CHAPTER 203: BROTHER?

The air in the throne room grew heavier as the courtiers held their breath. Lilian’s announcement had silenced even the whispers that usually lingered in such gatherings.

The Queen Dowager leaned slightly forward on her seat, her eyes sharp as blades. "Lucien Blackthorne," she said, her voice carrying through the hall, "and Liora Miral. If you are to stand as more than discarded shadows, then prove it. The kingdom cannot afford weaklings bound by convenience. I will see for myself what worth you carry."

Lucien’s jaw tensed, but he remained calm, his gaze never wavering from hers. Liora’s fingers curled in her sleeves, her pulse quickening.

At Lilian’s signal, the great doors of the hall opened. Two armored knights entered, dragging forward a figure bound in chains. The man’s hair was matted, his clothes torn, but there was still defiance in his eyes.

Liora gasped softly when she recognized him.

"It cannot be..." she whispered.

The prisoner lifted his head, and a cruel smile spread across his bruised face. "Well, well. The discarded prince and his concubine. Fate does have a twisted sense of humor."

Murmurs broke out among the nobles, the name slipping from their lips, Darius Vale, once a commander in the king’s army, later disgraced for treason and believed executed.

But here he was, alive.

Lilian’s voice cut through the commotion. "This man is accused of crimes against the Crown. His betrayal nearly cost us half the eastern borders. And yet, I did not have him executed. Do you know why?"

Her gaze flickered between Lucien and Liora, deliberate, merciless.

"Because his fate is yours to decide. Together."

A ripple of shock passed through the court.

Liora’s heart pounded in her chest. To be forced into such a choice, in public, was a cruel game. If they faltered, they would be seen as indecisive. If they acted ruthlessly, they would be condemned as heartless.

And yet Lilian’s gaze demanded only one thing: unity.

Lucien finally spoke, his voice low but cutting through the silence. "You wish to test whether we are bound by loyalty... or by fear."

The Queen Dowager’s lips curved faintly, neither denying nor confirming.

Liora glanced at Lucien, searching his face for any trace of hesitation. His hand brushed against hers beneath the folds of their robes, just the faintest touch. Steadying. A silent command to trust him.

Darius Vale laughed bitterly. "So? Will you play Lilian’s game, little prince? Or will you prove once again why the throne wanted nothing to do with you?"

The murmur of the nobles died down, leaving an uneasy silence in their wake. Darius Vale’s words still lingered in the air, sharp as a blade, and though his smile was smooth, it did little to soften the blow of his presence.

Lucien didn’t move at first. His grip on Liora’s wrist was firm, as though anchoring her in place while his eyes locked on the man who now stood before them.

"Darius Vale," Lucien finally said, his tone calm but laced with venom. "I wondered when the snake would slither out of the shadows."

A few courtiers gasped softly at the brazenness of the address, but Darius only chuckled, lowering his head in a mock bow.

"Still as fiery as ever, I see," he replied. "Though I must admit, I half-expected you’d have learned some humility by now." His gaze flicked briefly to Liora, his eyes sharp and curious, as though he meant to peel away her defenses with a single glance. "And who is this charming companion? A... concubine, is it? Or something more?"

The question was deliberately cutting, designed to provoke. Liora stiffened under the weight of his scrutiny, but she did not lower her eyes. Meeting Darius’s gaze, she felt her chest tighten, though not from fear; something about him felt oddly familiar, unsettling.

"She is not for your tongue to toy with," Lucien said sharply, pulling her closer to his side. "Speak of her again, and you’ll find that your words cost you dearly."

Darius’s smile didn’t falter. Instead, he tilted his head, studying the pair as though he were savoring every flicker of their expressions. "Protective, aren’t we? Interesting. But then again, you always did have a talent for hiding your weaknesses behind sharp words."

The venom in his tone was subtle, but Lucien caught it. He straightened, his shoulders squaring as though ready for battle right there in the courtyard. But Liora felt the slight tremor in his hand, not from fear, but from the fury he was suppressing.

Her eyes darted between them, her instincts screaming that this wasn’t just a chance encounter. There was history here, dark and twisted, and it was pulling Lucien dangerously close to the edge.

She tugged lightly at his sleeve, her voice low but steady. "Lucien. Not here."

The words broke through the taut line of tension between them. Lucien’s jaw clenched, but after a beat, he gave her the smallest nod.

Darius, however, wasn’t finished. As they began to step past him, his voice carried behind them, deliberate and poisonous.

"You can walk away now, Blackthorne. But you and I both know, your past isn’t finished with you. And neither am I."

The words hung heavy in the air as they walked away, Liora clutching the folds of her gown to keep her trembling hands hidden.

Only once they were beyond the courtyard did Lucien finally release the breath he’d been holding. His expression was carefully blank, but his silence was louder than any outburst.

"Lucien," she said softly, hesitating before touching his arm. "Who is he to you?"

He looked down at her, and for a fleeting moment, the mask slipped. In his eyes, she saw not just anger but also pain, betrayal, and something far deeper.

"He," Lucien said at last, his voice low, "was once a brother to me. And now... he may be the sharpest dagger at my back."

The silence between the three of them stretched taut, broken only by the faint rustle of banners outside and the low murmur of guards stationed in the courtyard below. Darius Vale stood at ease, as though he owned every stone beneath his boots, his sharp eyes never leaving Lucien’s face.

Lucien, however, didn’t grant him the satisfaction of a response. He turned slightly, shielding Liora from Darius’s view with a motion so subtle she almost missed it.

"You shouldn’t be here," Lucien said at last, his voice clipped, razor-thin.

"And yet, here I am," Darius replied smoothly. He shifted his weight, the golden clasp of his cloak catching the light. "The Blackthorne shadows never frightened me, brother."

Brother.

The word hung heavy in the air, striking Liora like a sudden blow. She blinked, trying to mask her surprise, but her lips parted before she could stop herself.

"Brother...?" she whispered.

Darius’s gaze slid toward her then, sharp and assessing, as if only now noticing she was more than a piece of furniture at Lucien’s side. His smirk curved. "Ah. So this is the concubine they’ve chained you with. Pretty enough. But does she know?"

Liora’s breath caught. A dozen questions clawed at her throat, but Lucien’s hand tightened imperceptibly on her wrist, silencing her. His eyes never left Darius.

"Leave her out of this," Lucien said, low and dangerous.

Darius tilted his head, amused. "Always so protective. Even now."

He took a step closer, and Liora could see the family resemblance at last, the same high cheekbones, the same proud bearing. But where Lucien’s features were shadowed with steel and restraint, Darius’s were carved with arrogance, gleaming with the privilege of one who had never been cast aside.

"You came here for a reason," Lucien bit out. "Say it and go."

Darius chuckled, a dark, velvety sound. "Very well. I thought you should know, your name has begun to surface again at court. Whispers. Old embers refusing to die. You always did have a way of clinging to relevance, even when they stripped you of title and crown."

Lucien’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

"And now," Darius went on, "a pretty little Miral girl has been sent to warm your bed. How generous of the court to toss you scraps." His gaze flicked to Liora again, lingering, deliberate. "Tell me, does she know about the last one? About your, how shall I put it, widower’s curse?"

Lucien moved before Liora could even gasp. His hand shot out, seizing Darius by the front of his cloak, slamming him against the wooden pillar so hard the walls seemed to tremble.

"Say her name," Lucien hissed, venom dripping from every word, "and I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you ever speak."

For the first time, Darius faltered. The smirk wavered, though only slightly. Still, he managed to chuckle, though it was tighter now, forced.

"There it is," he murmured. "The Blackthorne fire. I wondered if it still burned in you."

Liora’s heart pounded. She felt trapped between two storms colliding, the air so thick with history and venom she could barely breathe.

Finally, Lucien shoved Darius back, releasing him with a disgusted flick of his hand.

"Get out," he spat.

Darius smoothed his cloak, regaining his composure, though his eyes gleamed with something darker now, satisfaction, or perhaps promise.

"Enjoy your cage, brother," he said softly. "And your new toy. We’ll see how long she lasts."

With that, he turned and strode from the chamber, leaving behind only the echo of his laughter and the rancid taste of old wounds.

Liora remained frozen, her mind racing. Brother. Betrayal. Widow’s curse. The words tangled, heavy, and suffocating until she finally dared to look up at Lucien.

He was standing rigid, fists clenched, eyes burning not with anger now but something rawer, older, pain buried so deep it bled into the air around him.