LUCIAN
The palace corridors were colder than usual. Morning light filtered through tall windows, soft but sharp against the marble floor. Servants moved quietly along the edges of the hall, careful not to meet the eyes of the men who now ruled its conversations.
Lucian walked through it all with the deliberate calm of someone who had learned long ago that stillness was a form of power. His gloved hands were clasped behind his back, his expression composed. Only those who knew him well could see the tension in his jaw.
He had spent most of the night writing letters, sending messages to his contacts across the city. Every report that came back painted the same picture: Montclair's faction had begun to spread new rumors, sharper than before. And this time, they carried Evelina's name like a weapon.
By the time he reached the council chamber, the hum of voices was already rising. Nobles stood in small circles, whispering beneath the golden chandeliers. They smiled as he entered, but their eyes carried something else, curiosity, pity, judgment.
Lord Harland, one of Montclair's lesser allies, approached first. His smile was all teeth. "Lord Ravenscroft," he said, bowing slightly. "A pleasure as always."
Lucian inclined his head. "Lord Harland."
"I heard an interesting story this morning," Harland continued, his voice low enough to suggest secrecy yet loud enough to be overheard. "They say the Grand Duke has taken quite an interest in Lady Everleigh. Quite a match, if the court whispers true."
Lucian's expression did not change. "Is that so?"
"Oh yes. A gift was delivered to her today. A necklace, I believe. Very fine. It seems the Grand Duke knows how to appreciate refinement when he sees it."
The words were chosen carefully, each one meant to dig. Lucian did not answer. He looked past Harland, toward the far end of the room, where Alistair Montclair stood surrounded by his usual circle of advisors.
The Grand Duke was speaking quietly to the Chancellor, his tone measured, his posture unhurried. Yet when he turned slightly, his eyes met Lucian's across the chamber.
For a moment, neither looked away.
The silence between them was brief, but it carried more weight than words could. Then Alistair smiled, a polite, courtly gesture that revealed nothing but promised everything.
Lucian felt the chill settle deeper in his chest.
Harland, unaware of the storm he had stirred, continued with false cheer. "Of course, it is only gossip. But then, gossip often holds a grain of truth, does it not?"
Lucian's voice was calm. "Sometimes. And sometimes it holds a noose."
Harland blinked, uncertain how to respond. Lucian turned and walked away before he could try.
At the far end of the chamber, Alistair finished his conversation and approached. The crowd shifted subtly, giving space the way people do when they sense a quiet danger.
"Lord Ravenscroft," Alistair said smoothly. "I was hoping to see you."
"Your Grace." Lucian inclined his head slightly. "The court has been very talkative this morning."
Alistair smiled. "It always is. It feeds on stories, you know. Truth rarely satisfies."
"Then it must be well fed," Lucian replied.
"Perhaps." The Grand Duke studied him, his eyes glinting faintly in the light. "Tell me, do you still keep company with the Everleighs? I heard you were acquainted with their daughter."
Lucian met his gaze evenly. "You seem unusually interested in my acquaintances."
"I am interested in all matters that touch the stability of the court," Alistair said. "The Everleighs hold quiet influence, and you, Lord Ravenscroft, have a way of turning quiet things into loud ones."
Lucian's voice remained steady. "If you intend to accuse me of something, I suggest you do it without the disguise of politeness."
Alistair's smile deepened. "I accuse nothing. I only observe. Lady Evelina is a remarkable young woman. Beautiful, poised, loyal. The kind of woman who deserves care. It would be unfortunate if her reputation were damaged by the ambitions of others."
Lucian's jaw tightened. "You speak as though you plan to protect her."
"Perhaps I do," Alistair said. "The Everleighs are an honorable family. They should not suffer because of the company their daughter keeps."
Lucian took a slow breath. "You are playing a dangerous game, Your Grace."
"Am I?" Alistair's tone was almost gentle. "Or are you the one who has placed her in danger? Rumor is a storm, Lord Ravenscroft. You may believe you can stand against it, but those beside you will always be the first to drown."
The words hung in the air. Lucian felt the weight of them, but he did not flinch. "If you wish to threaten me, do it plainly."
Alistair's smile did not fade. "I have no need to threaten. The court will do that for me."
Then, with a graceful nod, he turned and walked away, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow.
Lucian stood still long after he was gone. Around him, the murmur of conversation resumed, but it felt distant.
He had known Alistair would strike. He had not expected him to use Evelina as the blade.
By the time the session ended, Lucian had already decided what he must do. He left the palace quietly, avoiding the curious stares of courtiers who thrived on watching power unravel.
Outside, the afternoon had turned gray. Clouds rolled low across the sky, heavy with the promise of rain. He mounted his horse and rode through the streets until the palace was lost behind him. The city's noise dulled as he turned down a narrow road leading toward the old quarter.
The candle shop stood empty, its shutters drawn. The memory of last night lingered in the air, the faint scent of wax, the whisper of her voice, the feel of her hand in his.
He entered the back room, lit only by a single lamp. His shadow stepped from the darkness, bowing low.
"My lord."
"What news?" Lucian asked.
"The Grand Duke has begun spreading word that Lady Evelina may soon be under his protection. He speaks of her with familiarity. It is causing confusion in the court. Some believe he intends to propose a match."
Lucian's hand tightened on the edge of the table. "So that is his move."
"He means to draw you out," the man said quietly. "He knows you will not tolerate such talk."
Lucian exhaled slowly. "He underestimates my patience."
"And Lady Everleigh?"
Lucian looked toward the darkened window. "She will hear of it soon, if she has not already. When she does, she must not respond. The moment she speaks, they will twist it against her."
The shadow nodded. "What will you do?"
Lucian's voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it. "Montclair believes himself untouchable. He hides behind titles and the King's favor. But men like him always leave traces. I will find his weakness."
He began to pace slowly, his thoughts gathering. "He has merchants under his seal, trade routes through the southern ports, soldiers loyal to his coin rather than his crown. If I can expose what he hides, his own allies will turn."
"You mean to bring him down."
Lucian paused. "No. I mean to show him that I am not a man he can control. And that she," he said quietly, "is not a name he can use."
The shadow bowed again and slipped back into the darkness, leaving Lucian alone.
He moved to the window and watched the rain begin to fall. Each drop caught the lamplight, silver and cold.
He thought of Evelina again. The way she had looked at him last night, her eyes full of faith and fear. He had promised to protect her, to keep her name untainted. Now that promise would be tested.
Montclair was not a man who stopped once he began. His gifts, his smiles, his quiet words were only the first move in a larger game. He wanted control, not affection. He wanted to remind Lucian that even love could be turned into leverage.
Lucian lifted the pendant he wore beneath his collar, a small token his sister had given him years ago. "The world never changes through the will of men like Montclair," she had once said. "It changes through those who refuse to be silent."
He set his jaw.
"Then let him hear my silence break," he murmured.
The rain struck harder against the glass.
Lucian crossed to his desk, took up his quill, and began to write. Letters of inquiry, orders to his informants, discreet messages to those still loyal within the council. Each stroke of ink was a line of quiet rebellion.
When he was done, he leaned back and looked at the maps spread before him. Montclair's network was vast, but not invincible. Every empire, he knew, began to crack from within.
He thought again of Evelina's name on the Grand Duke's tongue, spoken as if it belonged to him. The memory made Lucian's chest tighten with something colder than anger.
"I will not let you touch her," he said softly to the empty room. "Not with your words, not with your power."
Outside, thunder rolled over the city.
The storm had begun, and Lucian Ravenscroft was ready to meet it.