By the time the royal cabin emerged from the trees—a grand, secluded stone retreat with a wide covered deck elevated like a throne overlooking the forest—they were both drenched. Lucien slowed the horse beneath a large oak.
He dismounted first, then reached up with both hands, spanning Elian’s waist as he helped him down gently, his thumbs brushing lightly over wet fabric in silent reassurance.
"Climb up to the deck, Elian," Lucien murmured, his voice low and stripped of its usual steel. "Stay under the overhang. I’ll be right there."
Elian nodded wordlessly and ascended the wooden steps, arms wrapped around himself as rain drummed overhead. Lucien led the stallion to the sturdy shed he had built beside the cabin, quickly securing the animal with fresh hay and a dry blanket before striding back through the downpour.
He climbed the steps and took Elian’s hand without asking, guiding the quiet young man inside.
The heavy oak door thudded shut behind them, sealing out the storm.
Elian glanced around the living area, realizing how different it was from the Stonewall Manor. This place felt like a real home.
Only one room in the entire royal cabin was fully decorated—Lucien’s own bedchamber. The others remained empty shells. He led Elian straight there.
The space was warm, a low fire crackling in the hearth. Rich tapestries softened the stone walls, and the large four-poster bed with its heavy furs and silk sheets dominated the room.
Lucien closed the chamber door softly, then turned, brushing a soaked curl from Elian’s forehead with careful fingers. His touch lingered.
"You’re safe here," he whispered, green eyes dark with something raw and unguarded. "No crowds. No judgments. Just us."
Elian remained silent, blue eyes distant, the weight of the tavern chants and his fractured place in the world still pressing on him. Yet he didn’t flinch when Lucien drew him closer, the Duke’s presence once again the only barrier between him and total collapse.
"We need to get you out of your clothes," Lucien started to unbutton Elian’s wet shirt, but Elian stepped away from him.
"I can do it, Your Grace," Elian whispered, his cold fingers moving up to his buttons.
He had forgotten the gloves in the Stonewall Manor, and his fingers trembled from the cold rain.
Lucien watched Elian with an aching heart; even in an enclosed space, Elian was still choosing to distance himself. He could no longer bear it.
With slow strides, he was back to standing in front of Elian, his gloved hands reaching up to gently wrap over Elian’s. "Let me," he murmured.
Elian didn’t want to speak to Lucien, so he just let him do it. After all, his fingers were quite numb to grasp a button.
Lucien unbuttoned Elian’s shirt with ease, gently pulling it down Elian’s shoulders and off his hands. He didn’t throw it to the floor; he simply reached down and unzipped Elian’s pants, letting them fall off his waist.
"Step out," he murmured.
Elian gulped and did as he was asked, his hands almost reaching out to cover his cock but realizing he’d look stupid. Lucien had already seen everything he owned; what was the use of hiding it now?
The embarrassing part was how he was slowly hardening in front of Lucien, like his body had no shame and dignity.
Lucien didn’t react; he simply picked up the pants and placed a large hand on Elian’s small waist, guiding him toward the canopy bed.
He walked over to the closet and pulled out a large, woolen cream towel, walked back to Elian, and placed it over his shoulders.
"Dry up. I’ll do the same," he said and walked away.
With a frown, Elian turned and watched Lucien walk into what he believed was his washroom.
He could not fathom what was going on. Had Lucien been swapped at the manor? Because the man he’d been with since the trip was acting nothing like Lucien the devil.
Was this the human part of Lucien slowly creeping out? Why?
Why would Lucien let him glimpse what he looked and felt like as a human? It was dangerous, because his stupid heart and body were starting to interpret it in a very, very wrong way.
He urged the towel around himself, moving his eyes toward the hearth, watching the crackling fire and enjoying the warmth it radiated throughout the room.
Lucien had said ’no crowds, no judgments, just us’... Elian sighed.
"Just us?" he murmured, his brows knitting together.
What does that even mean?
There was no them. It was impossible.
His mother’s words suddenly echoed in his ears—’kill him!’—he shut his eyes tightly, trying to churn it off his mind.
To kill Lucien would be to sabotage the truth. There was more to his father’s death than just Lucien being a ruthless Duke. He wasn’t saying he was forgiving Lucien—no, never. He still hated him, just... he needed him alive... not because he was feeling anything for the Duke, but because the Duke was his only path to truth.
His mother needed to understand that things weren’t as straight-lined as she thought they were. Also, exposing the Duke’s unfaithfulness would only lead him safely back to the dungeon, and it was the last place on his mind.
Lucien’s footsteps slowly approached, and Elian stiffened, curling his toes on the floor.
Behind him, Lucien stood, staring at Elian, who hadn’t made any effort to properly wipe his body or his dripping hair.
"Do you want to get unwell?" Lucien asked, stepping in behind Elian to take the towel away from Elian’s grip.
He gently threw the small bottle of oil onto the soft bed and turned Elian so he faced him.
Elian’s fingers curled the moment he saw that Lucien was completely naked except for the white towel around his waist. Why hadn’t he dressed?
He fixed his gaze on the floor, refusing to drink in the Duke’s hot, sculpted body in front of him.
With his gentlest fingers, Lucien wiped Elian’s face, dabbing his skin with utmost care.
"You’re beautiful," Lucien said softly, surprising Elian with his randomness.
Elian’s breath hitched in his throat, a flush of warmth flooding through his body from Lucien’s compliment. His cheeks flamed, and he knew they’d be red by now.
"You could have at least wiped these curls," Lucien leaned in, his hot breath fanning Elian’s ear as he leaned on to dry Elian’s hair.
"I have oil for your skin and hair... we don’t want these curls getting tangled." Lucien’s deep voice murmured as his bare fingers sank into Elian’s hair, massaging his scalp.
Elian closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of Lucien’s fingers on his scalp.
Lucien watched Elian’s face, his heart fluttering hard in his chest. He couldn’t explain it, but these past days with Elian not responding to him, it made him feel empty. He almost questioned why he lived when Elian wouldn’t even look at him.
Dangerous, he knew. But in there, in his cabin, he wasn’t going to think about what was wrong or right. He wasn’t going to ponder on how the council might perceive his actions, judge him, spread a scandal, or even dethrone him.
He was just going to be human. A human who wanted the other human in front of him with every fiber of his being. His hand left Elian’s hair and cupped his face, thumb caressing Elian’s smooth skin.
"Look at me, Elian," he whispered softly.
Elian’s heart was throbbing loud and fast, his chest heaving slowly. Gradually, he lifted his eyelids and met Lucien’s hooded green eyes right in front of him.
"I can’t stand it," Lucien murmured.
Elian frowned, "Can’t stand what, Your Grace—"
"Lucien," Lucien corrected gently.
Elian blinked, "What?"
Lucien sighed, leaning his face closer, "It’s just us here, Elian. Please, call me Lucien... anything but that suffocating title." He chuckled quietly.
Elian didn’t miss the sadness in Lucien’s eyes. It was as if Lucien was trapped in his own world with his demons, and in dire need of saving. He wanted to reach out, to save Lucien, but he had no map to that world; he knew nothing about Lucien. How was he supposed to help him with a blindfold on?
Elian nodded once, blue eyes shimmering under the firelight. The storm continued outside, creating a soothing soundtrack for the emotional episodes happening inside the house.
"What can’t you stand, Lucien?" Elian asked in a quiet voice.
Lucien inhaled shakily, pressing his forehead against Elian’s, "Your silence. Your ignorance... your rage." He dared not say hate.
That would be an overstepping and an outing he could not defend. He knew Elian would always hate him; for that, he was content with simply getting attention and not affection.
Elian sighed, "I’m speaking to you now."
"Because we’re locked alone in here. Would you speak to me if I brought them here?" Lucien asked.
Elian didn’t speak; they both knew the answer to that.
"Fuck this..." Lucien leaned in, lips brushing against Elian’s, "Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll step away, Elian." His voice trembled slightly.
Elian licked his lips, eyes locking onto Lucien’s darkened ones, "I..." His eyes lowered to Lucien’s chest, to his waist, disappointed by what that darned towel was hiding.
Of course he wanted this. "I want it... I want you," he whispered.
Lucien smiled, but instead of kissing Elian’s lips, he slowly lowered himself to his knees in front of Elian.
"Lucien..." Elian gasped in shock as he realized what Lucien wanted to do.
Lucien stared heatedly at Elian’s throbbing cock before lifting his gaze to Elian.
"I’m on my knees for you, Elian. Fuck your anger away into my mouth," he smirked.
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