Chapter-3: Mirages Between Treasure and Hell
The sun began its slow descent, painting everything in shades of amber and rose. Evening light made the world softer, more intimate. A lie, really, but a convincing one.
"Should I start making a working prototype?" Dreslin asked, fingers still tracing the edge of the scroll. Seeking validation, permission, direction—all the things Lucien had learned to give sparingly and strategically.
"Not now." Lucien's gaze drifted to a dragonfly hovering near the fountain. It struck with surgical precision, catching a honeybee mid-flight. The bee struggled briefly, then went still. "Right now it would be futile. I want you to enjoy your life, Dreslin."
He placed two items on the table between them.
First, a golden token embossed with the imperial seal—the kind that granted minister-level authority across every state in Aurelith. The kind most men spent lifetimes trying to earn.
Second, a leather pouch heavy with coins. One hundred gold pieces. Enough to live comfortably for months without lifting a finger.
Dreslin stared. "Big bro... this much?"
"You've earned it."
"You're—" The boy's voice caught. "You're incredible. I don't understand why people say terrible things about you."
"Oh, Dreslin." Lucien met his eyes, and for a moment his expression was almost gentle. "Sometimes it's important to build a mirage between treasure and hell. Make the stupid ones think they can reach one without crossing through the other." His smile sharpened. "Most of them die trying to figure out which is which."
Dreslin nodded slowly, understanding some of it. Not all—he was still too young, too honest—but enough.
They spent hours like that. Talking. Eating delicacies from the palace kitchens that Dreslin attacked with the enthusiasm of someone who'd grown up with far less. Lucien watched him with something that might have been fondness, if he'd allowed himself to feel such things deeply.
Eventually, the light shifted from amber to violet.
Dreslin stood, shoulders squared like he was preparing for battle. "Big bro... I'm heading to State Rifteria tomorrow morning."
His voice cracked slightly. His eyes were wet.
"Why don't you keep me with you? I could—I could help, I could—"
"Silly boy." Lucien rose, placing a hand on his shoulder. The grip was firm, anchoring. "One day you'll understand that your big brother was always right about everything."
Dreslin threw his arms around him, clinging for a moment like the child he'd been when they first met. Then he pulled away, wiping hastily at his face, trying to look strong.
He made it a few steps before Lucien's voice followed him, quiet but clear.
"That token works in every state of Aurelith, Dreslin. Don't forget that."
The boy's shoulders shook once. He didn't turn around. Just raised a hand in acknowledgment and kept walking.
Lucien watched until he disappeared through the garden gate. Then he turned back toward the palace, expression already settling into its usual mask of bored detachment.
'Stay safe. Stay away. Stay useful.'
The rest didn't matter.
---
His chambers were cooler now, evening breeze drifting through the open balcony. Lucien had changed into loose trousers and nothing else, settling into a chair with a leather-bound tome on his lap. Historical accounts of the Nurin civil war. Tactics, supply lines, the mistakes that had led to their fall.
Always useful to study how kingdoms died.
Knock. Knock.
"Prince Lucien..." A female voice, slightly nervous. "I'm Maria. From the fountain."
"Come in."
The door opened. Maria entered carrying a tray—tea, small cakes, sliced fruit arranged with care. Her eyes found him immediately, and he watched the way her breath caught.
He was still shirtless, seated in the balcony doorway with one leg drawn up, book resting against his knee. Sweat gleamed faintly on his skin from the day's heat. The silver-white of his hair caught the dying light like something not quite mortal.
"You're always like this?" she asked, then immediately looked embarrassed by her own boldness.
Lucien closed the book, setting it aside. "Like what?"
"So... controlled. Like reality bends around you instead of the other way around."
Interesting. Not what he'd expected.
He stood, moving with that fluid grace that came from years of blade work and body awareness. "Do you feel it?"
"Feel what?"
"The answer to your own question." He crossed to the small table near the window, where candles waited unlit. "Let me—"
"No, let me do that." She set the tray down quickly, pulling matches from her apron pocket. Her hands were steady despite the flutter in her voice. 'He's so different than I thought. Different than any man I've known.'
Lucien allowed it. Watched her light the candles one by one, watched the way the warm glow softened her features. Nineteen, maybe. Young enough to still believe in princes and fairy tales.
Perfect.
When she straightened, he was closer than she'd expected. Close enough that backing away became instinctive—one step, two, until the wall pressed against her spine and there was nowhere left to go.
He didn't touch her. Didn't need to.
Proximity alone was a cage. The heat of his body. The scent of sandalwood and something darker beneath it. His face so near hers that she could count the flecks of deeper purple in his violet eyes.
"I'm asking you," he said softly, each word deliberate, "what makes me magnetic. Is it my looks?" His gaze drifted down, then back up, slow and assessing. "My authority?" One hand rose, bracing against the wall beside her head. Not touching, just... there. "Or my mind?"
Maria's lips parted. No sound came out.
Her thoughts were spinning, tangling, trying to grab hold of an answer that kept slipping away because how could she think when he was this close, when her heart was hammering so hard she could feel it in her throat, when every nerve in her body was screaming at her to either run or surrender and she didn't know which—
"Well?" Lucien's voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. "Which is it, Maria?"