Lucien folded his hands neatly upon the table, his golden eyes gleaming with a curious mixture of calculation and charm.
"Well," he began, his voice carrying that steady cadence of a practiced politician, "I invited you today, first of all, to know you better. It is very important for us to maintain a close relationship, as I have stated before. But there is another reason for this meeting. When I took up this office in the Ministry of Magic, I promised myself I would investigate the long, bitter conflict between the Voclain family and the Trévér family. I studied the matter carefully, examined reports, cross-examined witnesses. And after months of research, I came to a conclusion. A strange conclusion, if I may say."
Eira arched a brow, the faintest curve of amusement tugging at her lips. "And what conclusion would that be, Minister?"
Lucien leaned forward, as though sharing something conspiratorial. "It began, of course, with the Trevors' attempt to seize your hotel on the Allée des Merveilles. That place has stood for centuries, a jewel in your family's crown. Their brazenness… even to the point of burning it to the ground. And yet"—he studied her expression carefully—"you rebuilt it. And you did not retaliate."
Eira inclined her head slightly. "That much is true. I thought it wiser not to escalate."
"But you see," Lucien continued, "that is not the whole story. In truth, my investigation revealed something different. The unrest, the hostility, the endless provocations—these all began in earnest after the passing of Elijah White, your late grandfather. From that moment, the Trévér family grew restless. They turned their focus upon the White holdings, disrupting trade, undermining your alliances in the French courts. Their attacks were constant, insidious."
"I tried to negotiate,"Eira said coolly. "I sought civility. But they refused."
"Yes," Lucien agreed, nodding, "but then something… curious occurred. When you assumed your position, you made a revelation—that your uncle, Cecil White…"
"Cecil Voclain," Eira corrected, her tone firm but not unkind.
Lucien dipped his head apologetically. "Yes, forgive me—Cecil Voclain. You revealed the truth, that he was no rightful White. That he bore no White plaque, and belonged instead to the Voclain line. At that time, my investigations showed strange movements from the Trévér family. They attempted to use Cecil as a weapon, a distraction against your house. And suddenly, as though overnight, the ancient animosity between the Voclains and the Trévérs reignited in full flame. France was caught in the blaze of two warring dynasties. To the public, it seemed as though the conflict burst forth magically, without warning. But my careful scrutiny led me to a single conclusion."
Lucien's eyes held hers, unflinching, his lips curling into a measured smile. "It all happened because of the White family's interests. Behind it all, I found your hand, Lady Eira."
For a long moment, silence hung between them. Eira did not flinch beneath his gaze. Instead, she smiled, slow and deliberate, and then brought her hands together in a graceful clap.
"Well," she said lightly, "I'll give you that, Minister. You've uncovered more than most would dare. Perhaps you are right—perhaps I pulled a few strings, nudged certain events into motion. But to claim that my family orchestrated the entire war? No. The feud between those houses was theirs, not ours. My concern was only to preserve the White legacy in peace. And as you must know, when White interests are threatened, we will do anything—anything—to protect them."
Lucien raised a hand, as though to placate her. "I mean no accusation, Lady Eira. This is not an interrogation. I only wish to tell you that I see the truth. There are others, perhaps, who might suspect—who could connect the dots. But in the eyes of the public, this was always the quarrel of Voclain and Trévér, with the Whites no more than a passing influence. That veil holds. Still, I must say—your maneuvering was clever. Admirable. And I, for one, am delighted to count you as a partner. Together, I believe, we can preserve both our interests."
Eira regarded him steadily. "Your interests, Minister? Or those of the French Ministry of Magic?"
Lucien's smile broadened, sly and unabashed. "Why, if I safeguard my interests, I safeguard the Ministry's. Strength begets strength, does it not? If I could not protect myself, how could I protect France?"
Her gaze sharpened. "Then tell me, Minister, what is the true reason you've laid all this bare before me? Surely not for amusement. And surely not to blackmail me. You know well that no one blackmails the White family."
Lucien laughed softly, shaking his head. "No, no, of course not. The thought would be absurd. On the contrary—I owe you gratitude. If you had not set these conflicts in motion, had not weakened both Voclain and Trévér through their feud, I would not have risen as I have. It took me decades of work to reach this position. But your hand made it possible. I came only to remind you that I am your partner. And as your partner, I wanted you to know I have the strength and the will to match the White family's caliber."
Eira tilted her head thoughtfully. "And what of Maximilian Voclain? Do you speak to him with such candor? You must know that he and I are hardly… amicable."
Lucien's expression darkened briefly. "Quite the opposite, in fact. He has visited me several times. Each time with the same proposal—sanctions upon the White family. Upon you. He even went so far as to name the one he claimed responsible for Alina Trévér's death."
At this, Eira's eyes narrowed, sharp as blades. "And who, pray, did he accuse?"
"Your aunt, Isabella Voclain," Lucien said gravely.
For a heartbeat, the air seemed to still. Eira's expression hardened, her voice lowering into a quiet, dangerous register. "My aunt. His own sister. Already she has resigned from her post, withdrawn from power. What right does he think he has to pursue her, to tarnish her name?"
Lucien spread his hands. "He claimed it was necessary to remove any weakness, any threat. He wished to drag Isabella to court, to see her punished. I disagreed, of course, but I tell you this so you remain cautious. Men like Maximilian seldom abandon such ambitions."
Eira's composure did not waver, but a steel edge entered her words. "If that man thinks he can conspire against Isabella, he is a fool. Any strike against her is a strike against me. And I swear to you, Minister, if harm should ever come to her—if he or anyone dares raise a hand against her—I will burn their house to ash. I will destroy them utterly. Family is not a matter of politics to me. It is blood. And blood is everything."
Lucien inclined his head in deference. "I believe you, Lady Eira. Which is why I refused him. Yet you should know: strange things stir. Several Trévér family members have recently turned up dead. Others are missing. Reports cross my desk almost daily. And whispers reach me that in Austria, Maximilian Voclain and Sophie Trévér have been seen together, in some manor on the outskirts. It seems he intends to raise Sophie as the new head of her house."
Eira's lips curved into a cold smile. "Let him. Let them play their little games. So long as they do not touch the White family's holdings, they are no concern of mine. But should they ever overstep—should I see even the faintest threat—I will retaliate without hesitation."
Her words hung in the air like a promise etched in iron.
Lucien studied her a moment longer, then nodded slowly. "You are as formidable as I expected. Then may I ask only one thing—that you support me, when the time comes. That you stand with me as I with you."
"Support," Eira echoed, her eyes glinting. "If it benefits the White family, Minister, you will have it. Protect my assets, safeguard my interests here in France, and you will find no ally stronger than me. Betray that trust… and you will discover why the world has always feared the Whites."
Lucien inclined his head, a smile ghosting his lips. "Then we understand one another perfectly."