The sun was dipping below the horizon when Lucius finally returned to the manor. The air was cool, the fading light casting long shadows across the stone courtyard. His steps were measured, calm—just as he liked. The training had left him drained but satisfied. Something was stirring inside him. A slow pulse of power, not yet roaring, but promising.
The heavy oak doors creaked open to reveal the faint glow of candlelight inside the grand hall. Lucius found his father seated at the long dining table, perusing a report with a thoughtful expression. Duke Valehart glanced up and gave a nod, the slightest flicker of approval in his eyes.
"Back earlier than expected," the Duke noted, setting the parchment aside.
Lucius inclined his head. "The day was productive."
Valehart didn't press for details, but the quiet pride in his demeanor was unmistakable. He had seen enough from his son recently to know something had changed, even if Lucius himself remained an enigma.
Before Lucius could settle, a knock came from the doorway.
"Come in," he said.
The door opened, and a young man stepped inside, clad in the muted armor of a knight. His hair was a dark chestnut, his eyes sharp with a mix of curiosity and calculation. He carried himself with the confidence of someone used to command, but there was something cautious beneath.
Rowan.
Lucius did not rise.
"You trained well," Rowan said, voice even but not without a trace of respect. "You've grown since I last saw you."
Lucius offered nothing more than a faint nod.
Rowan stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You saved the beastkin cat. Everyone's talking about it."
Lucius's eyes narrowed slightly but remained calm. "I didn't save anything. It was a stray."
"That's not what they say."
"They don't know what they're talking about."
Rowan's gaze flicked toward the corner where the small cat-like beastkin was curled up quietly, her eyes half-lidded but alert. He gave a short laugh.
"You really don't care for appearances, do you?"
Lucius gave a dry smile. "Appearances are a burden. Let others be fooled if it suits them."
Rowan studied him for a long moment before speaking again, quieter this time.
"You're not as cold as you seem."
Lucius shrugged, the motion subtle but deliberate. "Emotion is a liability."
Rowan smirked. "That sounds like something the original you would say."
"Perhaps."
There was a pause, the kind that filled the space without needing words.
"Why do you do it, then? Why bother with any of this—training, protecting others—if you don't care?"
Lucius considered the question, eyes tracing the flicker of candlelight. "I want a quiet life. Power is necessary for that. Not for glory or dominion."
Rowan nodded slowly. "A quiet life… rare for someone like you."
Lucius's voice was low, almost a whisper. "Power doesn't grant peace, but without it, peace is impossible."
Rowan's expression softened.
"I can help you," he offered.
Lucius met his gaze steadily. "I don't need a knight."
"Not a knight," Rowan said, "But an ally. You'll need someone in your corner when the knives come out."
Lucius gave a brief, calculating smile. "Knives always come."
"Then maybe it's time you stopped walking alone."
Lucius looked toward his father, who observed the exchange silently, arms folded, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips.
Valehart's approval was unspoken but deeply felt.
Rowan stepped back, eyes glinting with something like cautious respect.
"Don't mistake my offer for kindness," he said. "It's mutual benefit."
Lucius inclined his head. "Agreed."
The night deepened outside as the conversation ended. Words had been exchanged, alliances hinted at, but true understanding remained elusive.
Lucius turned away, thoughts already moving forward. The quiet life he sought was a distant hope, tangled in the threads of power, politics, and the ever-present danger of a world that rewarded strength and punished weakness.
But for now, he had made a choice.
To survive this story on his own terms.