CHAPTER 208: THE KING’S MEN

"Blackthorne," the man said, voice low but edged.

"Vale," Lucien returned smoothly. His gaze didn’t waver.

Liora blinked, realizing at once that this must be Rowan Vale, the man Lucien trusted yet rarely spoke of aloud.

The tension between them was palpable, the kind that spoke of old alliances strained by unspoken truths.

Rowan’s eyes darted briefly to Liora, assessing, before returning to Lucien.

"You should not have come back here," he said flatly. "Not while his shadow still walks these streets."

Lucien leaned forward, his voice dropping. "Then you’ve seen him."

Rowan’s jaw tightened. "I have. And if you’ve seen him too, then you already know the truth we buried years ago is no longer safe."

Liora’s chest constricted. The way Rowan’s words hung in the air told her this was more than politics. This was personal.

Lucien exhaled slowly, almost as though the weight of it was crushing him. "Darius Vale," he said at last. "Alive. And walking free."

The name seemed to echo in the small chamber, heavy with meaning.

Rowan’s gaze darkened. "He should be dead. We made certain of it."

Lucien’s eyes flickered dangerously, but his voice was steady. "And yet, here we are."

Liora stood between them, feeling as though she were standing at the edge of a precipice. The truth, whatever it was, was ready to surface, and she could sense it would tear apart everything she thought she knew about Lucien, his disgrace, and perhaps even her parents’ fate.

"Tell me," she whispered, her voice trembling but firm. "Who is Darius Vale to you?"

Both men turned toward her then, Lucien with something unreadable in his gaze, Rowan with a flash of reluctance.

It was Lucien who spoke, though his words came like a blade drawn from a sheath.

"He is the man who destroyed my life... and the man who holds the key to yours."

The night grew heavier, the air thick with the weight of unspoken truths. Liora sat near the dying fire, the glow casting long shadows across her face. Her hands traced invisible patterns against her knees, restless yet silent.

Lucien stood near the window, his posture rigid, as though bracing himself against the storm brewing inside his chest. He hadn’t said much since their conversation with Darius Vale, but his silence was louder than any words.

Finally, Liora broke it.

"Lucien," she said softly, her voice fragile but steady, "you don’t have to carry this alone."

His head turned slightly, eyes catching hers, pale blue irises gleaming like ice beneath moonlight. "And what would you have me do, Liora? Lay down my burdens so they can crush you instead?"

"I already carry them," she answered, surprising even herself with the firmness in her tone. "Your disgrace, your pain... I share them, whether you want me to or not."

Lucien’s jaw tightened. He stepped closer, closing the distance between them until the faint warmth of his presence touched her skin. His gaze was sharp, searching, as if trying to decide whether to push her away or pull her closer.

Before he could speak, a knock rattled the door. Edgar Allne entered swiftly, bowing.

"My lord... my lady," he said, his tone clipped, urgent. "There’s movement near the estate. Torches, shadows... I believe they’re searching for someone."

Lucien’s expression hardened. "The King’s men?"

"Or worse," Edgar replied grimly. "Not soldiers. Mercenaries. Someone doesn’t want Darius Vale’s voice to echo beyond tonight."

The tension thickened. Liora’s breath hitched as realization struck. "They’re here for him."

Lucien didn’t waste a heartbeat. "Edgar, prepare the horses. We’ll move him before dawn."

Edgar bowed again and disappeared into the hall.

When they were alone once more, Lucien turned to Liora, his expression unreadable but his tone burning with urgency.

"This is what it means, Liora. To stand with me is to stand against everything, the throne, the shadows, even blood itself. Once we move tonight, there is no turning back."

Her heart pounded, fear clawing at the edges of her resolve. But she met his gaze, unwavering.

"Then let it be so," she whispered. "Because turning back was never an option."

Lucien’s lips curved, not into a smile but into something darker, an acknowledgment of the path they had chosen. He reached for her hand, gripping it tightly, as if sealing a vow neither of them had spoken aloud.

Outside, the first whisper of danger crackled through the night air.

Lucien’s fingers brushed against the cold, tarnished emblem, his jaw tightening as the memories it stirred threatened to unmoor him. He had been a child the last time he had seen this crest, etched into the banners that draped the throne room on the day his father condemned him before the court.

Liora stood close beside him, her eyes fixed on the sigil as though it might unravel the knot of her past. Her breath caught. "This... this was on my mother’s necklace," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I thought it was just an old family trinket. My aunt..." she faltered, her fists clenching, "...she sold it when my parents died."

Darius watched them both, his expression grave but steady. "It was no trinket. That emblem ties your bloodline to the earliest kings of this realm. The Mirals once held great influence, long before the Valcours rose to power. Your mother’s death... was no accident."

Liora’s knees threatened to give way. Lucien’s hand, firm and grounding, found her elbow, steadying her. "What do you mean?" he demanded, his voice sharp with a blend of suspicion and urgency. "Speak plainly, Vale."

Darius’s gaze darkened, his words slow and deliberate.

"Your disgrace, Prince Lucien, and the fall of the Mirals share a single architect. Someone has been weaving this web long before either of you understood your places in it. Evelyne Miral was not the mastermind, merely a pawn."

Liora’s breath hissed between her teeth. "Then who...?"

Before Darius could answer, the ground beneath them trembled faintly, a distant rumble echoing through the stone passages. Torches flickered, shadows lurching across the chamber walls. Darius lifted his head, every muscle in his body suddenly taut.

"They know we’ve lingered too long," he said curtly. His hand fell to the hilt of his blade. "The truth will not stay buried, but you must live to claim it. Move!"

Lucien didn’t hesitate, he grabbed Liora’s wrist, pulling her with him as they plunged deeper into the labyrinth of tunnels, the sound of pursuit beginning to echo behind them.

But Liora’s thoughts whirled even as she ran, each step heavy with revelation.

Her parents murdered, her lineage stolen, her very life twisted by hands that had always been hidden in shadow. And now, beside her, Lucien, a man whose disgrace was perhaps never truly his own.

When they burst into a wide cavern lit by faint moonlight seeping through cracks above, Darius halted, his voice low and grim. "Before we are forced apart again, remember this: the serpent that coils around the throne is older than either of you imagine. Trust no one in the palace."

His eyes lingered on Lucien. "Not even your brother."

The echo of those words lingered long after the clash of steel erupted at the cavern’s mouth.

The moment stretched, taut as a bowstring. Liora’s voice lingered in the air, her words settling over Lucien like a shroud. He did not move at first, only stood there with his hand resting on the table’s edge, knuckles white, gaze fixed on the flickering candlelight.

Finally, his lips parted. "Do you know," he said, voice low, almost guttural, "what it is to have your name dragged through blood and ash? To be called a murderer of your own wife? To be shunned not only by strangers, but by the family that raised you? I bore it all in silence...because to speak was to invite death. Not mine,but others’."

Liora flinched. "Others...?"

His eyes lifted, sharp as steel. "Rowan warned me. The conspiracy wasn’t only to ruin me, Liora. They needed a scapegoat. My silence kept certain throats from being slit, those who sheltered me, those who still swore loyalty in shadows."

Her breath hitched. He wasn’t just a disgraced prince carrying bitterness. He was a man who had been fighting, alone, in the shadows.

Lucien stepped closer, his voice dropping, intimate, edged with something dangerous. "And now you stumble into my world. With your secrets. With your reckless courage. You think I don’t see it? That I don’t see you?"

She took a step back instinctively, her back brushing the wall. His presence was overwhelming, not just in stature but in the rawness that seeped through his words.

"You hide behind obedience," he said, his gaze locking onto hers, "but your eyes burn with defiance. You despise your aunt and uncle for what they’ve done. You despise the palace for what it’s made of you. You want revenge just as I do."

Liora swallowed hard. The truth of it struck her deep.

"Tell me," Lucien pressed, his voice softer now, almost coaxing, "when they accused you of that...indecency, when they slaughtered that boy in your place, didn’t you want to tear them apart with your own hands?"

Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her chest heaved, every memory clawing up her throat.

"You see?" His mouth curved, bitter, but not without admiration. "You’re not the meek sacrifice they thought they sent me. You’re fire, Liora Miral. Fire they tried to smother."

She could barely breathe. His words stripped her, laid her bare.

Lucien’s hand rose slowly, hovering just inches from her face, fingers trembling as though fighting restraint. "And fire like yours..." His voice roughened. "Could burn me alive."

The silence that followed was thick, charged. The pull between them undeniable.

Liora whispered, almost trembling, "Then why do you keep me close?"

Lucien’s eyes darkened, and for the first time, a shadow of pain flickered there. "Because sometimes," he said hoarsely, "a man would rather burn...than freeze in the dark alone."