The forest was silent in a way the palace never was, a silence that brought him peace and Solence, he signed as he walked deeper.
Lucien stood among towering blackwood trees, their twisted roots curling through the damp earth like veins. This place was ancient older than the palace, older than the throne itself. Few knew of it, and fewer were permitted here. It was where he came when thought became noise and restraint felt like burden.
His crimson red eyes darkened, cold air did little to calm him.
He exhaled slowly, eyes closed, listening to the distant pulse of life. The forest did not judge. It did not speak. It only existed and has been his only companion.
When Lucien finally turned back toward the palace, his expression was once again composed kingly, distant, controlled.
But the unrest followed him home.
He had barely stepped into the palace when a messenger approached, bowing deeply. "My king,
