Lucan sat behind the massive oak desk in his private office, fingers steepled beneath his chin. The room was quiet, save for the soft scratching of quill on parchment as the steward finished writing the message Lucan had dictated.
"Send it to the palace immediately," Lucan said, voice low but firm. "Let them know I'm alive, well, and not in the mood for dramatic rumors."
The steward nodded, sealing the scroll with wax. "Yes, Your Majesty. The news of your disappearance has reached the capital. Some feared you'd been ambushed."
Lucan's eyes narrowed. "Ambushed? By whom? A flock of gulls?"
The steward wisely said nothing.
Lucan leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him. His gaze drifted toward the window, where the sea glimmered in the distance.
Then he smirked.
"She called me 'King Ego,'" he murmured, almost to himself.
The steward blinked. "Pardon, Your Majesty?"
"It's nothing," Lucan replied. Then, after a pause, he asked, "How is my prisoner? It's been nearly a week. I haven't visited her."
The steward hesitated.
Lucan's eyes sharpened into a deadly glare.
"She keeps asking for chocolate," the steward said quickly, bowing his head. "A note, as well. Something poetic."
Lucan fell silent, waiting.
The steward swallowed. "She also requested to be treated better. Or perhaps to be moved to a room that actually feels like a room. And... Your Majesty, pardon me, but she's been ranting about you. Loudly. The guards hear it daily."
Lucan's expression didn't change.
"She calls you names," the steward added nervously. "Mocking titles. 'King Ego,' 'The Walking Threat,' 'His Majesty the Overdramatic.'"
Lucan leaned back, fingers tapping the armrest.
"She's consistent," he said, almost amused.
The steward blinked. "Consistent, Your Majesty?"
Lucan stood, walking slowly to the window. "She's loud. Unafraid. And clever enough to know I haven't silenced her yet."
He turned, eyes gleaming. "Send her a new room. One with a view. And give her the chocolate. The note. Something poetic."
The steward looked stunned. "Your Majesty?"
Lucan smirked. "Let her think she's winning. Let her rant. Let her believe she's free to speak."
He paused, voice dropping to a whisper.
"Because when I decide to break her... it'll be far more satisfying."
The steward bowed one final time, prepared to carry out every order-though shaken by Lucan's words, he knew better than to question them.
He was halfway to the door when Lucan spoke again, voice calm but commanding.
"Give her the room next to mine."
The steward froze.
He turned slowly, eyes wide. "Your Majesty?"
Lucan didn't repeat himself. He simply stared, and that was enough.
The steward bowed again, lower this time. "As you wish."
Once the door closed behind him, Lucan returned to his desk, fingers tapping the polished wood in a slow rhythm.
Next to mine, he thought.
Close enough to hear her pacing. Her muttering. Her sarcasm.
Close enough to remind her who held the leash.
He smirked.
Let her have her view. Her chocolate. Her poetry.
Let her believe she's gaining ground.
Because when the walls close in-when the game shifts-he'll be right there.
Listening.
Watching.
Waiting.
********
The wind howled across the northern ridges as Duke Rensic Albrecht dismounted his horse, boots crunching against frostbitten gravel. His cloak billowed behind him, dark blue and embroidered with the crest of House Albrecht-a hawk in flight, wings spread wide.
He stood tall, broad-shouldered, with silver streaks in his dark hair and a gaze that could silence a room. But now, that gaze was restless. Searching.
"My lord," one of his men said, approaching with a bowed head. "No sign of His Majesty in the last three towns. The trail grows cold."
Rensic clenched his jaw. "Lucan doesn't vanish. Not without reason."
He turned toward the horizon, eyes scanning the distant cliffs. The sea glimmered faintly beneath the setting sun, and somewhere beyond it-he knew-Lucan was alive.
They had fought side by side in the war. Bled together. Built an empire from ash and steel. Lucan was more than a king to him.
He was a brother.
And now, he was missing.
Rensic mounted his horse again, voice firm. "We ride to Berlinton. If he's anywhere, it's there."
"But, my lord," the soldier hesitated, "Berlinton is under heavy guard. No one enters without royal decree."
Rensic's eyes narrowed. "Then we'll enter without it."
He spurred his horse forward, the wind catching his cloak like wings.
Hold on, Lucan, he thought. If you're in trouble... I'll find you. And if you're playing games again-I swear, I'll drag you back to the palace myself.
Behind him, his men followed, the Duke's determination blazing like a storm on the horizon.
*******
"Lady Tiana, you're still beautiful despite the troubling news of His Majesty's disappearance."
Tiana flinched at the sudden shift in conversation. It was abrupt, though she had expected the topic to surface eventually during the tea party she hosted in their newly opened garden.
She composed herself quickly, sipping her tea with practiced grace before offering a serene smile.
Setting the cup down gently, she replied, "I know His Majesty is safe. As his fiancée, I choose to act accordingly-as a future queen should. My father will do everything in his power to find him."
The ladies around her exchanged glances, some nodding in admiration, others whispering behind their fans.
Tiana folded her hands in her lap, her gaze drifting toward the roses blooming nearby. "Panic serves no one. Lucan would not want weakness in his absence."
One of the younger noblewomen leaned in. "You truly believe he's alive?"
Tiana's eyes sharpened. "Lucan is not the kind of man who disappears without purpose. If he's gone, it's because he chose to be."
Another lady hesitated. "But what if he's been taken?"
Tiana's smile didn't waver, but her voice dropped a note colder. "Then whoever dared will learn what happens when you touch the crown."
The garden fell silent.
Even the breeze seemed to pause.
Tiana reached for her tea again, calm and composed. But inside, her heart beat faster.
But before she could take another sip, a young lady leaned forward, voice hushed but clear.
"But some say His Majesty has been with the Saintess... and that she might have killed him. That's why he disappeared without a trace."
The teacup paused midair in Tiana's hand.
She lowered it slowly, placing it back on the saucer with deliberate calm.
The garden fell silent.
Tiana turned her gaze to the speaker-a girl barely out of her debut season, eyes wide with gossip and nerves.
"Some say," Tiana repeated, her voice smooth as silk. "And yet none of those 'some' have ever stood beside His Majesty in battle. None have seen the way he commands a room, or how he handles threats."
The girl shrank slightly in her seat.
Tiana's smile returned, graceful but cold. "If the Saintess had killed him, we would not be sipping tea. We would be mourning a kingdom."
Another lady cleared her throat. "But... isn't it strange? No letters. No sightings. Not even a whisper from the palace."
Tiana's fingers tightened around the edge of the tablecloth.
"My father is searching," she said. "And I trust him. Duke Albrecht will find Lucan. And when he does, I expect every rumor-monger to offer their apologies."
She stood, brushing invisible dust from her skirts. "Now, if we're done speculating about treason and murder, perhaps we can return to the purpose of this gathering-celebrating the bloom of our new garden."
The ladies murmured their agreement, some embarrassed, others impressed by her poise.
But as Tiana turned toward the roses, her smile faltered for just a moment.
Lucan... please don't make me prove them wrong alone.
********
Elira stood in the center of her new room, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
She had been thrilled-briefly-when they led her to the new chamber. But that happiness lasted only seconds.
It was... suspiciously nice.
Velvet curtains. A fireplace. A bed that didn't feel like it had been carved from leftover bricks. And the view-moonlight spilling across the cliffs like silver ink.
She sniffed the air. Lavender.
Okay, she thought. Either I've been upgraded... or I'm being fattened up for execution.
She wandered to the far wall, where a door sat quietly between her room and the next.
Lucan's room.
Yes, her room was next to his-and that was precisely why her joy had evaporated.
She had hoped for freedom. A chance to plan her escape. But now? Impossible.
She stared at the door like it might hiss at her.
"Of course," she muttered. "Put the sarcastic prisoner next to the brooding tyrant. What could possibly go wrong?"
She pressed her ear to the door.
Silence.
Then-faint movement. A page turning. A chair creaking.
What is he doing? Reading? Plotting? Practicing his next dramatic threat?
She knocked.
Once.
Firmly.
Silence.
She knocked again.
Then a voice, low and amused: "You're still awake."
Elira rolled her eyes. "Yes, Your Majesty. I'm sorry I didn't immediately fall asleep out of gratitude for the upgraded dungeon."
A pause.
Then: "Do you like the room?"
She blinked. "Is this a trap? If I say yes, do I get poisoned grapes?"
"No," Lucan replied. "Just a better pillow."
Elira scoffed. "Well, thank you for the pillow. I'll be sure to scream into it when I'm frustrated."
Another pause.
Then Lucan's voice, quieter: "Good night, Saintess."
Elira stared at the door. It was the first time he'd ever said that to her.
"What was that? Did you eat something strange? Or are you planning to act nice before my execution day arrives?"
She heard a soft chuckle.
"Are you laughing? Do I sound funny?"
Lucan's voice came through, smooth and amused. "You always sound funny. Especially when you're trying to sound terrifying."
Elira narrowed her eyes at the door. "I'll have you know, I'm very good at being terrifying. I've made grown men cry."
"I'm sure you have," Lucan replied. "But I'm not one of them."
Elira huffed. "Yet."
Another chuckle.
Then silence.
But this time, it wasn't heavy or threatening.
It was... oddly warm.
Elira sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the door.
"This man is odd for a tyrant," she whispered, then flopped back onto the cozy mattress. "I won't fall for that trick."
And yet, for the first time since arriving in Berlinton, the silence between them didn't feel like a threat.
It felt like a challenge.
She lay there, arms spread across the plush bedding, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Her thoughts refused to settle.
Lucan had said good night.
Not a command. Not a threat. Just... words. Simple. Human.
What are you doing, Lucan? she wondered. Trying to confuse me? Charm me? Break me with kindness now?
She turned onto her side, facing the wall that separated them.
"I bet you're sitting there with your cloak still on," she muttered. "Probably reading some ancient book about power and intimidation. Or rehearsing your next dramatic monologue."
She paused.
Then smirked.
"King Ego," she whispered, almost fondly.
The wind outside brushed against the windowpane, soft and rhythmic.
Elira closed her eyes, but her mind remained alert. Because now, she wasn't just imprisoned.
She was being watched.
Tested.
Played with.
And she wasn't sure if she hated it... or if she was starting to enjoy the game.