CHAPTER 107: AN APOLOGY GIFT

[Rynthall Estate—Silas and Lucein’s Chamber—continuation]

Lucien’s smile was the kind that could make grown men rethink their life choices. Calm, too calm, and dangerous. He tilted his head, looking at the little girl clinging to him like a black-haired koala.

"Elysia... sweetheart," Lucien cooed, his voice sweet as honey but carrying the weight of doom, "would you do Mama a tiny favor? Go find Alphonso and ask him to prepare a dessert for us. I’m feeling... rather hungry."

Elysia’s tiny arms tightened around his neck like a vise, her crimson eyes narrowing at Silas. Death glare, inherited directly from Lucien himself.

"No," she whispered dramatically, refusing to let go.

Lucien chuckled softly, rubbing her back. "Sweetheart..."

Elysia finally loosened her grip but not without one final glare at Silas that could have turned stone to dust. Then, with all the speed of a tiny general preparing for war, she dashed toward a drawer near the bed.

"Ely? What are you doing?" Lucein asked.

The drawer banged open. Small hands rummaged through it with the intensity of a spy on a mission. Then, triumphantly, she pulled out...

TA-DA!!!!

A tiny wooden dagger.

She sprinted back to Lucien, her pigtails bouncing, her face serious—deadly serious. With a solemn little bow, she presented the dagger to him as if she were knighting him.

"Mama," she declared with the kind of conviction only toddlers possess, "if this weird mister does something... use this. Until I am not here."

Lucien’s lips curved into a dangerously soft smile. "Thank you, sweetheart. I’ll keep it close." He accepted the dagger like it was a sacred relic.

"Good." She turned on her heel like a tiny soldier. "I’ll bring Marcel. He runs faster than Alphonso!"

And then she dashed for the door, yelling at the top of her lungs, "MARCEL! MAMA WANTS DESSERTS!!"

And...

SLAM!!!

The door shut with such force the frame rattled. Silas blinked. He stared at the door. Then at the dagger in Lucien’s hand. Then back at Lucien.

Lucien turned toward him slowly, his smile still there—but now sharper, thinner, and terrifyingly calm. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, until Silas finally swallowed hard.

"Luce..." he tried weakly. "You know, she’s very... spirited. Takes after you, really. I think—"

"Sit. Down." Lucien’s voice was velvet laced with steel.

Silas sat. Immediately.

"Do you know," Lucien began, twirling the tiny dagger between his fingers with far too much skill, "how impressive it is that our daughter already knows how to arm me before leaving a room? At three?"

Silas forced a laugh. "Smart kid, right? I mean, that’s good parenting, don’t you think?"

Lucien’s smile widened. "Oh, she’s brilliant. But you...?" He leaned closer, the dagger now resting lazily against his palm. "You opened that mouth and poured filth into it in front of her. And now, my darling little girl thinks you’re a weird mister who needs to be stabbed."

Silas shrank a little. "Okay, okay. Look, it wasn’t that

bad. It was a slip; I was just—"

"Joking?" Lucien cut in, the word sharp. "Do you seriously think telling a three-year-old that she was born because of you is an appropriate dinner conversation?"

"Technically, it’s true—"

"Technically," Lucien’s voice dropped, his smile now thin and terrifying, "I should throw you out of this room and make you sleep with the horses for the next month. Do you know what you’ve done? She’s going to ask QUESTIONS."

He stalked closer, each step deliberate, like a predator cornering prey. "And do you have any idea," he hissed, "how impossible it is to answer her questions? She once asked me why the moon follows us when we walk at night, Silas. THE MOON. And you—" He jabbed a finger toward him, "—you go and drop that kind of... nonsense in front of her?!"

Silas raised both hands as if surrendering to an armed enemy. "Oh, come on! It wasn’t that bad. What’s the harm in a little truth—"

"Truth?" Lucien’s voice cracked like a whip, sharp and deadly. "Silas, if you ever—and I mean ever—say anything like that again in front of my daughter, I will personally see to it that you regret the day you learned to talk. Do you understand me?"

Silas, instead of cowering, tilted his head and put on the most pitiful expression he could muster, his crimson eyes widening like an abandoned puppy in the rain. "My love," he said dramatically, "are you seriously going to punish me the moment I arrive home from war? After years of battle? You are so cruel."

Lucien’s composure cracked for just a second, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. He turned away, muttering under his breath as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"I am not cruel. I’m just... frustrated. And worried. But—" he exhaled, shoulders dropping, "—I am sorry."

Silas blinked, his teasing expression melting into something softer. He knelt down in front of Lucien, catching his face between his hands, rubbing his thumbs gently over those tense cheeks.

"Were you worried about me?" he asked, his voice low, threaded with warmth.

Lucien finally met his gaze. "Yes," he admitted quietly. "But I trusted you. I knew you’d come back to me."

That was all Silas needed to hear. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Lucien’s forehead, lingering there for a moment before murmuring against his skin, "Of course I came back. I had to. My love was waiting for me. And besides—if I didn’t, you’d hunt me down and beat me to death yourself."

Lucien snorted despite himself. "You’re not wrong."

With a grin, Silas rose and, without warning, scooped Lucien onto his lap as he sat down. Lucien yelped, stiffening immediately.

"What are you doing?!" he hissed, struggling half-heartedly. "Silas, Elysia could come back any second!"

"And?" Silas tightened his arms around him, pulling him snug against his chest. "Our daughter should see how much her parents love each other. What’s wrong with that?"

Lucien glared, but his cheeks were bright pink. "You’re impossible."

"Maybe," Silas whispered, kissing the crown of his head, "but I’m yours. Entirely. Every breath, every scar, every piece of me belongs to you."

Lucien’s breath hitched—just for a moment—before he snapped his gaze away. "Stop saying things like that."

But Silas only smiled. Slow. Predatory. His hands slid, deliberate and unhurried, beneath the hem of Lucien’s shirt. His fingertips trailed against warm skin, skimming over the ridges of his ribs before circling lazily around his nipples that tightened under his touch.

Lucien jolted, crimson blooming across his face. "Silas—what are you doing?"

Silas blinked down at him with mock innocence, though the dark heat in his gaze betrayed him. "Touching what’s mine."

Lucien swatted at his hand, mortified. "Take them out—now! Don’t forget, we have a daughter, and she could walk in any moment."

"Exactly why I’m holding you tighter," Silas said smoothly, his lips brushing the shell of Lucien’s ear before giving the faintest nip. "I’ve been starved, Lucien. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve touched you like this? Since I’ve had you in my arms?"

Lucien squirmed, struggling, though every movement only pressed them closer. "Silas—stop! We are not doing this here—"

"And why not?" Silas’s voice dropped to a husky whisper, a dangerous edge of longing laced through it. "Why deny me when I’m right here, craving you like a man half-crazed? Let me have you, my love."

"You’re—insufferable," Lucien managed, wriggling like a trapped cat, his blush now creeping down his neck.

Silas’s mouth curved into a wicked smile. "Then I’ll make it worse. Perhaps..." He paused, letting his lips trace feather-light along Lucien’s jaw. "...Perhaps I should give our dearest daughter an apology gift."

Lucien stilled, suspicion flickering in his eyes. "What... kind of gift?"

"A sibling," Silas purred.

Lucien’s eyes went wide, heat rushing to his face so fast it nearly burned. "Wh—what?!"

"You heard me." Silas’s tone was pure velvet, teasing but heavy with intent. "Our daughter deserves a little partner-in-crime, don’t you think? A little brother or sister... made tonight. She will be happy and will realize that I am her father."

Lucien practically turned into a live wire, twisting on Silas’s lap, his entire face flaming. "You—are out of your mind! Let go of me now! Elysia could come back any second, Silas."

"C’mon, my love." Silas tightened his hold, his voice dipping lower, raw with restrained hunger. "She’s not here now. And I am so—so—hungry, Lucien. Let me touch you for a little bit, my love; I’ve waited years for this. Do you really expect me to sit still when the only person I’ve ever wanted is trembling in my arms?"

Lucien’s pulse jumped, his fingers curling into Silas’s shirt even as he tried to push away. "Silas—don’t—"

SLAM!!!

"Mama! I’m back!!!"

Lucien’s soul nearly left his body. He punched Silas square in the chest, leapt off his lap, and stood rigid, his face frozen in an awkward smile as he smoothed his hair.

"H-ha! Y-you came very fast, my child!" he said with nervous laughter, sweat beading at his temple.

Silas, still sprawled on the bed and groaning where Lucien had struck him, could only smirk through the pain.