobility. As they passed an arched window, moonlight cut across the corridor, illuminating something that made Lucien stop short.

A mark on the wall, faint but deliberate. A red smear, as though someone had run their gloved finger across fresh paint.

Or blood.

Liora’s breath caught. "Lucien..."

"It’s a message," he said grimly. "Or a warning."

He bent down, his fingers brushing the smear. It was fresh. Still damp.

And it led to one of the sealed doors near the end of the hallway.

Lucien straightened, his voice low. "Edgar said someone was moving silently. This door hasn’t been used in months. What do you think the odds are?"

"That we’re being baited?" Liora asked. "Very high."

He gave her a look of grim approval. "Then let’s not disappoint them."

He reached into the inside of his coat and drew a slender blade, its surface dull black to avoid catching light. Liora’s eyes widened. "You carry a dagger?"

Lucien didn’t answer. He pushed open the door slowly, without a creak. The hinges had been oiled recently.

Another bad sign.

The room beyond was dark. Dust motes floated in the single shaft of moonlight leaking through a high, narrow window. Liora stepped inside carefully, heart racing. Lucien followed, closing the door behind them without a sound.

For a moment, they heard nothing.

Then...a whisper of cloth. A figure darted behind a tall screen at the far end of the chamber.

Lucien moved swiftly, but the intruder was faster. By the time he reached the screen, the figure had vanished again, through a panel hidden in the wall.

"Damn it," he hissed.

Liora came to his side. "Whoever it was knew this place well. Knew we’d come here."

Lucien’s jaw clenched. "They’re testing us. Watching what we’ll do next."

"Then we give them something to see," she replied, breathless but defiant.

And when she looked at Lucien, she saw it again the flicker of conflict behind his gaze. Between protecting her and letting her stand beside him. Between the coldness he’d cultivated and the heat he couldn’t seem to suppress.

He stepped closer once again, and the air between them grew taut. She didn’t back away.

But before either of them could speak, a sharp crack echoed behind the wall panel, the sound of something heavy falling.

Both froze.

Lucien whispered, "They’ve left something behind."