CHAPTER 209: SCAPEGOAT

The silence after Lucien’s revelation stretched between them like a taut string ready to snap. The fire crackled, shadows flickering across his chiseled face.

Liora shifted on her seat, her hands tightening in her lap. "If what you say is true... then your ex-wife was never meant to be a sacrifice at all. She was caught in someone else’s plot."

Lucien’s jaw hardened. "She was not caught. She was chosen. By someone who wanted me ruined. Her death was the perfect blade, they knew it would cut me deeper than any other strike."

"And you think it was the court?" Liora asked softly, her voice trembling despite her effort to sound steady. "Someone close to you?"

He leaned forward, his eyes glinting in the low firelight. "No. Not just someone. Someones. A web of them. Ministers, courtiers, even nobles outside the palace walls. But there is one hand that guides the rest."

Liora’s breath caught. "Who?"

Lucien’s lips curved into something between a grim smile and a sneer. "I do not yet know. But I will."

For the first time, she caught a glimpse of what Lucien truly was beneath the layers of coldness and restraint: not just a disgraced prince, not just a man wronged by fate, but a predator biding his time, studying his prey.

Liora’s heart pounded. "And where do I fit into this?" she whispered. "Why tell me any of this? I am no ally to you."

His gaze locked with hers, unflinching. "Because whether you admit it or not, your fate has already been tied to mine. The night you stepped into this house, you became a piece on the board."

She recoiled slightly, the words striking deep. "A pawn, you mean."

"No," Lucien corrected, his voice low but firm. "Not a pawn. Pawns are sacrificed. You..." His eyes softened just a fraction, though his tone carried weight. "...you may be far more dangerous than you realize."

The words unsettled her. She was used to being overlooked, dismissed, and discarded. To be seen, as dangerous, of all things, made her pulse race with something between fear and strange exhilaration.

Still, her suspicion lingered. "Or perhaps you are simply making use of me. Just as my aunt and uncle did."

Lucien’s expression darkened, but he didn’t look away. "Use you? No. I protect what I intend to keep. If I wanted to use you, Liora, you wouldn’t be sitting here."

The fire popped, breaking the tense silence.

Liora stared into the flames, her throat dry. The thought pressed in on her, what if he was right? What if, in coming here, she had been woven into something far larger than she could control?

Yet another thought stirred, quiet but insistent: If I stay close to him, perhaps I’ll find answers to my own questions. About my parents. About the truth Evelyne never wanted me to know.

The storm outside raged on, but inside, a storm of a different kind was only just beginning.

The following evening, the palace was buzzing with unusual activity. Word of King Alden summoning the council had spread, though few knew the reason. Servants hurried through corridors, guards stood in sharper formation, and the nobles whispered amongst themselves, their curiosity stretching thin.

Inside his chambers, Lucien leaned against the window frame, staring at the fading horizon. Rowan stood nearby, his expression unreadable.

"You intend to go?" Rowan finally asked.

Lucien’s lips curved into a humorless smile. "Do I have a choice? Alden will not rest until he sees me there."

Rowan frowned. "And if the king reveals more than expected?"

"That," Lucien murmured, turning, "is what I intend to find out."

Before Rowan could press further, a knock sounded. Edgar Allne, the steward, stepped in, bowing. "My lord, Lady Liora wishes to see you."

At the mention of her name, Lucien’s composure wavered for a heartbeat. He dismissed Rowan with a nod, and the man slipped out silently.

Moments later, Liora entered. She wore a pale gown, simple yet graceful, her dark hair unbound. She looked uneasy, her hands clenched at her sides.

"You sent for me?" Lucien asked, masking his voice with indifference.

"No," she said quickly. "I came on my own."

He arched a brow. "Brave."

"I needed to warn you." She took a step closer, her eyes searching his. "The king isn’t summoning you just to test your loyalty. He’s... planning something bigger. I overheard the queen dowager speaking with him earlier. It’s about your past, Lucien. About..." she hesitated, lowering her voice, "...the death of your first wife."

Lucien’s expression hardened instantly, shadows clouding his gaze. "Be careful what you say, Liora."

"I’m not accusing you," she said, her voice trembling yet steady with conviction. "But if the king truly believes you’re innocent, then why bring it up now, after all these years? He wants to use it. To expose or protect you, I don’t know which. But the council tomorrow... it won’t just be about your disgrace."

Lucien’s jaw tightened. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, but his voice was low, dangerous. "Who else heard this?"

"No one," Liora whispered. "Only me."

For a long moment, silence weighed between them. Finally, Lucien turned away, his hand tightening over the edge of the window frame.

"Then tomorrow," he said quietly, "the truth may finally step into the light."

But in his heart, he knew truths could destroy as easily as they freed.

The morning after the attack, the Blackthorne estate stirred with unease. Servants whispered in corners, their steps hurried, as if the very stones carried secrets too heavy to bear. Outside, the autumn sun filtered through mist, casting pale light over the gardens where soldiers patrolled in tense silence.

Inside the manor, Liora sat at a long oak table, untouched tea cooling before her. Her mind was still replaying the night the blood, the whisper of steel, the way Lucien had shielded her even as his enemies tried to cut him down.

Across from her, Rowan Vale leaned against the window frame, arms crossed. His usual wry composure was dimmed. "They weren’t simple mercenaries," he said quietly. "Their movements were too disciplined. Whoever sent them knew your routines, Lucien."

Lucien, sitting at the head of the table, was silent for a long moment. His dark gaze stayed fixed on the faint scratches left by blades across the polished floor. Finally, he spoke, voice edged with steel.

"Then someone within these walls betrayed me."

Liora’s breath caught. The thought twisted like a knife. "But who would dare?" she asked.

Rowan’s eyes flickered toward her, softening slightly. "That is what we must find out, my lady."

Lucien finally looked at her. His expression was unreadable, but his words carried weight. "The Blackthorne name is already branded in disgrace. They want me erased entirely. Last night wasn’t meant as a warning, it was meant as an execution."

Silence followed. The only sound was the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth.

Then Edgar Allne, the steward, entered quietly, bowing his head. "Your Grace," he addressed Lucien, though the title no longer belonged to him officially. His voice trembled slightly. "The bodies of the attackers have been... disposed of as you ordered. But... one still lives. Barely."

Lucien’s eyes sharpened. "Alive?"

Edgar nodded. "He’s being held in the cellar. He keeps muttering... something about the Valcour name."

At that, Rowan’s head snapped up, and Liora felt the air grow colder. The Valcour name, Ellora’s bloodline. The queen’s family.

Lucien rose slowly, every movement measured, his presence filling the room. "Take me to him," he ordered. Then his gaze swept to Liora, lingering. "You too."

For the first time, Liora wondered if stepping into that cellar would bring her closer to answers or to another noose tightening around their necks.

Lucien’s words seemed to hang in the air like a curse.

The nobles whispered amongst themselves, their eyes darting between the disgraced prince and the throne. Alden’s jaw tightened, but his gaze never left Lucien. Ellora’s smile faltered for the first time, though her hand still rested lightly on the king’s arm.

Queen Dowager Lilian broke the silence, her voice smooth yet edged with steel.

"Are you suggesting, Lucien," she said, "that you were deliberately made the scapegoat of another’s crime?"

Lucien bowed his head slightly, though his eyes gleamed with unshaken conviction.

"I am not suggesting, Your Grace. I am declaring it."

A ripple of gasps spread. Some nobles exchanged skeptical looks; others leaned forward, eager for drama.

Alden’s voice boomed across the hall.

"Then speak clearly, brother. Who is it you accuse?"

The hall went silent.

Rowan, standing a few steps behind Lucien, clenched his fists, ready for the storm that would follow. Liora’s breath caught; she knew whatever Lucien said next could change everything, either sealing his fate forever or tearing the veil from the lies that bound him.

Lucien stepped forward, his boots echoing against the marble floor. His tone was low but sharp enough to slice through the air.

"The night my wife was killed, I was already under watch. My movements restricted, my words twisted. I was the easiest target. But the one who orchestrated it..."...his eyes swept the gathered faces, lingering for a fraction too long on Alden before shifting toward the council of nobles..."...was someone who stood to gain both power and favor in the court."

He paused, letting the tension coil.

Liora’s heart pounded. He’s going to do it... he’s going to name them.

But before Lucien could continue, one of the elder lords, a hawk-nosed man draped in red, slammed his staff against the floor.

"Enough of this madness! These are wild accusations from a man already condemned by his own deeds!"