Snow mixed with ash on the wind.
Lucien dragged his blade free from the final demon's chest, black blood splattering against his torn coat. The creature let out a dying hiss before collapsing to the ground, twitching once before falling still.
All around him, the checkpoint was ruined.
The old chapel had been taken over by heretics. The stone floor cracked with ritual marks. Corpses lined the pews. A summoning gone wrong. Again.
Lucien exhaled slowly, steam curling from his lips.
"How many?" he asked without looking back.
Weyl stepped through the broken doors, blood on his cloak.
"Seventeen heretics. Four demons. All executed."
Lucien nodded.
Weyl lowered his voice. "There were children locked in the storage room. Alive."
Lucien finally turned.
His red eye narrowed. "Any corrupted?"
"None. Shaken, but safe."
Lucien pressed a hand to his shoulder. A long cut still leaked blood. He gritted his teeth.
"Take them to the warding outpost. No questioning until they're warm and fed."
Weyl gave a curt nod and left again.
Lucien stood alone in the broken chapel, the cold wind cutting through the broken stained glass.
Another checkpoint.
Another failed summoning.
More bodies to burn.
He looked at the altar. The symbol carved into the stone wasn't even complete. The heretics didn't know what they were doing. Just blind, desperate fools chasing power they didn't understand.
He hated this.
He hated them.
And most of all, he hated that it never stopped.
He stepped over a burned corpse and sheathed his blade.
He was just about to leave when another knight rushed in, panting.
"Sovereign!"
Lucien turned, not in the mood.
"What."
The knight bowed quickly. "Message from the central border scouts. It's… urgent."
Lucien's eyes narrowed.
The knight extended a sealed scroll.
Lucien took it, ripped the wax off with one hand, and scanned the content.
His jaw clenched.
"…He did what?"
The knight swallowed. "The Eastern Sovereign—uh—crossed into northern territory during the third hour. Executed a citizen in cold blood. No formal notice. No request."
Lucien stared at the scroll like it personally insulted him.
"Did he now," he said flatly.
"Yes, Your Grace. Witnesses confirm it was Eliot Valerian himself."
Lucien closed his eyes.
His fingers crumpled the scroll slowly.
The knight waited, clearly sweating.
Lucien's voice was calm. Too calm.
"He stepped into my territory again."
The knight nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Killed someone without trial."
"Yes, sir."
Lucien smiled. It was not a nice smile.
"Without permission."
"Yes, sir."
Lucien inhaled through his nose. Held it. Exhaled slowly.
"Send word to the western tower. I want every border rune rechecked. If his men cross again, I want to know before I have to read it on some damn paper."
"Yes, Sovereign!"
The knight scrambled out.
Weyl reappeared in the doorway just as the scroll was tossed into the brazier.
Weyl looked between the fire and Lucien's clenched jaw.
"Eliot again?" he guessed.
Lucien ran a hand through his hair, dragging it back out of his face. His fingers were still stained with demon blood.
"He executed a northern citizen."
Weyl's brows furrowed. "A criminal?"
"Doesn't matter."
Lucien's voice was sharp.
"Criminals get judged. Investigated. Not executed on foreign soil without due process."
Weyl leaned against the broken pillar. "You know how he operates. You're surprised?"
"I don't care how he operates. He's not above jurisdiction."
Lucien started walking toward the exit, eyes blazing.
Weyl followed. "He's Sovereign of the East."
"He's a reckless bastard with a god complex."
"He probably saved time."
Lucien stopped and turned around.
"Saving time is not the same as doing it right. I don't murder people based on suspicion just because it's faster."
Weyl raised an eyebrow. "You've killed people for less."
Lucien gave him a flat look. "When the blade's in their hand, yes. Not when they're unarmed and standing on my snow."
Weyl didn't argue.
Lucien pushed the door open with one boot. Snow blasted his coat. The courtyard was being cleared by knights, who paused to bow as he passed.
He didn't return the gesture.
He was too busy imagining Eliot's smug face.
"That little shit," Lucien muttered. "He doesn't even ask. Just strolls in, drops a corpse, and leaves like he did me a favor."
"Maybe he thinks he did."
Lucien stopped walking again.
"Then he's dumber than I thought."
Weyl tilted his head. "You two are bound by treaty. Just talk to him."
"I'd rather talk to a wall."
"Walls don't cross borders and kill people."
Lucien gave him a side glare.
"I know he's trying to provoke me," Lucien said. "He wants me to overstep. React."
"Is it working?"
Lucien didn't answer.
He reached the waiting horse, threw himself into the saddle, and yanked the reins.
The black stallion reared once, then bolted.
They rode for two hours before stopping at the frozen ridge overlooking the border checkpoint. Rune lines flickered faintly beneath the snow—boundary marks. The faintest ripple showed the passage of a mage's aura.
Fresh. Less than twelve hours.
Lucien stared down at the faint trail of gold lingering in the air.
"Eliot," he muttered.
He dismounted, walked to the edge, and crouched low.
Magic residue. Sharp. Cold. Controlled.
Not sloppy.
Not rushed.
Deliberate.
Weyl said nothing.
Lucien stood slowly.
"I want surveillance doubled in the eastern valley. We don't confront him yet. Just watch."
"Yes, sir."
Lucien's eyes narrowed as he looked toward the mountain trail in the far distance.
"He thinks the law doesn't apply to him."
Weyl squinted. "Is it really about the law? Or just the fact that he didn't tell you first?"
Lucien didn't reply.
Weyl shrugged. "You get more annoyed about him than anyone else."
"That's because he's a walking violation," Lucien snapped.
"And yet…"
Lucien turned his head. "What."
"You keep reading his reports. And you never send a formal protest."
Lucien's eye twitched. "Because I'd rather deal with him personally."
Weyl raised both hands. "Sure. Of course. Totally not personal."
Lucien stared him down.
"I swear to the snow gods, if you say you like him—"
"I didn't say that," Weyl said quickly. "You did."
Lucien swore under his breath and turned back toward his horse.
He needed sleep.
He needed food.
He needed Eliot Valerian to stop crossing his damn borders and acting like justice was a one-man sport.
*****
The capital reeked of incense and lies.
Lucien hated coming here.
The gold banners. The polished tiles. The walls that echoed too much. This place made his skin itch. It was too clean. Too bright. Too false.
And after dealing with a nest of demons and a political nightmare in the north, it was the last place he wanted to be.
His boots clicked sharply as he stepped into the corridor. Weyl trailed behind, silent for once. Everyone else gave Lucien a wide berth. Servants pretended to scrub marble floors a little harder. Nobles peeked, then turned away.
He wasn't dressed for court. His uniform was bloodstained and dusty. His gloves were torn. The sword strapped to his back hadn't been polished since the last fight.
But no one dared stop him.
Not when his eyes looked like that—cold and unreadable, like a beast just waiting for the leash to slip.
At the end of the hall, a pair of guards shifted uncomfortably.
Lucien didn't pause.
He pushed the doors open—
—and stopped.
Inside, seated quietly beside a brazier, was someone he hadn't seen in a long time.
His older half-brother.
The Second Prince.
Adrian.
Lucien's eyes narrowed.
He was supposed to be far from the palace. Off the map. Not in line for the throne. Not involved in marriage talks.
Yet here he was. And he wasn't alone.
Beside him sat a young woman, hands folded tightly over her lap. Her eyes were downcast. Her robes were travel-worn. Her posture was rigid, as if she were fighting the urge to bolt.
She was also clearly pregnant.
Lucien stepped inside. His voice was calm. Icy.
"You sent for me."
Adrian stood, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked nervous. Not normal for him.
"Lucien. You look—"
"Like I've been fighting demons for three days straight?"
Adrian smiled sheepishly. "Exactly."
Lucien raised an eyebrow. "I was on my way to report a border violation. Why are you here?"
Adrian exhaled. "We have a… problem."
"I figured."
"I need a favor."
Lucien said nothing.
Adrian shifted his weight. His fingers twitched.
"I was supposed to attend a wedding. Tomorrow. An alliance with the Valerian family of the East."
Lucien's jaw clenched at that name. But he didn't speak.
"I can't go," Adrian said simply. "Not because I don't want to. But because…"
He looked at the woman beside him.
She raised her head slightly. Just enough for Lucien to see the fear in her eyes.
Adrian gently took her hand.
"I love her," he said softly. "And I can't send her away. Not now."
Lucien's expression didn't change.
"This is the woman you chose over a political alliance?"
Adrian nodded once.
Lucien's eyes flicked between them. The girl's hand trembled.
"So," Lucien said flatly, "you want me to take your place."
Adrian hesitated. "Just for the marriage. The contract needs to be fulfilled. The Valerians are already at the border. The bride is—she's beautiful. Well-mannered. Educated. You won't have to deal with politics if you don't want to. It's just a formality."
Lucien stared at him.
"No."
Adrian blinked. "Lucien—"
"I'm not a pawn."
"I know."
"I'm not a prince," Lucien said quietly. "Not a real one. Not by blood, not by title. I was born from a northern hostage and raised like a shadow. You want a union of noble lines, find someone else."
Adrian stepped closer. "You're the only one I trust with this."
"That's rich," Lucien muttered. "You trust me, but you want me to clean up your mess."
"I wouldn't ask if I had a choice."
Lucien's jaw worked.
The woman beside Adrian suddenly rose.
Lucien's gaze snapped to her.
Then—to his shock—she dropped to her knees.
Her voice shook. "Please. I beg you. He'll be stripped of his title if this marriage fails. And I—I don't want our child to be born in shame."
Lucien took a step back.
He wasn't used to being begged.
Especially not by women who looked like they were holding the last thread of hope in their hands.
Adrian didn't speak.
He didn't kneel.
He just looked at Lucien like he'd already asked too much.
Lucien sighed.
Deep. Heavy.
He looked at the woman again. Her hands were pressed against the floor, trembling.
Then at Adrian, who was stone silent, for once in his damn life.
Lucien rubbed his temple.
"...I'll do it."
Adrian's eyes widened. "You will?"
"But only because I don't want to see her cry again."
Adrian gave a shaky laugh. "Fair."
Lucien fixed him with a look. "If I regret this, I'll make sure you do too."
Adrian grinned. "Wouldn't expect anything less."
Lucien turned toward the door.
As he reached for the handle, he paused.
"What's her name?" he asked.
"The bride?" Adrian asked.
Lucien nodded.
Adrian waved a hand vaguely. "Caelia Valerian. She's the Grand Duke's niece or cousin or something. They say she's very gentle."
Lucien said nothing. He stepped out.
Outside the chamber, Weyl looked up.
"Everything alright?"
Lucien gave him a long look.
"No," he said flatly. "I've just agreed to sell myself for politics."
Weyl blinked. "Come again?"
"I'm getting married. Apparently tomorrow."
Weyl opened his mouth. Closed it.
"…Do I ask?"
"No."
Lucien kept walking.
Neither of them noticed the rider galloping in from the east gate. Nor the news that the Valerian girl had vanished into the night with a knight, leaving the alliance hanging by a thread.
Nor did Lucien know…
That the name on the papers was quietly switched by a very desperate and very nervous butler.