Lucien sat in the dining hall, staring at Rowena and Lysandra sitting at opposite sides of the table.
Lysandra hadn’t said anything since morning, and the afternoon was coming to an end. Lucien needed to know why she was there; was it to warn him about something, or was she simply visiting as she said?
His mind slowly went back to Elian.
Elian...
He was getting into something he could not control. Before he went to Elian’s room, he was with Rowena in his study, and when she tried to make conversation about their impending union, he suddenly needed an escape... his escape... Elian.
He didn’t mean to leave his fiancée behind and go to a man. He didn’t mean to leave Elian so suddenly that he felt like he was going crazy. He didn’t mean to let his body be consoled only by Elian’s touch. But he did all those things anyway.
But Elian was overstepping, asking deep questions only because they’d been intimate. That was not part of the deal; Elian still remained his subject, never an equal, and a subject never questions their master.
Granted, he was obsessed, but he would have to make Elian realize that his sole duty was to provide pleasure and obey rules.
"Your Grace?" Rowan waved his hand in front of Lucien’s face.
Lucien baled his fists under the table while Rowan came looming up, having just arrived.
"Rowan," he acknowledged quietly, his eyes fleeting toward the door to check if Elian had come in with him.
No one.
"You seem to be absorbed in a different space, ignoring your woman’s questions," Rowan said, a hint of a smirk appearing on his lips.
Lucien cursed under his breath and turned to Rowena, who looked unpleased with him.
"I am sorry, my Princess. I have a few matters to consider, but that does not excuse my neglect. I apologize," Lucien bowed his head in apology.
And he meant it.
He was allowing Elian to influence his behavior now.
That alone was dangerous.
Perhaps he should distance himself.
The thought struck him like a blade to the chest.
How was he supposed to keep Elian under the same roof and not touch him?
He was doing it again.
Allowing Elian to consume every corner of his mind.
"It’s alright, my love. I was only wondering whether you would honor me with one last hunt before I leave tomorrow. I have been longing for freshly hunted venison, and no one brings down game as skillfully as you."
Almost immediately, Lucien’s eyes connected with Lysandra’s, a shared memory passing between them.
"A hunt?" Lucien asked slowly.
"Yes, my love. Is it too taxing for you today? Perhaps I will wait till another time—"
"A hunt is splendid," Rowan cut in, placing a hand on Lucien’s shoulder. "Am I right, cousin?" he asked Lucien with a smile.
Lucien smiled, slowly nodding his head. "We can go hunting," he agreed.
"Great. Come, Lysandra, let us go get ready," Rowena stood, walking over to kiss Lucien’s cheek before going to take Lysandra’s hand. "It will be a splendid afternoon," she chuckled.
Lysandra stood, a look of discomfort flashing across her eyes which only Lucien caught. But she could not refuse, not when it would raise suspicion with Rowena.
Lucien watched the women leave the dining hall, his eyes hardening.
"You did not have to agree on my behalf," he stood, pinning Rowan with an angry look.
Rowan sighed, clenching his jaws. "You’re being obvious, cousin. You will attract trouble, not just with the Princess, but with the people and the King," he said, frowning.
Lucien paused, his gaze faltering for a second.
"What do you mean?" he asked, stepping closer to Rowan, his face turning cold. "What do you know?"
Rowan scoffed. "Come on, cousin... even Soren is suspecting. The way you look at him, anyone smart enough can tell." He sighed. "You’re engaged, cousin. Elian should not be your concern—"
"And he should be your concern?" Lucien arched his brow, his hand reaching up to cup Rowan’s cheek. "Should you be the one, cousin?" he murmured darkly.
"I wouldn’t mind that," Rowan smirked.
"Bastard—" Lucien raised his fist, ready to punch Rowan’s face, when the door suddenly opened behind them.
"Your Grace," Elian called quietly.
Immediately, Lucien lowered his hand, gritting his teeth. "You dare not speak of this," he whispered and faced Elian, his face softening instantly.
But Elian wasn’t looking at him; his eyes were cast down, his stance guarded. And Lucien knew exactly why.
"Your Grace, Princess Rowena asks that you come and lead the hunt. The horses are prepared." Elian bowed and left.
Lucien stood in the silence left behind by Elian, the air crackling with the remnants of his confrontation with Rowan. He ignored his cousin’s mocking smirk, his focus entirely on the retreating figure of the man he had just—barely an hour ago—claimed with such brutal possession.
He strode out to the stables, where the afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting long, bruised shadows across the yard. Rowena was already mounted, looking regal and poised, with Lysandra positioned nearby on a smaller, sleek mare. Soren stood at the ready, his expression inscrutable as he held the reins for the guests, his eyes flickering briefly to Lucien with a silent intensity.
Elian was there, too, standing near the stirrups of a dark stallion. He was dressed for the hunt, but he kept his head bowed, his hands busy with the leather straps.
"Lucien, darling," Rowena called, her voice bright and imperious. "Shall we?"
Lucien mounted his horse, the movement stiff. He watched as Elian stepped back, his role clearly defined as a silent attendant. It galled him—the way Elian had to bow, the way he had to act as though the skin Lucien had kissed, marked, and penetrated was merely the skin of a servant.
They began to ride, the horses’ hooves drumming a heavy rhythm against the packed earth of the forest path. Rowena took the lead, riding close to Lucien, her hand brushing his arm every few minutes.
"The woods are beautiful this time of day," she mused, leaning toward him. "Don’t you agree, Lucien?"
"It is... adequate," Lucien replied, his gaze drifting.
Behind them, the rest of the party trailed. Elian rode in the cluster of guards, his posture rigid. Every time Lucien stole a glance backward, he caught Elian watching—not the path, not the surrounding trees, but the way Rowena leaned into Lucien’s space.
Elian’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes were dark, shadowed by a quiet, simmering resentment that made Lucien’s blood run cold. It was a look of jealousy so raw it practically pulsed through the forest air.
As they veered deeper into the treeline, Soren drifted closer to the side where Elian rode. He seemed to be guarding his own charge, his posture protective. Lucien watched as Soren leaned in to whisper something to Elian, and for a fleeting, maddening second, Elian actually tilted his head, a small, genuine smile playing on his lips as he responded.
Lucien’s grip on the reins tightened until his knuckles went white. He hated it. He hated that Elian could smile for someone else when he was the one who owned every shuddering gasp Elian had let out that morning.
"Lucien?" Rowena’s voice broke his concentration. She had stopped her horse, the rest of the group following suit. She turned, her smile sharp as a blade. "You’re distracted. And we are nearing the clearing."
Lucien forced his gaze back to his fiancée, his mask slipping back into place. "My apologies, Princess. The heat... it’s persistent today."
He could feel Elian’s gaze on his back—heavy, judgmental, and utterly devastating. The hunt had begun, but Lucien felt like the prey, trapped between the woman who owned his future and the man who currently held his soul in his hands. He kicked his horse forward, desperate to outrun the suffocating weight of the lies he was forced to live, knowing all the while that Elian was watching every single step of his descent.
The group reached a secluded clearing, a high point in the forest where the canopy thinned, allowing shafts of golden afternoon light to pierce the dense undergrowth. It was a prime spot for deer, but for Lucien, it felt like an altar for his own unraveling.
"We wait here," Lucien commanded, his voice cutting through the stillness. He dismounted with the grace of a predator, leaving the horses to the grooms.
Soren stepped forward, his movements efficient and watchful. He positioned himself strategically, his eyes scanning the tree line, but his presence was a constant, physical barrier between Elian and the rest of the party. Lucien watched, his jaw tight, as Elian stood a few paces behind the noble group, his head bowed, his hands clasped behind his back in a pose of perfect, agonizing obedience.
The silence of the woods was oppressive. Rowena paced near the edge of the clearing, her gown sweeping over the dried leaves, while Lysandra remained standing by a gnarled oak, her eyes darting between Lucien and the distant, dark figure of Elian.
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