Aerith's fingers clutched tightly at the fabric of her long skirt. Her blood felt cold, her face pale, as though every ounce of strength had drained away from her body. She could only nod faintly, even while her heart screamed to run as far as possible.
Her small steps followed the servant down the endless corridor. Torchlight flickered along the stone walls, casting unsteady shadows that mirrored her trembling figure. Each strike of her shoes against the floor echoed like the toll of a bell, leading her toward a chamber of judgment.
The massive doors of the King's hall loomed ahead, towering with silver dragon engravings that shimmered as if alive beneath the glow of fire. Aerith swallowed hard, her breath caught in her throat.
The King's chamber… am I truly being summoned there? Her thoughts quivered with dread.
And in that moment, the doors began to open slowly, revealing the chamber where her new fate awaited.
As the heavy, gold-plated doors swung wide, Aerith stepped inside, her heart thundering within her chest. The torches along the walls flared, their flames trembling under the draft from the corridor. A heady fragrance of incense filled her nose.
At the far end of the hall, Tobias bowed deeply before retreating several steps. "Your Majesty, Lady Moonstone has arrived."
Lucien gave only the briefest nod. His gaze fixed on Aerith. "You may leave," he commanded, his tone icy.
Tobias bent his knee in respect before closing the door firmly. Now only the two of them remained. The silence pressed in, heavy and suffocating.
Aerith's hands clenched tightly at the hem of her dress, her eyes desperately avoiding the King's.
"Y-Your Majesty… did you summon me?" Her voice trembled, barely audible over the crackle of the fire in the hearth.
Lucien rose from his throne, his steps deliberate yet elegant, his black mantle swaying lightly with each movement. He walked toward Aerith, his sharp gaze raking over her from head to toe.
"I have heard wild rumors spreading beyond these walls," he said, his tone flat, though smoldering with restrained fire. "They say you wield enchantment magic."
Aerith stiffened, her face draining of all color. "W-what? That is not true, Your Majesty! I cannot…"
"Silence." His voice cut like a blade.
He advanced closer, each step forcing Aerith backward until her back pressed against a massive wooden pillar. Her breath quickened. Lucien lowered his face until it was but a breath away. His masculine scent overwhelmed her, his warm breath brushing across her cheek.
Aerith wanted to scream from sheer terror, but she knew the moment she did, her head would roll from her shoulders.
"If those rumors are true, then I wish to witness them myself," he murmured, his voice rough. "So then, show me once again… your talent."
Aerith swallowed hard, her body rigid. "My only… talent is… sitting still."
The corner of Lucien's mouth curved into a cruel smirk. "Precisely. Sit still, and see what follows."
His hand reached out, seizing Aerith's arm with a rough pull, dragging her toward the large chair in the corner of the chamber. He pressed her shoulders firmly into the backrest, trapping her in an invisible cage. Aerith's eyes widened, her heart hammering wildly.
Lucien leaned down, studying every line of fear etched naturally across her face. Gone was the artifice he had grown accustomed to in other women. No seduction, no feigned allure. Only raw, genuine terror, as though she stood before something no longer human.
And somehow, it was precisely that which set Lucien's blood alight. "So that is how it is… even as you look at me, you appear as though you see a ghost."
Aerith shook her head frantically, her eyes brimming. "N-No… Your Majesty, I only…"
Lucien grasped her face in one hand, his fingers locking her small chin in place so she could not move. He studied her intently, as though stripping apart the very layers of her soul.
"Only… foolishness," he hissed. "No woman dares to meet my gaze like this. Every woman craves my throne. And you pretend to be some saint untouched by the lure of power?" His voice dripped with scorn. "How long do you think you can keep up the act?"
"I… I never pre—"
Lucien's forefinger pressed firmly against her lips, silencing her. His smirk deepened. "I must admit, you are skilled at pretending. Your innocence, your naivety… it feels almost natural."
Aerith wished to protest, but at that moment Lucien's grip on her chin tightened, tilting her face upward until their mouths hovered dangerously close.
"For such mastery in looking so guileless…" Lucien leaned down further, "you deserve punishment."
Without warning, his lips crushed against hers, hot and forceful. His kiss carried no tenderness, only domination.
Aerith jolted in shock, her hands pushing against the King's chest, but his iron hold only tightened.
Lucien refused to release her. The more she trembled, the more fiercely he restrained her. His tongue pressed relentlessly, demanding entry, tasting every trace of her resistance. Aerith clutched desperately at the fabric of her gown, her body quaking, her eyes shut tightly, surrendering to the shock.
"Stop looking at me as if I am your nightmare," Lucien whispered between the fervent assault, his breath ragged against her ear. "From this moment on, take this as a warning. Every time you pretend at innocence, every time you feign fear of me… I will punish you."
Aerith could scarcely find her voice. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, her face burning scarlet down to her ears.
"Y-Your Majesty…" Her words broke, caught between protest and confusion.
Lucien's gaze bore into her once more, sharp and perilous. "Consider this a lesson. Never again disturb me with that fearful stare… unless you are prepared to bear the weight of my punishment."
Abruptly, he released her lips, leaving Aerith reeling in the chair. Her hands trembled, her lips wet and reddened. She lowered her face, hiding her expression, but her entire body still shuddered violently.
Lucien straightened, glancing toward the door. "You may go." His voice was cold, as though what had transpired had been nothing more than a trivial punishment.
With weakened knees, Aerith rose, lifting her skirt slightly as she bowed. "I… I shall take my leave, Your Majesty." Her voice shook, barely audible.
The door closed once more, leaving Lucien alone. His hand rose to his lips, his eyes hardening. He could not decide which he despised more: the foolish rumors of enchantment magic… or the truth that for the first time, he had been left both enraged and feverishly stirred, all because of a single kiss.