"She is a year older, so she has already felt the mate bond between us. That's how I already know," Lucian replied, his deep voice steady but carrying an unspoken weight.
Varric gave a brief nod, his sharp gaze lingering on Lucian before a faint, knowing smile curved his lips, as though he had decided not to press further on the matter.
"I know you will get busy in a few hours," Varric said, his tone measured as his eyes flicked between Lucian and Rosaline, assessing them both as if committing the image to memory. Then he continued, his voice dropping slightly, "So I would like to take you alone for a little talk."
Lucian's brows drew together ever so slightly. He did not understand what Prime Minister Varric wanted from him.
The man's presence at this event was already unexpected, his reputation was that of someone who rarely attended such personal gatherings, preferring the political arena over any celebrations. And now, to seek a private audience? It was puzzling.
What could it be? Lucian allowed the question to linger for only a heartbeat before he gave a curt nod.
Without another word, he excused himself from the small gathering, his presence alone enough to part the quiet crowd.
He led Varric toward the garden just outside the packhouse, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet inside until the faint crunch of gravel underfoot replaced it.
Out here, away from the warmth and noise of the event, the air was cooler, the faint scent of pine and night-blooming jasmine mingling in the stillness. He had chosen this spot deliberately, he knew no one would be around at this hour.
Once they stepped beneath the shadow of the old oak near the garden's center, Lucian turned to face Varric. The moonlight caught the sharp planes of his face, his expression unreadable but his cold eyes glinting with intrigue. "I can sense you being here was not just for my mere birthday, Prime Minister Drevyn," he said, his deep voice breaking the quiet.
Varric chuckled, the sound low and oddly amused. "I quite admire you, young man. Meeting you has told me that I was definitely not wrong about you." His words carried an edge of sincerity, his gaze steady and deliberate.
Lucian's head tilted slightly, a trace of curiosity sparking in his otherwise guarded demeanor. "Then I would like to know what thoughts you had on me which were proved right," he replied, his voice calm but pressing for an answer.
Varric clasped his hands behind his back in a formal, almost old-fashioned gesture, his posture straight and composed. The moonlight cast a pale sheen over his features, highlighting the faint lines around his eyes.
"You know," Varric began, his voice slow and deliberate, "I have been the prime minister of this kingdom since eternity now, and, as people say—loyal to the kingdom, loyal to the throne." His tone shifted subtly with each word, becoming sharper, more weighted. "And for that, what I lost is my wolf… my power."
"What does that have to do with me, Prime Minister?" Lucian asked, his voice clipped and edged with impatience. His gaze sharpened, assessing Varric with the caution of someone who did not appreciate being led in circles.
"Lucian, your father used to be the most powerful Alpha in this kingdom," Varric said, his voice low but heavy with meaning. "And now you, his son, will be even more powerful. Power… you are the power… exactly what I lost." As he spoke, he stepped forward, the gravel crunching beneath his polished boots.
His eyes caught the moonlight, and for an instant, they glinted with something sharper, almost predatory.
"That day I had lost my power for a reason," he continued, his tone deepening, carrying the weight of old grudges. "I wanted this kingdom to be in the hands of its own people, werewolves ruled by just werewolves."
Lucian's eyes widened, his usually impassive face flickering with shock.
This…
This was something he could never have imagined Varric saying. The Prime Minister of the kingdom, known to all as the unshakable right hand of King Zevryn was standing here, calmly declaring something that bordered on treason.
That he didn't want the kingdom ruled by anyone other than werewolves? That he harbored such thoughts under the very nose of the King?
"Prime Minister, do you know what you are saying?" Lucian's voice was low, almost disbelieving, each word dragged out as if giving Varric a chance to correct himself. His stance stiffened slightly, a subconscious readiness settling into his frame.
Varric didn't look away. Instead, a slow, cunning smirk spread across his face, the kind that belonged to a man entirely confident in his convictions.
His eyes -- bright golden and cutting, caught the pale glow of the moon, almost burning in the darkness between them.
"We both are werewolves, Lucian," he said, his voice lowering, laced with disdain. "And what I believe is that we are superior to all the other filthy races Zevryn has given equal rights in this kingdom." His words came out like venom, deliberate and unrepentant.
He took another half step forward, his presence pressing into Lucian's space. "What I believe," Varric continued, his tone now mocking in its disbelief, "is, how can Zevryn Aldebane, the spawn of that filthy vampire king, be our King just because his mother was Princess Elvarya?"
°°°°°°°°°°°(°^°)°°°°°°°°°
Meanwhile.....
Once Elara finished the tasks in the hallway, she approached the heavy supply box and hoisted it into her arms, carrying it carefully through the corridor and into the dining area. The room was already glowing with candlelight and fragrant with fresh roses and cinnamon-spiced pastries.
She placed the supplies neatly in the back, adjusted a few things, then turned to leave.
But as she exited, something strange happened.
A flutter in her chest.A tingle along her spine.
Her steps faltered.
A strange, unsettling warmth spread through her veins as the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Her instincts screamed, but she didn't understand why.
And then....
A force struck her from the side, pressing her back firmly against the thick trunk of a tree just outside the packhouse.
She gasped, breath caught in her throat, as a strong arm pinned her in place. She couldn't see the person's face, only the broad chest of a man standing too close, too still.
Her heart pounded wildly.
Before she could speak or push him away, he leaned down, close enough that his breath brushed her ear.
And then he said the word that made her entire world stop.
"Mate."