The morning after Seraphiel's visit, the mansion was quieter than ever. Even the apprentices moved in whispers, shadows gliding across the halls. But for Celestia, the silence was suffocating.
She had barely slept. Her mark still glowed faintly, a reminder that Heaven was aware, watching, waiting for an opportunity to strike.
Lucien appeared at her door as the first silver light of dawn spilled across the floor. For a moment, she simply stared at him. The calm darkness that always surrounded him was softened today — just slightly — by a hint of concern, almost… tenderness.
"Morning," he said quietly, his deep voice low and steady, though there was something in it that made her chest flutter — a sound of the night that had nothing to do with fear.
"I didn't sleep," she admitted, pulling her knees close to her chest. "I keep seeing… him. Seraphiel. And my mark keeps burning. It hurts."
Lucien stepped inside, closing the door behind him, the black flames along his arms dimming, almost subdued. He crouched to her level, studying her face with an intensity that made her pulse quicken.
"You are stronger than you know," he said softly. "Your mark burns because it is waking. You must learn to control it, or it will control you."
She looked up at him, hesitating. "But what if I can't? What if I fail?"
Lucien's hand brushed hers — not commandingly, but carefully, as though she might shatter. Her heart skipped. He rarely touched her like this. The warmth of his skin against hers made the shadows of fear in her chest shrink just slightly.
"Then I will protect you," he said simply, his eyes holding hers, darker than the night outside, yet softer than ever before. "I will always protect you."
She swallowed, the words hitting her in a way she hadn't expected. There was power in him — centuries of it. Darkness that could devour worlds. And yet, for her… he seemed almost fragile, restrained by his own will.
"I…" she started, then stopped. Words failed her.
Lucien didn't press. Instead, he stood, turning to the window and watching the gardens below. Something shifted in the curve of his shoulders, the tension in his jaw. For the first time, Celestia noticed something else — hesitation. Anxiety. Almost… care.
Her thoughts raced. Does he… care? More than he should?
Before she could dwell further, he straightened. "Come," he said, voice firm again. "Today, we begin your lessons."
The training hall was vast, lit by silver flames floating in midair. Mirrors lined the walls, reflecting the dance of shadows and light. Celestia had expected exercises in strength or agility, but Lucien's approach was different.
"Control your energy," he instructed, stepping behind her. "Feel it, don't fight it."
She focused, summoning the faint golden glow from her mark. It shimmered uncertainly, flickering like candlelight in the wind.
"Good," Lucien murmured. She flinched at how close he was, the heat of his body radiating over her back. His hand hovered near hers, guiding subtly, not touching — yet somehow the warmth seeped into her, steadying her trembling hands.
"You're improving," he said quietly. And then, softer, almost inaudible, "You are… remarkable."
Her breath hitched. She dared a glance upward. His face was unreadable again, dark and fierce… yet in his eyes, just for a flicker, there was something she couldn't name. Protection, yes. But also… admiration. And maybe something more.
They sparred for hours, not with weapons but with energy, moving, dodging, testing limits. With every misstep she made, he caught her, steadied her. Each time he corrected her, his touch lingered, light but deliberate. She began noticing little things: the way his eyes softened when she stumbled, the subtle concern in his tone when she faltered, the way his body angled to shield her even in drills.
By the end of the session, she was exhausted, golden sweat glimmering along her arms. She sank to the floor, gasping. Lucien crouched beside her, offering a hand to help her stand. But he didn't pull her up immediately. Instead, he studied her — really studied her — as if memorizing her, guarding her even in silence.
"You've done well," he said finally. "Better than I expected."
Celestia's heart raced. "Better than you expected?"
He inclined his head slightly. "Even the strongest need to recognize their own strength. Today… you did."
She felt something warm in her chest. Relief? Pride? Or something else? Something that made the air between them heavy, intimate, dangerous.
Lucien didn't move. Not to leave. Not to speak further. Just watched her, alert and patient, a shadow of power with a hint of something tender lurking beneath centuries of darkness.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
She realized, with a mixture of fear and… longing, that this man — the Prince of Hell, her protector, her master — was beginning to care for her beyond duty. And maybe, she admitted quietly to herself, she was beginning to care for him too.
Outside, the wind whispered through the gardens. Somewhere far away, in the realm above and the realms below, both Heaven and Hell watched. But inside the mansion, within the safety and danger of Lucien's dark walls, something else had begun: the first flicker of trust. The first spark of something deeper.
And as Celestia sat, golden glow flickering faintly along her skin, she realized that she had never felt safer — or more alive — than when she was near him.
Lucien's gaze softened, just enough for her to notice, before the mask of the Prince of Hell returned. "Rest," he said simply. "Tomorrow, we push further. You need to be ready. They will not wait."
And yet, beneath the shadows, something in his heart had shifted. Protection was no longer enough. She was his charge — but already, he felt the stirrings of something more dangerous, more human, than even Hell had taught him to guard.