Chapter 55 A Clear Trigger
Lucien’s jaw tightened.
For a terrifying second, he looked as though he might give in to whatever reckless impulse was burning between them.
Then he stepped back.
The sudden distance felt colder than the winter air outside.
"Enough."
The single word struck Elian harder than any shout.
Lucien dragged a hand through his dark hair and turned away from him, his shoulders rigid.
"You are emotional, exhausted, and angry," he said. "And I am in no condition to make reasonable decisions."
Elian stared at him in disbelief.
"So that’s it?" he asked quietly.
Lucien laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
"No. That’s precisely the problem."
Silence settled between them.
For the first time, neither of them seemed willing to fill it.
Finally, Lucien faced him again.
"You should hate me, Elian."
The words landed heavily.
"And yet," Lucien continued, "every time I think I’ve pushed you away, I find you standing right where I left you."
Elian’s chest tightened.
"Maybe I’m trying to understand you."
"Don’t."
"Why?"
Something dark flickered across Lucien’s expression.
"Because the moment you do," he said softly, "everything becomes far more dangerous."
He walked over to Elian, fixing his clothes. "Go. Stay in your room. I don’t want to see you with Cassian. I do not like it." He took his glove from Elian and took two steps backward.
Elian chuckled softly. "Yes, Your Grace."
He tore his eyes away from Lucien and pulled the door open, leaving without glancing back.
He walked over to his room and locked himself in. His breathing was still fast, but now he was more angry than aroused.
He had brought himself so low to plead for sex, yet Lucien did not miss the opportunity to remind him that he had no right to ask for pleasure on his terms. Only Lucien held the reins to when and how it happened.
Now, he was not only denied pleasure, but he was locked in for the rest of the day.
He walked over to the bed and settled down, staring toward the window and wondering what was going on with Lucien.
Right now, he was more invested in digging up Lucien’s past more than anything. Perhaps finding the root of Lucien’s problem might be the key to his release. The Duke was clearly troubled about something; his walls were higher than the castle walls, and the ice in his soul was impenetrable.
Sighing, he lowered his back onto the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
They would return to the stonewall mansion in the morning, and Elian wasn’t so sure he was eager to make himself ready on Lucien’s bed after being rejected.
Was he angry?
Yes.
Was he disappointed?
Very.
Tonight was Rowena’s birthday ball; luckily, since he’d been ordered not to leave his room, he wouldn’t have to witness Lucien kissing the princess like she was his everything.
Night soon fell over the castle, moonlight streaming into Elian’s window.
He had busied himself by sleeping, and now he was wide awake and very bored.
He moved over to his window, watching the different carriages roll into the courtyard. He could hear the faint music from the grand hall and he wondered just how many conspiracies were going on behind the masks of all those nobles... including Lucien.
Well, at least he didn’t have to be a spectator to their dark, fake world.
He was halfway to his bed when a knock sounded on his door.
He paused, wondering who it could be.
Lucien?
Slowly, he approached the door, ready to face his wicked master once again.
He pulled the door open, but was surprised to find an unfamiliar maid standing with neatly folded white clothes in her hands.
"Your outfit for the night, sire," she said, extending her hand toward him.
Elian blinked slowly in confusion, staring at the outfit with suspicion.
"Why am I receiving this?" he asked.
"The captain sends it. He’s invited you to attend the ball with him," she informed him.
Elian frowned, contemplating whether or not to accept.
Lucien clearly ordered him to stay inside, but refusing Cassian’s invitation would be rude.
"Thank you," he murmured, taking the clothes from her.
The maid nodded once and left.
Elian closed the door, holding the cloth against his chest.
He knew he was going against Lucien’s orders, and he wasn’t reconsidering.
He placed the clothes on the bed, his pulse racing.
"I’m going," he murmured, nodding his head.
At the grand hall, soft music from the violins drifted around. The nobles stood in different social circles, their clothes made with rich materials and bright colors.
King Alaric and Rowena sat at the decorated throne, watching everyone with gentle smiles on their faces.
"Father, where is Lucien?" Rowena whispered.
"Be patient, my angel. He will show up." He placed his hand on her knee, smiling reassuringly.
Rowena sighed, trying her best not to show her anxiousness.
Lucien was her pride. He might not be a prince, but he was even wealthier and more handsome than most princes. Rowena knew how jealous other women were of her betrothal to Lucien, and if he didn’t show up tonight, she would become the laughingstock of the whole kingdom.
She was just about to grow extra nervous when she saw Lucien moving through the crowd of nobles.
Her lips curved in a slow smile as she locked her eyes on him.
He looked so regal; he looked like midnight itself in his tailored coat, his face perfectly defined in his impossible handsomeness.
"Everyone," King Alaric stood, instantly grabbing everyone’s attention.
The chattering reduced and everyone looked, anticipation filling their eyes.
The moment Lucien stepped onto the throne, collective gasps echoed through the hall; everyone was awed by his majestic look.
"Tonight, we gather to celebrate the birth of my beautiful daughter, Princess Rowena," King Alaric’s powerful voice resonated through the grand hall, drawing nods and polite applause from the sea of glittering nobles. "But we also celebrate the future of this kingdom. To mark this joyous occasion, it is my absolute honor to introduce the man who will soon stand by her side as her husband, Duke Lucien Valemont."
The applause swelled, a thunderous wave of sound that vibrated against the high stone arches. Rowena beamed, her eyes sparkling with absolute triumph as she leaned closer to Lucien, silently claiming him before the entire court.
"And now," the King raised his glass, his smile widening as he looked over the crowd, "let the festivities begin. I announce the traditional first dance of the evening, to be led by our guest of honor and my daughter."
Lucien kept his expression perfectly mask-like, a flawless mirror of royal composure, though his mind was a storm of irritation. He offered his hand to Rowena, who took it eagerly, stepping down from the dais into the center of the ballroom.
As the violins swelled into a sweeping, romantic waltz, the surrounding crowd parted to give them space. Lucien swept Rowena into the opening steps of the dance, his movements practiced and effortlessly smooth.
"You look breathtakingly handsome tonight, my love," Rowena murmured, tilting her head back to look up at him, her touch possessive on his shoulder. "Every woman in this room is glaring at me, wishing they were in my position."
"They have every right to be envious of you, Princess," Lucien replied smoothly, the flattery rolling off his tongue without a shred of genuine emotion.
He spun her gracefully across the polished marble floor, his eyes scanning the crowd over her head out of sheer boredom. He expected to see the usual court vipers, greedy elders, and desperate social climbers.
Instead, his gaze slammed directly into a figure standing near the grand entrance.
Lucien’s rhythm faltered for a fraction of a second, his heart giving a violent, unbidden thud against his ribs.
There, standing beside Captain Cassian, was Elian.
The young Truth Seeker was wearing the pristine white outfit Cassian had sent him—a stark, breathtaking contrast to the dark, midnight colors Lucien always made him wear. Without the usual drab servant attire, Elian looked ethereal, his expressive blue eyes scanning the room, catching the light of a hundred chandeliers. He didn’t look like a captive or a servant anymore; he looked like royalty.
And what made Lucien’s blood instantly boil to a dangerous heat was the fact that Cassian’s hand was resting gently, comfortably, against the small of Elian’s back.
Rowena noticed the sudden shift in his posture, frowning slightly. "Lucien? Is something wrong?"
Lucien didn’t answer her. His green eyes darkened to a savage, stormy hue as he stared across the crowded ballroom, his gaze locking onto Elian with an icy, terrifying intensity that promised absolute ruin the moment they were behind closed doors.
Meanwhile, at other side of the hall, Elian was quick to look away the moment his gaze found Lucien.
He did not miss the storm brewing in Lucien’s eyes, but he was ready to weather whatever storm Lucien brought.
If Lucien truly wanted him, he was going to make sure that Lucien understood that he also deserved some semblance of freewill.