The night air was colder out on the balcony.
Lucian welcomed it. The lingering warmth from Sebathine's touch still clung to his skin like smoke, and he needed the chill to pull him back into focus.
He stepped onto the stone terrace, letting the soft hush of court music fade behind him. The courtyard below glowed dimly with torchlight. Stars scattered the sky like pinpricks over ink.
And then he wasn't alone.
Alistair was already there. Leaning against the balustrade, one hand curled around a goblet of red wine, his coat a slashed silhouette in the dark. He didn't turn, but Lucian felt the flick of his gaze like a blade.
"You follow shadows now?" Alistair asked lazily.
Lucian's lips curved faintly. "Only interesting shadows."
He stepped forward, not hiding the sound of his heels on stone. He moved slowly, deliberately, until he was at Alistair's side close enough for their sleeves to brush.
Alistair didn't move away.
But his jaw tightened.
Lucian let the silence stretch. Then, lightly, he leaned against the balustrade beside him, matching his posture. Their arms touched barely.
"I thought you preferred crowded rooms, Lord Alistair," Lucian murmured. "But here you are. Alone."
Alistair took a sip of his wine. "Better alone than surrounded by snakes."
Lucian smiled. "Are you calling me one?"
"I'm calling you something with fangs," Alistair said coolly. "Something that doesn't belong in this palace."
Lucian's eyes shimmered faintly. "And yet… here I am."
He tilted his body just slightly, enough for their shoulders to touch fully now, warm through the fabric. His hand brushed the edge of the goblet in Alistair's grip just enough to make the prince's fingers tighten.
"You're in my space," Alistair said sharply.
Lucian tilted his head, mock-innocent. "Am I?"
"Move," Alistair said, but he didn't step back.
Lucian turned, resting one arm on the stone rail, half-facing him now.
He was smiling, but his gaze was unreadable.
"What are you doing?" Alistair asked, voice low.
"Talking," Lucian said.
His fingers lifted gently to adjust the edge of Alistair's collar almost affectionate. His touch lingered a beat too long.
Alistair slapped his hand away.
Lucian didn't flinch. "Temper, Your Highness."
Alistair hissed.
Lucian leaned in, their mouths almost level now. "Calm down, your highness."
The tension between them twisted hot and brittle.
"You disgust me," Alistair said, but his voice had dropped, strained.
Lucian's smile turned cruel. "Good. Hatred is useful. It keeps the blood warm."
He stepped closer. Not touching now but closer than was proper.
Alistair didn't move.
Lucian's hand lifted again, slower this time, brushing invisible dust from Alistair's shoulder. His fingers trailed lightly to the collarbone just enough to test.
"You think you're clever," Alistair said, eyes like ice.
Lucian leaned in, breath brushing his cheek. "If that's what you think of me, than I will gladly allow it."
Alistair's hand came up fast.
He caught Lucian's wrist in a hard grip, fingers digging in.
But Lucian didn't pull back. He smiled, soft and slow, like he'd won something.
"Careful," Lucian whispered. "Hold me too long, and someone might get the wrong idea."
Alistair shoved his hand away.Lucian finally stepped back.
But not far.
Just enough to let Alistair breathe and then take it away again.
The prince stood rooted, mouth set, but his eyes… they burned. Loathing, yes. But something darker curled beneath it now. Something Lucian recognized like a scent in the air.
Desire, tangled with fury.
Lucian smiled slow and deliberate. His hand came up, brushing a lock of Alistair's silver hair behind his ear, knuckles grazing skin.
"You don't like me," he murmured, voice low, velvet with venom. "That's fine. Most dangerous creatures don't know they're already bleeding."
Alistair's jaw clenched. "Get your hands off me."
Lucian didn't.
Instead, he stepped in again, close enough that their chests nearly touched, his hand slipping along the line of Alistair's waist to rest light as a whisper on his hip. Not possessive. Just provocative.
"Say it louder," Lucian said. "Maybe I will believe it."
Alistair's breath hitched. Subtle. Barely. But it was there. His fists were clenched, not pulling away just clenched, like he wasn't sure whether to shove Lucian off or pull him closer by the throat.
Lucian leaned in, brushing his mouth not quite a kiss along the edge of Alistair's cheekbone.
"You're trembling."
"I'm not."
"You are," Lucian whispered. "But don't worry. I like that in a prince."
And then, bold as fire, he tilted Alistair's chin up and kissed him.
Not the mouth. Not yet.
Just below the eye. Soft. Too soft.
A kiss with no innocence.
A kiss like a promise: I'm coming for you, and I don't need your permission.
Lucian drew back slowly, his thumb trailing down Alistair's neck, lingering just long enough to feel the pulse thudding there.
Then he smiled.
"Next time," he said silkily, "try stopping me."
And with that, he turned and walked away graceful, unreadable, and utterly victorious.
Alistair didn't speak.
Didn't move.
He just stood there, lips slightly parted, eyes dark and furious, breath unsteady and Lucian knew:
He had just won something.
Lucian didn't look back as he left the balcony.
The night still clung to his skin a touch of cold air, a trace of Alistair's scent, the bruising aftertaste of proximity. But he walked as if untouched. Composed. Still hungry.
He re-entered the hall, threading through nobles in soft murmurs and silk, his gaze already narrowing on the bar tucked near the far wall where the light dimmed just enough for shadows to breathe.
And there he was.
Crown Prince Alaric. Standing alone beside the polished marble counter, glass untouched in his hand, spine straight as a sword. Cold. Quiet. Every line of him said untouchable.
Perfect.
Lucian moved like gravity had shifted in his favor. Smooth, steady.
"Your Highness." His voice was velvet-drenched and quiet as he approached from behind, just enough to brush his breath near Alaric's shoulder. "May I share your shadow?"
Alaric didn't turn.
"You already are," he said, coolly. "Why pretend to ask?"
Lucian smiled, stepping closer slow enough to be felt.
The faintest brush of his fingers traced the back of Alaric's elbow, ghosting upward along the fine edge of his coat. Not a touch meant to be noticed. A touch meant to linger after.
Alaric stiffened. His hand closed tighter around the glass.
"Don't."
Lucian's smile deepened. "Don't what?"
"Whatever it is you're doing."
"You'll have to be more specific. I'm simply admiring the craftsmanship, Your highness." his fingers slid from fabric to skin, brushing the back of Alaric's hand resting on the marble.
Alaric turned slightly, enough to let their eyes meet. His glare was sharp, but not loud. Contained.
"You mistake me for someone interested in being admired."
"And yet," Lucian said, tapping a single finger to the rim of Alaric's untouched glass, "you haven't walked away."
The moment hung like a blade between them.
Alaric's voice dropped. "I don't walk away from problems. I remove them."
Lucian tilted his head. "Is that what I am? A problem?"
"You're an interruption."
"Mm. But you're still listening."
He leaned in then, not close enough to touch skin just enough for Alaric to feel the warmth of a body too calm, too unbothered by rejection. His fingers rested briefly on the small of Alaric's back, trailing upward an insolent line just below the shoulder blade.
Alaric caught his wrist.
Hard.
His grip was bruising and unshaken. But not trembling.
"I said stop."
Lucian didn't flinch. He looked at the hand around his wrist, then back at the prince.
And then he smiled.
"Your reflexes are impressive," he murmured. "But a little late, Your Highness."
He didn't pull away. Just looked down at Alaric's fingers locked around his wrist the contact more intimate than anything else they'd done.
A silent dare.
Alaric released him slowly, jaw tense.
Lucian stepped back. Just half a pace. Letting air settle between them again, charged and unspoken.
"No need to be so tense," Lucian said, adjusting his sleeve. "I only meant to offer you a drink."
"I'm not thirsty."
"No," Lucian said, with a gentle, mocking smile. "You're starving. But not for what's in your hand."
He turned then, calm and elegant, but before leaving, he reached once more fingers brushing just beneath Alaric's jaw.
It wasn't kind.
It was claiming.
"You should learn to control your reactions better, Your Highness," Lucian whispered. "Next time, someone might think you actually feel something."
And with that, he left vanishing back into the hum of music and masks, like a flame that had never burned but left ash behind anyway.
Alaric's eyes narrowed, sharp as ice.
He said nothing.
But the muscle in his jaw twitched.
And when Lucian turned to go, he didn't look away not even once.