Chapter-8: The Road to Siena
Lucien crouched at the edge of a flower bed, utterly absorbed.
At the base of the plants, two ant colonies waged war. Soldier ants clashed over a fallen piece of wheat grain, their tiny bodies locked in mortal combat over resources neither side truly needed. He watched the chaos with the intensity of someone studying a philosophical text, oblivious to everything else.
'War damages more than it builds,' he thought, tracing the paths of retreating ants carrying their dead. 'Yet humans rush toward it again and again. And I've become one of the most skeptical examples of all.'
The observation was cold, clinical. Not guilt—just acknowledgment of irony.
The sound of metal plates shifting against each other snapped him from his thoughts.
Lucien stood and turned.
Death Knight Ethelia De Colisson stood three paces away, dark platinum armor catching the morning light. She was younger than he'd expected—barely mid-twenties—but everything about her radiated lethal competence. Her eyes were piercing, precise, the kind that missed nothing.
"Did you rest well?" he asked with a calm, genuine smile.
Before he could say more, she grabbed his hand and began pulling him toward the main gate. "If I were your commanding officer—"
"I suppose I should scold the maids harder." He glanced down at where her hand gripped his, his tone shifting to something gentler. "Those bruises..."
Ethelia yanked her hand back instinctively, crossing her arms over her chest. "Your charm won't work on me."
"I think we should visit State Zyrick," Lucien said, picking up a book from the nearby bench—'The Meaning After Nothingness'. "What do you say?"
"Emperor Emrik commanded me to escort you to the capital." She forced more weight into her voice, trying to sound authoritative. "I can't waste any more time."
"All right then."
In one fluid motion, Lucien leaned in close—so fast she barely registered the movement until his face was inches from hers. His violet eyes held hers for a heartbeat.
"Tell me about your favorite places, favorite food, and favorite sword."
He stepped back, giving her space to breathe again.
Ethelia blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. She recovered quickly, forcing herself back into neutral composure. "Only if you tell me yours first."
"Fair enough." Lucien gestured for her to proceed.
"My favorite food is honey-seasoned chicken. My favorite place is State Rifteria during winter—the snowfall there is..." She paused, something softening in her expression. "Beautiful. And my favorite sword is the Kyou Sinji." Her hand touched her scabbard instinctively. "The Emperor gave it to me when I became a Death Knight. Now—your turn."
"Apple pies," Lucien said without hesitation. "Specifically the ones Rose De Colisson used to make."
Ethelia went very still.
"My favorite place is the Court of the Great Castle in capital Siena. And my favorite sword is Supreme Tyranny's Will—though I've never needed to use it in the field."
A subtle warmth flickered across Ethelia's face at the mention of her mother, quickly suppressed behind her stoic mask. She studied him with new curiosity, trying to reconcile this information with what she knew—or thought she knew—about the Second Prince.
Lucien turned and began walking toward the main gate without further explanation.
Ethelia followed.
---
At the entrance, an elaborate carriage waited with eight mounted guards. Lucien climbed in first, settling near the window. Ethelia took the seat opposite him, maintaining proper distance.
The carriage lurched into motion.
'He's unpredictable,' Ethelia thought, watching him gaze out at the passing streets with genuine interest. Commoners and merchants went about their business, oblivious to the royalty passing through. 'I wonder if he's just trying to make me another conquest. Another name on his list.'
"Why did you behave like you're the Emperor himself?" she asked, irritation bleeding through her professional tone. "You should have met me the day I arrived."
"Ah." He didn't look away from the window. "I was occupied with something."
"You royal people are all the same." She leaned forward slightly, testing him. "Behaving like dogs in heat."
Lucien turned to face her fully. In one smooth movement he was close again—too close—his eyes dropping to her lips, then her nose, cataloging every detail before he leaned back.
"Has anyone told you," he said softly, "that your defiance is what makes you beautiful? Elegant and lethal all at once."
Ethelia froze.
She'd heard countless things in her life—praise for her combat skills, fear of her reputation, crude proposals from men who saw only the armor and not the woman beneath. But no one had ever said anything like 'that'. Not with that particular tone. Not while looking at her like she was something worth studying rather than conquering.
Against her will, genuine interest began to bloom.
---
The capital city of Siena sprawled before them—wealthy, secure, bustling with commerce. Shops and taverns lined both sides of the wide main road, everything orderly and prosperous. The Great Castle rose in the distance, still half a mile away.
"Stop here," Lucien called to the driver.
He stepped out onto the street. Ethelia followed, gesturing for the mounted guards to continue to the military barracks and report the escort's completion.
Lucien walked casually along the merchant's row, completely at ease despite his noble bearing. He stopped at a food stall specializing in chicken.
The shopkeeper's jaw dropped slightly at the sight—the Second Prince with his distinctive silver-white hair and violet eyes and pale skin, standing beside a Death Knight in full dark armor. Neither belonged on a common street.
"Want to eat? I'm hungry," Lucien said to Ethelia.
She stepped forward and ordered two honey-seasoned chickens, paying the vendor herself. As they waited, she noticed the stares—passersby gawking at them with awe, respect, fear, curiosity all mixed together. Young women especially couldn't seem to look away from Lucien.
But he seemed oblivious to the attention. When the food arrived, he simply sat down on a nearby bench without any concern for his expensive clothes getting dirty, accepting the meal with quiet gratitude.
Ethelia hesitated, then sat beside him.
For a moment, they ate in companionable silence. Just two people sharing a meal on a street corner, as if thrones and titles and reputations meant nothing at all.
"You knew my mother," Ethelia said finally. It wasn't a question.
"I did." Lucien took another bite. "Rose was kind to me when I was young. Her apple pies were..." He smiled slightly, and for just a second it looked almost genuine. "The only thing that felt like home."
Ethelia studied his profile—the sharp lines of his face, the way the afternoon light caught in his unusual eyes. Everything she'd heard about him whispered that he was dangerous, seductive, politically disengaged. A prince who cared more about pleasure than power.
But sitting here beside him, watching him eat common street food without pretension, hearing him speak of her mother with something that sounded almost like fondness...
Maybe the whispers were wrong.
Or maybe—and this thought unsettled her more—they were only seeing what he wanted them to see.