The castle grounds were unusually quiet that morning. Not silent, but quiet in a way that made people walk a little faster and talk a little softer—like they sensed something was about to change, but couldn't quite explain it.
Lucien stood in the palace garden, hands tucked into his coat pockets. The autumn breeze carried the faint scent of roses, though most of the flowers had already wilted. He stared at the empty branches of a twisted tree near the wall. Something about it reminded him of himself—bare, quiet, overlooked… but alive.
Behind him, footsteps approached.
"You've been standing here for quite some time," came a calm, feminine voice.
Lucien turned to see Lady Seraphina walking toward him. She wore a deep violet dress, embroidered with silver vines. Her expression was curious, not hostile. She was one of the few nobles who didn't speak down to him. But he still didn't trust her—not fully.
"Is it a crime to admire dead flowers?" Lucien asked with a slight smile.
"No," Seraphina replied. "But it's strange to see someone so... low-ranked wandering around this part of the grounds so freely."
He met her gaze. "You'd be surprised how far a quiet voice and a harmless smile can get you."
She studied him for a moment. "You're not harmless."
Lucien chuckled. "And you're not stupid."
A silence passed between them, not uncomfortable but heavy with meaning. Seraphina tilted her head. "What exactly are you doing here, Lucien? Truly."
Lucien's eyes flicked toward the castle towers in the distance. "I'm just... learning. Watching. People talk a lot when they think you don't matter."
Seraphina folded her arms. "You speak like someone with a plan."
Lucien's smile deepened. "Everyone has a plan. Some just don't realize it yet."
Before she could press further, a bell rang from the direction of the Grand Hall. A summons.
Seraphina gave him one last look, then turned and walked away.
Once she was gone, Lucien's expression changed. The smile faded, replaced by something colder. More focused. He'd caught the way her eyes narrowed, how her fingers tapped against her arm. She was suspicious—but not yet dangerous. Not yet.
Later that day, in a dark corner of the lower city, Lucien met with an old friend.
Gareth, a former street rat turned black market dealer, lit a pipe as he leaned against the stone wall. "You're in deeper than you said, Lucien. This isn't just stealing bread or dodging guards anymore."
Lucien handed him a sealed letter. "I need it delivered to Baron Eddric. No one else sees it. Not even you."
Gareth raised an eyebrow but took the letter. "You planning to start a war?"
Lucien's lips curved faintly. "I'm planning to win one."
"You don't have an army."
"I don't need one. Not yet."
Gareth grunted and pocketed the letter. "You've changed, you know. Used to be all fire and fists. Now you talk like a noble."
"I've learned that burning things down is easy," Lucien said softly. "But making people want to burn it for you? That's power."
That night, back in his room, Lucien sat by the window, watching the city lights flicker like dying stars. His thoughts wandered—not to revenge, but to the future.
He knew the Church wouldn't fall in a day. He knew the nobles wouldn't turn on each other overnight. But cracks were forming. Seeds were planted.
He wasn't just playing a game anymore. He was building the board.
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End of chapter 22