A DUKE'S CRIMSON SCANDAL

The riverside was a rare sanctuary away from the suffocating grandeur of the manor. The water flowed in a rhythmic, soothing cadence, catching the golden hues of the setting sun and scattering them like crushed jewels across the surface.

The air here smelled of damp earth and wildflowers, a welcome reprieve from the scent of stale incense and heavy perfumes that seemed to cling to the walls of the Duke’s estate.

Elian sat on the grassy bank, his back against the rough bark of a willow tree. Lynda was curled up on his lap, her small head resting against his chest, her eyes tracing the dragonflies that darted over the reeds. She was quiet, finally content, her small hand clutching the fabric of his tunic.

"It’s peaceful here, isn’t it?" Lynda whispered, her voice barely rising above the gentle babble of the river.

Elian looked down at her, his expression softening. He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It is, angel. It’s the only place where the world feels like it might just stop for a moment."

He watched the water swirl around the moss-covered stones, and for a fleeting second, he allowed his guard to drop. He thought of the manor, of the looming engagement ball, and of the cold, shuttered look in Lucien’s green eyes. The ache in his chest—a constant, dull throb since the incident—sharpened.

Without warning, his vision blurred. A single, hot tear escaped, tracing a path through the dust on his cheek, followed quickly by another. He hadn’t meant to let them fall, but the solitude of the riverbank made it impossible to keep the dam from breaking.

Lynda shifted, sensing the change in his breathing. She looked up and saw the tears tracking down his face, her own expression turning solemn. She didn’t ask why; she simply reached up, her small thumb wiping away the moisture.

"Why are you sad?" she asked softly.

Elian let out a shaky, jagged breath, his hands trembling as he pulled her closer. He wasn’t crying because of the wound in his chest, or the shame of the dungeon, or even the looming threat of the ball. He was crying because of the insurmountable, crushing weight of the truth.

"I love someone, Lynda," he confessed, his voice breaking into a ragged sob. "I love him more than I ever thought possible. It feels like... like my heart is tied to his, and no matter how hard I pull, I can’t break the knot."

He buried his face in her hair, his shoulders shaking.

"But he doesn’t love me back," he whispered, the words tearing out of his throat. "He can’t. He has a duty, a life that doesn’t have a place for someone like me. He will never love me, no matter how much I wish, or how much I give. I am just... I am just a ghost in his house, and he is a sun I can never reach."

The confession hung in the air, heavy and raw. He had never spoken these words aloud, not even to himself. Hearing them said now made the reality of his unrequited love feel like a final, closing door.

Lynda didn’t pull away. She didn’t offer empty platitudes or tell him it would be alright. She simply wound her small arms tightly around his neck, burying her face against his collarbone.

"You’re not a ghost," she whispered firmly, her voice small but fierce. She pulled back just enough to look him directly in the eyes, her gaze steady and filled with a wisdom that seemed too old for her face.

"I love you, Elian," she murmured. "And I know I’m not a grown-up, but... I know what love feels like. And even if he doesn’t know how to love you back, you are still loved. I love you, and you’re my favorite person in the whole world. You don’t need him to be enough."

Elian’s breath hitched. Her simple, unburdened declaration hit him harder than any grand gesture could have. In a world of dukes, princesses, and bitter secrets, he had found the only thing that felt real—a child’s unconditional love.

He pulled her into a tight, desperate hug, his tears slowing as he rested his chin on her shoulder, staring out at the river. The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long, dark shadows across the water, but for the first time in a week, the suffocating darkness of the manor felt a little further away.

---

Elian had just finished eating dinner in the infirmary with Soren and was heading back to his room when he saw the familiar figure standing beside the decorated wall of the grand hall, watching him quietly.

He lowered his face, ready to walk past Lucien without a word.

"Stop," Lucien commanded, voice steady.

Elian slowed, his back to Lucien. "Yes, Your Grace," he murmured.

"You will be guarding my study door from tomorrow morning. That will be your duty henceforth. For now, follow me." Lucien said, turning toward his private hallway.

Elian stood still for a while, his mind trying to figure out what Lucien wanted from him now. Why was he suddenly asking him to follow him?

Sighing, he turned and walked behind Lucien, his steps slow and reluctant.

Finn bowed to Lucien as he saw them approaching, opening the door for them. His eyes silently questioned Elian, wondering why he was following the Duke upstairs again after his room had been moved to a separate wing.

"Walk," Lucien ordered, standing aside to let Elian climb the stairs first.

Elian blinked slowly, staring up at the stairs. The last time he was up there, he bared his heart out and it was crushed in the harshest way ever. What else was he going to face up there?

Very reluctantly, Elian started climbing the stairs.

Behind him, Lucien followed, his eyes never once straying from Elian. He noticed how Elian had emaciated, and the way his shoulders looked because he no longer felt comfortable around Lucien.

’This was hard,’ Lucien thought, gritting his teeth as he stared at the way Elian’s curls bounced around his shoulders as he moved. How he’d missed burying his fingers inside those soft curls.

How he’d missed Elian. He was barely able to contain himself. Having Elian this close and alone had his walls crumbling like they were made of butter instead of strong bricks. His skin was burning to feel Elian’s against his, and his soul wept in the lonely abyss he’d locked himself in.

He was at the verge of breaking.

"I’m here, Your Grace. What did you want me to do?" Elian asked, pausing a few feet before Lucien’s door.

Lucien blinked, fists balling beside him as he looked at Elian’s tired face.

He wanted to go ahead and tell Elian why he had called him. Instead, he heard himself saying something else.

"How are you?" Lucien asked, his chest tightening painfully.

Elian paused, lifting his gaze to stare at Lucien in surprise.

"You... you’re asking me how I am?" he asked in disbelief.

Lucien frowned. "Are your wounds healing, Elian?" He wanted to sound stern, but his voice was a soft, quietly concerned whisper.

Elian wanted to show Lucien that his concern meant nothing, but heavens! Lucien’s concern was all he wanted.

Slowly, Elian stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "I don’t care about my wounds, Lucien..." he gulped, hating himself for being this desperate for another human being.

Lucien swallowed, his head screaming at him to step back but his body pleading with him to stay put, to cover that little space between them.

"You know what I care about, Lucien... you know—"

"I don’t love you, Elian—"

"You think I don’t know that?" Elian chuckled dryly, his fingers ghosting over Lucien’s jawline. "You think I don’t hate myself for what I feel?" He whispered, locking his blue eyes with Lucien’s darkening green eyes.

"Then stop, Elian... please..." Lucien choked, voice breaking at the end as he fought with everything he had not to wrap his arms around Elian.

It was too much. He couldn’t just stand there and watch Elian’s beautiful face tear up before him. It shattered his already breaking soul. Two weeks without Elian revealed just how empty his life was, and after he had almost lost Elian, he swore to protect him.

And to protect Elian, he had to stay away from him.

Elian slowly shook his head, tilting his face up and cupping Lucien’s face. "I miss you, Lucien. I miss your hands on me, your body against mine... you inside me—"

Lucien’s breath hitched violently. His gloved hands shot up, gripping Elian’s wrists hard enough to bruise, but he couldn’t push him away. The words hit him like a blade to the chest, slicing through every wall he had tried to rebuild.

"Fuck," Lucien cursed under his breath, the word raw and broken, filled with weeks of pent-up frustration, guilt, and unbearable longing. His control — that iron grip he had clung to for so long — finally shattered.

Before he could stop himself, before another lie could leave his lips, Lucien slammed his mouth against Elian’s in a desperate, bruising kiss. There was nothing gentle about it. It was hunger and fury and two weeks of aching emptiness poured into one searing collision. His lips claimed Elian’s with savage need, tongue thrusting past the seam of his lips to taste him, to devour the confession still lingering on his tongue.

Elian gasped into the kiss, his knees nearly buckling. Lucien’s arm banded around his waist instantly, yanking him flush against his chest as if he could fuse them together. The kiss deepened, turning filthy and possessive — teeth nipping at Elian’s lower lip, tongue stroking hot and demanding, stealing every whimper and broken breath.

Lucien walked them backward until Elian’s back hit the wall beside the door, never once breaking the kiss. His free hand tangled in those soft curls he had missed so desperately, tugging Elian’s head back to angle the kiss deeper.

When they finally parted, both of them were panting harshly, foreheads pressed together. Lucien’s green eyes were wild, dark with lust and something far more dangerous.

"You’re going to be the death of me," Lucien growled against Elian’s swollen lips, voice wrecked. "I told myself I wouldn’t touch you again. I swore it."

Elian’s fingers clutched at Lucien’s shirt, trembling. "Then stop swearing," he whispered hoarsely, "and just have me."

Lucien cursed again, low and filthy, before crashing their mouths together once more. This time there was no hesitation — only raw, desperate need as he devoured the man he could neither keep nor let go.

The tension between them crackled like lightning. Lucien’s carefully constructed walls were crumbling faster than he could rebuild them, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t want to stop the collapse.

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