Lucian walked away from the bar with deliberate ease, each step carrying the cool weight of satisfaction. He didn't look back at the crown prince but he felt it. That taut silence, the rigid discomfort, the restrained fury. Alaric hadn't spoken another word after Lucian touched him. He hadn't needed to.
The prince's spine had stiffened like a blade being drawn.
Further down the hall, the balcony stood empty. Alistair was gone. Only a pair of gloves remained, one carelessly dropped over the stone ledge. Or maybe crushed. It was hard to tell.
And at the banquet table, where the wine had long gone warm, Sebathine still sat, one hand curled loosely on the tablecloth. He didn't move when Lucian passed. Didn't speak. Just watched him with that unreadable calm, as if trying to piece something together beneath all the noise.
Lucian's eyes met his for the briefest second and then slid away.
He left the grand hall through the side corridor, where the air was cooler and no one was watching. His fingers still remembered the prince's heartbeat. His throat still hummed from the laugh he never let out.
Three powerful men, one after the other and none of them had seen it coming.
None of them knew what, exactly, he had done.
They would think about it later. About the hand on a shoulder. The breath too close. The gaze that lingered too long. They'd remember how they reacted. How they didn't.
They would wonder.
And that was enough for now.
Lucian smiled to himself as he stepped into the quiet corridor, vanishing behind the heavy velvet curtain.
The palace air cooled the further he walked thick brocade giving way to bare stone, torches sputtering in the sconces. Here, away from the music and silk and wine, everything felt more honest. Less staged. Just stone, and silence, and shadows.
His chambers were lit by a single candelabra. Erin stood near the hearth, fingers laced tightly together, his eyes flitting toward the door at every distant footstep. When Lucian entered, the boy startled.
"Master," he breathed, hurrying forward. "You're back."
Lucian didn't answer right away. He shut the door gently behind him, leaned his weight into it for a beat, as though sealing something behind him.
Erin stepped closer. "What happened, Lord. Did they treat you poorly? Were you insulted again? You weren't gone long…"
Lucian turned toward him with a faint, practiced smile. "Insulted? No." He slid off the outer layer of his robe, folded it with delicate care, and placed it on the edge of the chaise. "The banquet was everything one expects of a royal affair. Laughter. Empty wine goblets. Obligatory pleasantries."
"What of the princes and grand general?" Erin asked, cautiously.
Lucian's hand paused at his collar. He gave a soft hum, as if searching for the right word. "Gracious. All three."
"…Truly?"
"Mhm." He stepped toward the mirror. "I was welcomed. Thoroughly."
Erin's brows knit, he wanted to know more about the party but Lucian didn't give him time to question it.
"You may tell the maidens I'll need a bath drawn. Hot, and unhurried."
"Alright, my lord." Erin gave a quick bow and left, his footsteps light and trusting.
The door shut.
Lucian exhaled, slow and silent, and turned his gaze to his reflection.
The man in the mirror looked untouched by the night. Not a strand out of place. Not a thread of regret. He looked like someone who belonged there. Someone who wasn't trembling underneath his skin.
He walked to the bed, sat carefully on the edge, and placed his hands in his lap. The silence in the room pressed against him. Too loud to ignore. He let it.
They hadn't expected him.
Not Alaric, with his disgust buried under duty. Not Alistair, with his obsessions tucked beneath charm. Not Sebathine, with his still, watchful eyes.
One by one, he had touched them not just their skin, but their certainty. Their control.
And now?
Now they would think. Rewind. Replay every moment. Wonder what he wanted. Wonder why they'd let him so close.
They would doubt themselves.
And that was the beginning.
But Lucian lifted a hand to his chest, fingers pressing lightly to where Alaric's heartbeat had pounded beneath his palm.
"I can't do this forever," he thought.
This world wasn't his. These people weren't his. He was a stranger in a story already half-written, wearing a dead man's name.
Reniel.
Lucian shut his eyes. The memory burned too hot. Too vivid. That look almost peaceful. Almost relieved. And yet…
He hadn't jumped. Lucian was certain now.
Someone had pushed him.
"I have to find the truth, fast" he thought, jaw tightening. "Before the truth finds me."
Because if the killer had done it once, they could do it again. And this time, there'd be no mourning tutor to replace him.
There would just be a body.
Another knock, soft and unobtrusive. Erin's voice followed: "My Lord? Your bath is ready."
Lucian opened his eyes. The moment folded away like paper. He rose without a word.
The mirror caught his smile as he passed elegant, untouched.
Like he hadn't just promised himself he wouldn't die here.