The palace was too bright in the mornings.
Lucian stood at the far end of the long hallway that led to the southern wing, holding a scroll he didn't need, pretending like he had somewhere important to be. Sunlight spilled across the marble floor, slicing clean lines of gold over the patterned stone.
He exhaled slowly. Shoulders straight, face calm, mouth curved into that harmless little tutor-smile everyone found so acceptable.
Except his stomach was doing that thing again. That anxious, coiled twist that made it hard to stand still.
"I swear I should be in my room," Lucian muttered quietly to himself. "Or the library. Or anywhere but this royal-ass corridor. But no, here I am. Trying to perform the job, I was assigned to."
He shifted the scroll to his other hand. His robes brushed the side of his calf as he turned slightly toward the corner ahead.
Then, like a badly timed cutscene, Crown Prince Alaric stepped into view from the opposite hall.
Lucian's body stiffened for half a second. His smile, however, remained perfectly intact.
Of course it's him.
Because why wouldn't one of the people he actively avoided be the one to walk in now?
Alaric hadn't noticed him yet. The prince was walking with that heavy kind of stillness like he carried a battlefield inside his ribs. No guards this time. No entourage. Just him. Tall. Cold. Eyes straight ahead.
Lucian didn't move.
But his brain did.
"I don't know, but seeing this people make me pugged. Every single time. God, my chest be doing beats like I'm in a high school talent show."
"But what can I do? For me to stay alive I have to be seeing them. Keep them close. Smile at the damn prince like he's not the reason my life is currently on ultra-hard mode."
He inhaled through his nose. Soft. Measured.
Alaric looked up—and their eyes met.
Lucian's smile deepened by half a millimeter.
"Your Highness," he said, with a small nod.
Alaric stopped walking.
He stared at Lucian like the man had just stepped out of a sealed tomb.
"Tutor," Alaric said flatly.
No warmth. No interest. Just that sharp tone he used on people who hadn't earned a name yet.
Lucian bowed slightly. Not deep. Just enough.
"I didn't expect to see you here," he said gently. "I was heading to deliver this scroll to the royal archivist. I believe one of the king's aides misplaced it."
He held up the scroll like a prop, one he didn't plan on using.
Alaric's eyes dropped to it briefly, then back to Lucian.
Silence.
Lucian didn't fill it. He just waited, like the pause was part of the performance.
"You're far from the west wing," Alaric said.
"Am I?" Lucian blinked, playing mild confusion. "You know, I thought the hall curved a different way."
Alaric took one slow step forward. Not threatening. Not relaxed either.
Just... watching.
"You've only been in the palace for a short time," Alaric said. "But you've learned how to move around it quite freely."
Lucian smiled again and muttered to himself "See this is why I don't like smart ones. Can't even lie properly around them without feeling like I'm applying for a visa."
"I observe quickly," Lucian replied smoothly. "It's part of the job, I suppose. Tutors must adapt to their environments."
Alaric didn't smile and looked around him and said "You're alone."
"I often am." Lucian tilted his head slightly. His hair shifted against the curve of his jaw.
A breeze stirred the hallway from an open archway behind him. Lucian didn't shiver. But he did allow his fingers to tighten on the scroll, just slightly. Just enough.
Alaric's gaze flicked to it again.
"You don't carry protection."
"Do I need it?" Lucian asked lightly, looking up through his lashes.
Alaric didn't answer immediately.
Lucian's fingers flexed once more.
Alaric took another step.
"You're aware," he said, "that if anything happens to you within these walls, it won't be seen as an accident."
Lucian met his eyes evenly. For a moment, something quiet and cold settled between them.
"I'm aware," he said.
Alaric's brow lifted the tiniest bit. Almost imperceptible.
Lucian stepped slightly to the side just enough for their shoulders to almost align, the space between them measured in silence.
"If you're trying to intimidate me," Lucian said softly, "you're doing a very good job. I mean that sincerely."
Alaric didn't reply.
Lucian gave a small, amused exhale. "Lord, this is the most awkward thing I've done all week."
Alaric's voice finally cut through. "I don't need to intimidate you, tutor. I just need to understand you."
Lucian's smile twitched.
"That makes one of us," he said, almost too quietly.
Alaric's gaze lingered. Not soft. Not cruel. Just… weighing.
"Is there anything I should be concerned about?" the prince asked.
Lucian tilted his head again. He looked tired now. Just a little.
"Nothing at all, Your Highness," he said. "Except maybe the kitchen's gone heavy on the salt this week."
Alaric stared, wondering if this tutor was making a joke of him"And why should I be concerned with that.'
Lucian smiled "I thought as the crown prince, you should be actively involved in all this matters."
Alaric stared at Lucian with confusion.
Lucian smiled again and bowed " I'll return this scroll to the archives now. Unless you think I need to be escorted?"
Another pause.
Alaric's jaw tightened. "No. Just... keep to the areas assigned to you."
Lucian straightened.
"Of course."
He took a step past the prince.
Paused.
Turned his head slightly, without looking back.
"Thank you for the concern," he said, voice softer than before.
Alaric said nothing.
Lucian walked away. Quietly. Evenly.
When he turned the corner and finally exhaled, he almost laughed.
"Bro," he whispered, "I think I just emotionally gaslit a prince without using actual lies. This job is killing me."
He leaned against the stone wall briefly, hand to his chest.
"I don't want to keep doing this. I really don't."
"But if I don't? I die. If I stay quiet, they kill me. If I run, they call me a traitor. So what do I do?"
He glanced back once.
Alaric was gone.
Lucian's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Keep them close," he muttered. "Smile when they look at you. Lie like it's a lullaby."
He pushed off the wall. Straightened his robe. Walked toward the archives like he belonged there.
And just before he entered the next hall, he whispered "Lord, please help me. I'm knee-deep in royal trauma."