Chapter twenty three: The reckoning ii
Across the ballroom, silence reigned.
Ravienne stood near the dais, chin high, eyes hard like carved stone. Beside her, Lady Seliora clutched a goblet she could no longer drink from—her hands trembling so hard the wine sloshed onto her sleeves. A few steps to the left stood Lady Viole, ivory feathers draped over her shoulders like a vulture, her smirk fading as Lucien approached.
He moved slowly.
Step by step.
The crowd parted like water before a sinking ship.
Not one dared speak.
Ravienne's voice was the first to fracture the silence, brittle and sharp. "This display is beneath you."
Lucien stopped before them.
"No," he said. His voice was low. Calm. Too calm. "What was beneath me was trusting you."
"My son—"
"You gave them access to her." He said it like a sentence passed.
"She's a pet," Ravienne said, eyes narrowing. "You paraded her through this court like a toy. They simply played along."
His hand moved like the cut of a blade—silent, swift, final.
The crack of his palm against her cheek rang through the hall.
Ravienne didn't fall. But her head snapped to the side. Her crimson lips parted, more in disbelief than pain. Her pride shattered more than her flesh.
"You forget yourself," she hissed.
"You forgot your place," Lucien said coldly. "And that mistake has cost you."
He turned to Lady Seliora, who had begun backing away, tears glimmering in her wide eyes.
"I didn't know," she whimpered. "I didn't know what it would do. I—I thought she was just—"
"Just what?" Lucien asked, stepping forward. "A slave? A whore? A pet?"
Seliora's breath caught.
The chandelier flames guttered, darkening, flickering violet as shadow curled along the marble.
She turned to flee.
Lucien raised a hand.
The ballroom shadows surged to life—snaking up her legs, binding her wrists like coiled serpents of smoke and memory. She screamed as they dragged her back to him, knees slamming against the floor.
"You gave her poison," he said. "You put a cup to her lips and watched her fall."
"I didn't want to hurt her! I was told—Ravienne said it would only weaken her—just a taste—"
Lucien turned back to Ravienne. "And you believed that was your place? To orchestrate trials?"
"She is not one of us," Ravienne said with unshaken coldness. "She is nothing."
"Then you underestimated the value of nothing," Lucien whispered.
He faced Seliora again, kneeling.
She sobbed, head bowed.
He took her chin in his gloved fingers.
"You gave her venom in a gilded cup," he said softly, "so now, let your beauty match your soul."
His claw traced her cheek.
Then cut.
A single, surgical line from temple to jaw. Clean. Crimson. Perfect.
Seliora's scream echoed off every high ceiling.
"Every mirror will remember me," Lucien said. "And every man who sees you will know what happens to those who drink what is not theirs."
Seliora collapsed, weeping into her hands, blood dripping through her fingers.
But even as she wept, she spat through her tears, voice shaking with hate."All this... for a stray girl in chains? She'll never love you. She fears you. She despises what you are."
Lucien stilled.
And smiled.
It was not kind.
"Then you should have feared me more."
He turned.
Lady Viole stood frozen where she'd once smirked.
"Your part?" he asked. "What was it?"
Her voice trembled. "I—I only stood beside him. I didn't touch her—"
"No," Lucien said, stepping close, "but you laughed. You called her prey. You taunted her."
His voice dropped, satin and steel."So now, let me show you what it means to be prey."
From his coat, he drew a shard of onyx glass—enchanted, cursed, humming with dormant hunger.
"Drink," he commanded.
"I—I won't—"
The shadows around her feet grew long and cold.
"You will."
She reached for the goblet with shaking hands and drank.
Her body shuddered.
She screamed.
The enchantment did not kill—it marked. Her mouth split at the corners like a carved doll, each smile from now on a bleeding wound that would never fully close.
"Every time you laugh," Lucien said, "you'll taste your cruelty."
Lady Viole fell to her knees, clutching her mouth, sobbing blood.
Lucien turned back to the crowd.
To Alric's corpse, cooling on the marble.
He let the silence stretch long enough for every soul to feel it sink beneath their ribs.
Then he spoke—voice crisp, cold, final.
"Let this be the last lesson."
His gaze swept the nobles like a guillotine.
"She is not yours to test.
Not to tempt.
Not to touch."
"Next time—" his eyes gleamed obsidian, shadow curling at his heels "—I will not stop at blood."
He turned, cloak trailing behind him like dusk.
And as he walked away, not one dared breathe.
Not one dared move.
Not one forgot.
And the stain where Lord Alric fell…would never wash out of the marble again.