Lucas leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, his fingers tapping slowly against the carved armrest. His expression was calm, almost lazy—but the air around him felt heavy, suffocating.
"Oh?" he said coolly. "Is that a threat?"
Lucia stood straight before his desk, her back rigid, her chin raised. She neither bowed nor flinched.
"You should know," Lucas continued, his voice low, "that I could snap your neck right now. It would take less than a second." His lips curved faintly. "But that would be a waste of resources, don't you think?"
Lucia met his gaze head-on.
"Yes, Your Highness," she replied evenly. "You should also know that no one despises the king more than I do. That makes me the perfect candidate for this task." Her eyes hardened. "That is all I wished to say. May I take my leave."
For a moment, Lucas said nothing. He studied her as if she were a puzzle he had only just noticed—sharp, defiant, unafraid.
Finally, he nodded.
"You may leave… for now."
Lucia turned and walked out without hesitation.
The doors shut softly behind her.
Lucas exhaled, his tapping fingers stilled.
"Hm," he murmured. "Interesting."
He leaned forward slightly, resting his chin against his knuckles.
"To think someone could speak to me like that… without fear."
The shadows along the wall shifted.
A figure stepped forward silently, as though he had emerged from the darkness itself.
"You've had enough entertainment," Mark said dryly. "Let's return to the real matter."
Lucas didn't look surprised. "Speak."
"There is a banquet being held at Duke Carlous' estate," Mark continued. "You were meant to attend originally, but the duke insists you go in his stead."
Lucas frowned. "And why should I care?"
"Because your presence must be seen," Mark replied. "And because the king insists you attend with your wife."
Lucas scoffed. "How irritating."
"This will be your first public appearance as a couple," Mark said. "The king wants rumors silenced. Appearances maintained."
Lucas leaned back again. "And how do you expect me to 'invite' her?"
"I suggest diplomacy," Mark said pointedly. "At least until she is no longer useful."
Lucas smirked faintly. "If you put it that way, I suppose I can't refuse."
Mark raised an eyebrow. "And how do you intend to approach her?"
"That's simple," Lucas replied. "I'll give her an order."
Mark slapped a hand against his forehead. "Are you truly that dense?"
Lucas glanced at him. "What?"
Mark sighed deeply. "Just… do whatever you want."
Lucas made his way toward Lucia's chambers, only to find them empty. A guard informed him she had gone to the training grounds with her assistant commander.
Curious despite himself, Lucas changed direction.
The clang of steel reached his ears before he arrived.
Lucia was in the center of the training field, locked in a duel with Genus. Their swords flashed under the afternoon sun, movements swift and precise. Lucia moved like flowing water—graceful, controlled, deadly.
Lucas stopped.
For the first time, he simply watched.
Her footwork was impeccable. Each strike carried intention, not wasted force. She disarmed Genus with a clean twist, her blade stopping just short of his throat.
Silence followed.
Lucas cleared his throat.
Both Lucia and Genus turned instantly.
"An impressive display," Lucas said coolly. "Commander Lucia. Lieutenant Genus."
They bowed.
"Greetings, Your Highness."
Lucas' gaze remained on Lucia.
"There is a banquet tomorrow at Duke Carlous' estate," he said. "You will accompany me."
Lucia stiffened slightly but said nothing.
"You are no longer merely a duke's daughter," Lucas continued. "You are a princess. Dress accordingly. I will have a designer sent to you."
Genus clenched his fists. "Why must she go with you?"
Lucas did not even spare him a glance.
"This is not a request," he said calmly. "It is an order."
The pressure in his voice was unmistakable.
Genus swallowed hard, feeling a chill crawl up his spine. So this is the crown prince…
Without another word, he turned and walked away.
Lucia watched him go, then straightened.
"Yes, Your Highness," she said. "I will comply."
Lucas turned and left without responding.
The day of the banquet arrived swiftly.
Lucia stood silently inside the carriage, gazing out the window as the palace gates passed by. The gown she wore was deep crimson, elegant and severe. It clung to her frame in a way armor never had, unfamiliar and slightly uncomfortable.
She did not like it.
The carriage door opened, and Lucas stepped inside.
He froze.
For a brief moment, the world seemed to still.
Lucia looked nothing like the warrior he had seen on the training grounds. Her hair was styled neatly, falling over her shoulders like dark silk. The red of her dress made her pale skin glow faintly, her green-hazel eyes sharper than ever.
Lucas cleared his throat and sat opposite her.
The carriage lurched forward.
A sudden jolt rocked the floor, throwing Lucas off balance. He instinctively reached out to steady himself—and found himself far closer to Lucia than intended.
Their eyes met.
The space between them shrank, tension thickening the air.
Lucia's hand slipped toward her thigh, fingers brushing the hilt of her hidden dagger.
Lucas noticed.
Slowly, deliberately, he leaned back, raising both hands slightly.
"Relax," he said quietly. "I have no intention of forcing what isn't given."
Lucia did not relax—but her grip loosened.
"See that you remember that," she replied coldly. "Because next time, I won't stop at a warning."
Lucas' lips curved faintly.
"Interesting," he murmured. "You truly are dangerous."
The rest of the ride passed in silence, broken only by the rhythmic sound of wheels against stone.
Both sat stiffly, each lost in their own thoughts.
And neither noticed how the air between them seemed to burn.