Chapter 16: The Name He Stole from My Mouth
Lyria's POV
I froze.
For one suspended, unbearable moment, all I could see were his eyes.
Blue orbs that were too familiar and had once filled my nightmares.
They had not changed, but the face had.
The boy who once stood above me in polished boots and laughter had become something sharper—longer in the lines of his cheek, firmer in the mouth, broader across the shoulders. But the gaze was the same.
It was the same look that used to follow me down corridors I was not meant to walk through.
Slowly, unwillingly, my eyes lifted higher.
His hair was unmistakable.
Golden-blonde.
Not the pale, sun-washed shade of common fair hair—but the warm, rich gold that marked the Queen's bloodline as clearly as a seal pressed into wax. It caught the light even here, beneath the thin veil of cloud drifting across the sky.
It was cut short at his nape and fell into soft, careless curls at his brow, as though it refused to submit to discipline no matter how carefully it was groomed.
He was clean-shaven, his jaw smooth and sharply defined, his mouth curved faintly at the corners—not quite a smile.
And when the breeze shifted, I caught the scent of him.
Something expensive.
Spiced.
Dark.
He was handsome. As much as I wanted to deny it, I could not. But beauty had never once softened what he had done.
It did not erase memory.
It did not undo the way my chest tightened now, sudden and violent, as though my breath had been snatched away without warning.
My fingers closed instinctively around the edge of my sketchbook. And I immediately put distance between us. It was only after I had done it that I realised that I had left my mask on the grass where I had placed it.
I moved at once.
I rose too quickly, skirts tangling around my knees, and stepped away from him without thinking. My hand dropped toward the ground, reaching for the thin white shape that lay beside the lake.
Before my fingers could even touch it, his voice stopped me.
"Do not put it on," he told me. "I prefer to see you without it."
The words struck deeper than they should have.
I made a small, involuntary face before I could stop myself.
My mouth twisted.
My brows drew together.
But I did not answer him.
I would not.
Instead, I bent again, determined, my hand closing around the ribbon.
And then—
He moved.
He was so fast that I barely registered the movement when he did it. The ribbon slid sharply through my fingers, and the mask vanished from my grasp.
I gasped in shock.
"Y–Your G-Grace—"
The words tangled on my tongue.
My heart slammed painfully against my ribs.
"P-Please… r-return it."
The mask dangled loosely from his fingers.
He regarded it as though it were a curiosity.
Then he looked back at me.
A slow smile curved his mouth.
"Why," he asked softly, "are you addressing me as though you do not know who I am?"
My throat tightened as I swallowed. Of course I knew who he was, but that did not give me the right to act as I did, especially because he hated me.
I swallowed.
"Y-you h-have a t-title," I told him. "I-I must r-refer t-to you as such."
I hated how I could not control the way the words stumbled out in half phrases. Lucian, for one, had mocked my speech. I needed to pull myself back together and control my voice.
His brow lifted faintly.
"And so do you," he said, without making any comment about how I spoke to him.
The lake whispered behind us.
A bird darted low over the water.
The small animal I had been sketching had vanished.
"Y-you a-are a D-Duke," I said quietly.
He tilted his head.
"You are a princess."
The word slid easily from his mouth.
As though it belonged there.
As though it belonged to me. I was my mother's daughter; that was the only title I accepted.
"I—"
The sound faltered and I began again.
"Y-you sh-should n-not ask m-me to d-disregard y-your r-rank. Y-you are a D-Duke," I told him.
Something flickered briefly in his eyes.
Then he released a soft laugh.
"Do not call me by my title, Lyria. Even if I am a Duke."
"Y-Your G-Grace…" I took a deep breath, trying to control my speech. It did not work.
"C-could you p-please r-return my m-mask?" I asked him.
I could feel heat rising to my cheeks. Why could I not speak well in the presence of the one person who had mocked me relentlessly for stammering?
He studied me, as though the years between us had not existed.
"You still insist on titles," he murmured, more to himself than to me. "Call me by my name."
My head shook at once.
"No."
He blinked. The faintest surprise crossed his face.
"I w-will n-not d-do so," I told him.
The words trembled despite my effort.
His mouth curved again.
"Call me Lucian."
I shook my head harder.
"You a-are a D-Duke."
His gaze sharpened.
"You are family, and you can call me by my name," he told me.
A breathless, hollow sound escaped me.
"I am n-not f-family t-to you."
It slipped out before I could stop it.
Something in his expression shifted immediately after I said it. It looked like interest to me, but I was certain I was seeing things.
He glanced down at the mask in his hand.
Then he twirled it lazily between his fingers.
The ribbon looped and spun.
The white porcelain caught the light.
His smile deepened.
"I am glad," he said quietly, "that you have finally admitted it."
My stomach dropped.
"You have finally admitted that I am not family to you."
I stared at him.
The words lodged painfully in my chest.
"G-give it b-back," I whispered. "P-please. I w-will l-leave. I w-will b-be o-out of y-your way."
His eyes lifted as he stared at me.
"Call me by my name."
I clenched my hands.
"What a-are y-you even d-doing h-here?" I blurted suddenly, almost in anger, because I truly could not understand why he was here. "You a-are o-one of H-Her Highness's s-suitor c-candidates. Y-you sh-should b-be w-with th-the others."
A faint grimace twisted his mouth.
"Why," he asked mildly, "would you assume I am here for my cousin?"
I lifted one shoulder in a helpless, careless shrug. He had obviously come for the selection, so of course he was here for Jacinta.
He stepped closer to me.
"I am not here for Jacinta. I am here," Lucian said quietly, "for you."
Revulsion rose, swift and unbidden.
My mouth twisted before I could stop it.
A sharp, instinctive expression.
"D-do n-not s-say th-that. I a-am n-not a ch-child a-anymore."
My chest burned.
"You d-do n-not g-get t-to t-tease m-me l-like y-you d-did b-before."
The memories surged without permission.
Small cruelties.
Careless laughter.
Hands blocking my path.
A voice too close to my ear.
A smile that never once meant kindness.
"I d-do n-not l-like y-your j-jokes."
My breath shook.
"And i-if y-you th-think I w-will f-fall f-for th-that…"
I stopped.
Forced myself to breathe.
"…th-then y-you sh-should th-think a-again."
I lifted my chin.
All the courage I had gathered here by the lake pressed painfully behind my ribs.
"G-give m-me m-my m-mask, so i-i can b-be o-out of h-here."
For a moment, something unreadable crossed his face.
His jaw tightened.
A small twitch passed through his cheek.
Then his expression smoothed.
"No."
He lifted the ribbon slightly, letting it slip through his fingers again.
"You will not have it back," he said calmly, "until you call me by my name."