The Royal Hall was awash in golden candlelight. It dripped from the high chandeliers like liquid fire, glinting off every polished surface marble, glass, wine. Tall arched windows framed the dusk outside, casting the sky in soft violets and deepening blues. Music curled through the air, elegant and unobtrusive, played by a small ensemble tucked behind velvet drapes.
Silks whispered as nobles moved, their laughter gentle, rehearsed, threaded with years of practiced civility. Jewels winked against necklines. Gloves brushed in passing. And all of them, whether smiling or murmuring behind crystal flutes, had turned their heads toward the top of the hall where a steward now stepped forward.
A trumpet was heard and a hush followed.
"Lords and ladies of the court," he announced, his voice rich and smooth. "May I present to you the newly appointed Royal Tutor of House Serathine Lucian Throne."
The music softened to a quiet chord.
Lucian entered as though he'd always belonged there.
His steps were unhurried, measured, each one tapping lightly against the polished stone as he crossed the room. The soft rustle of his coat, the tilt of his head, he walked like someone who knew every eye was on him and didn't mind it in the slightest. His expression was unreadable, yet faintly amused as if this grand room, filled with generations of power and pedigree, was simply another stage.
He reached the platform and climbed the three steps, and turned to face the hall.
He stood tall. Composed. As though the low murmur of whispers below some curious, some skeptical, some quietly venomous did not touch him.
"People of Elaric," Lucian said, his voice clean and smooth as wine, "I accept the crown's commission. To teach, to serve, to guide not only with knowledge, but with judgment and clarity. I vow to be loyal to this realm, to its peace, and to the children born to inherit it."
He paused and then smiled. It was slow. Courteous. Just barely amused.
Some clapped at his speeches, while some murmured but Lucian didn't seem to care about any of those.
Lucian stepped down, the hem of his coat trailing like a whisper. As he passed the gathered nobles, he lifted his chin and offered them a gentle nod, his smile still playing at the edge of his mouth. He read their faces with quiet interest, the ones who smiled too broadly, the ones who didn't look at him at all.
He didn't stop.
His gaze moved slowly across the sea of silk and powdered arrogance, scanning the clusters of noble families and advisors until it settled on a small table toward the left of the hall set slightly apart, but not enough to be disrespectful.
There they were.
Prince Alaric.
Prince Alistair.
And General Sebathine Everheart.
The three most dangerous men in the room.
Lucian's smile didn't change, but something in his eyes cooled just slightly.
He approached them.
Alaric was dressed in deep navy, silver trim catching the candlelight. His posture was perfect, chin lifted, eyes fixed straight ahead. He didn't look up when Lucian arrived.
Alistair, beside him, leaned back in his chair, one arm slung carelessly over the side. He wore a dark burgundy coat, his expression half-lidded and lazy, like a cat watching a bird.
Sebathine was calm. Immaculate. His armor wasn't ceremonial,it was real, matte black and precise. He watched Lucian with no visible expression.
Lucian let a pause bloom.
Then he bowed,not too low.
"Your Highnesses. General."
Alaric didn't move.
"So you are finally here" Alistair said with no expression.
Lucian tilted his head. "Yes, Lord Alistair. Am not really a fan of punctuality."
Alistair's grin widened. Alaric's jaw flexed.
"Lateness is not allowed, Lord Lucian " Alaric said flatly, still not looking at him. "You are a royal tutor, so behave like one."
Lucian's gaze didn't shift. "I will keep that in check, Your highness."
Alaric glanced at him once. Briefly. Then looked away.
Sebathine spoke for the first time. "You addressed the hall with confidence."
Lucian turned to him, just slightly. "Thanks, General. I just did what was expected of me."
Lucian's hand brushed lightly against the back of the chair beside Sebathine his fingers idle, almost curious.
"If you don't mind, can I sit beside you." Lucian said smiling.
Sebathine's eyes dropped briefly to the fingers, then returned to Lucian's face and said "Sure."
Lucian didn't break the gaze. He lingered a breath too long, then let his hand fall away.
Alistair's voice broke the silence. "You're not afraid of associating yourself with us. Lord Lucian.?"
Lucian smiled. "Should I be?"
Alistair leaned forward. "Yes."
Lucian said nothing.
Instead, he reached for a glass from the table, not waiting for invitation. He held it delicately and said softly "I will consider that, Prince Alistair".
Sebathine blinked once. Alaric's hand curled slightly on the table. Alistair just watched him with that same sharp grin.
"Look at you, calmly drinking at the same table with us now but few days ago, you will begging for mercy and couldn't even look us in the eye." Alistair mockingly said.
"Well, I think that how fate works. My prince." Lucian said softly.
Alistair groaned at Lucian reply.
Alaric, who hasn't said much for a long time, got up from his chair and looked at Lucian and said "You have grew more confident, Lucian."
Lucian let out a soft laugh and said "I will take it as a compliment, my lord."
Alaric said nothing and looked at Alistair and said "Let's go and meet few nobles." Alistair said nothing and followed his brother.
The moment Alaric and Alistair melted into the crowd, Lucian shifted in his chair.
"Now," he said softly, voice velvet, "we can talk like men."
He leaned forward, eyes catching the flicker of candlelight, and poured wine into Sebathine's untouched glass. The red liquid caught the light like blood.
Sebathine didn't move. Didn't thank him. He just looked at him.
Lucian's hand brushed the rim of the glass, then trailed slowly across the table, closing the distance between them.
"You didn't say much tonight, General. You only watched." Lucian murmured, voice dipped low. "Say something. Or do you only stare?"
Still silence.
Lucian's hand drifted lower, fingers ghosting along the curve of Sebathine's thigh. The touch was featherlight, too soft to be chaste, too intimate to ignore.
Sebathine's hand came down hard, catching Lucian's wrist in a firm, punishing grip.
"Don't," Sebathine said, voice cold.
Lucian's smile didn't falter. But there was something in his eyes now dark, unreadable. Like a man playing a game he was willing to lose.
"Why not?" he whispered, gaze steady. "I thought soldiers were trained to react."
Sebathine leaned in, eyes sharp. "Touch me like that again, and I'll make sure you regret it."
Lucian laughed soft and breathless. "You're angry."
"I'm warning you."
Lucian's wrist remained in his grip, unmoving. "No. You're flustered."
Sebathine's grip tightened.
Lucian's smile faded, just slightly.
"You act like I'm beneath you," he said, quieter now. "But your hand is still on mine."
Sebathine let go as if burned.
Lucian pulled back slowly, eyes following him.
"See?" Lucian said. "You can't even decide whether to push me away or pull me closer."
Sebathine stared at him, breathing slow, controlled but his jaw was tight.
"You play a dangerous game," he said.
"I know," Lucian replied. He reached again this time brushing Sebathine's collar with careful fingers, like straightening it. "But you haven't walked away, my dear general."
Sebathine caught his hand again, but slower this time. Not a threat—just contact.
Lucian looked at him. Really looked.
"Why do you stay, then?" Lucian whispered, barely audible. "What do you want from me?"
Sebathine didn't answer.
Lucian smiled, but it was colder now. More tired.
"That's what I thought," he said. "You're just like the others. Silent when it matters. Sharp when I smile."
Lucian pulled his hand free and smiled, voice dipping into something smooth and wicked.
"We'll keep the fun for later, General. It won't be much fun with everyone watching, will it?"
He stepped back, slow and deliberate, as if giving Sebathine time to say something stop him, scold him, anything.
But Sebathine said nothing.
He only stared, jaw tight, eyes unreadable.
Lucian bowed faintly, almost mockingly. Then turned.
And just like that, he walked away graceful, untouched, every line of his back proud.