Chapter 41 - Beneath the Tyrant's Gaze
The soft flicker of torchlight danced along the cold stone walls of the prince's private chamber, casting tall, shifting shadows that looked almost alive. Zara stood silently in the center of the room, her fists clenched tightly against the sides of her gown, while the heavy door behind her thudded shut with finality.
She hadn't been summoned—at least, not with words. No. A guard had simply appeared at her door, expressionless, and gestured for her to follow.
Now she was here. With him.
Lucien leaned back in his chair, the sharp gleam of the crown on his temple catching the firelight. He was dressed casually tonight—no armor, no cloak—just a black, open-collared shirt that revealed the ridged planes of his chest and the chain he always wore around his neck. The one his father had once worn.
His gaze burned into her.
"Sit," he said flatly, nodding toward the chair opposite his.
Zara hesitated. Her legs didn't want to move. Her chest was too tight, her throat too dry. But she obeyed, walking stiffly toward the seat and lowering herself without meeting his eyes.
The silence stretched.
He poured wine into two silver goblets, his movements deliberate. "Drink."
"I'm not thirsty," she said quietly.
"You don't get to refuse me," he replied, his voice edged with iron.
Her hand trembled as she reached for the cup, taking a small sip just to appease him. The taste was bitter—rich and laced with something she couldn't name. Not poison, surely. Not after everything.
Lucien watched her over the rim of his own cup. He didn't speak for a while. When he did, his tone was deceptively soft.
"Did you enjoy playing the innocent in the garden today?"
Her heart dropped.
He knew.
"You think I didn't see you smiling at my cousin? Letting him pluck petals from your hair like you belonged to him?"
"I wasn't—"
"You were." His voice sliced through her attempt. "And you didn't pull away."
Zara stared at the goblet, her knuckles pale from gripping it too tightly. "He was just being kind. He picked a leaf from my hair. That's all."
"Kindness is a weakness," Lucien said, standing. "And you don't need his. You belong to me."
She flinched as he stepped closer, towering over her. His shadow engulfed her, and for a moment, she feared he would touch her. Hurt her.
But he didn't.
Instead, he knelt.
At her feet.
Zara froze.
Lucien's hands closed around her ankles—not tightly, not painfully, but with possession. His eyes locked onto hers, unreadable.
"You make me weak," he whispered.
Her breath caught in her throat. "What?"
"You—" His jaw clenched. "I should've punished you. Taught you a lesson. But all I could think about was how your smile didn't belong to him."
Zara's heart hammered wildly. This wasn't the tyrant she had come to fear. This wasn't the monster the kingdom whispered about.
This was a man unraveling.
"Lucien..." she whispered, unsure if it was wise to say his name.
His grip tightened, just a little. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind her he was still the wolf beneath the silk.
"Don't pity me," he said.
"I don't."
"You do. You look at me like I'm broken."
"I look at you like you're angry. And scared. And... and lost."
His eyes narrowed. "I am none of those things."
"You're lying."
His fingers slipped away from her ankles as he rose, swift and sharp. "Enough."
Zara stood, too, her voice shaking. "You can scare everyone else. But not me. Not anymore."
Lucien stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time. "Then you're more foolish than I thought."
"No. I'm braver than you expected."
A bitter smile twisted his lips. He turned away, pacing toward the far window where the stars blinked coldly in the sky. The fire cracked behind them, but the heat had gone from the room.
"You should go," he said.
Zara didn't move.
"I said go."
Still, she stood.
And then—slowly—she walked toward him instead.
Lucien stiffened as she reached his side, her hand grazing the edge of the cold window frame.
"You don't have to pretend, Lucien," she said quietly. "Not with me."
He turned toward her so suddenly that she gasped.
"You're playing a dangerous game, little dove."
"And you're hiding behind armor that doesn't fit anymore."
They stared at each other, breaths mingling in the cool air. The silence was alive with tension—not the kind that threatened violence, but the kind that crackled with something else. Something sharp. Fragile.
Lucien reached up, brushing a lock of her hair back behind her ear. His hand lingered near her jaw, thumb barely grazing her cheek.
"I could destroy you," he whispered.
"You already tried," she whispered back.
And then—he leaned in. But not to kiss her. No, Lucien didn't kiss. He inhaled her presence like a man starving. Then he stepped back, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides.
"You make me want things I swore I never would."
"I didn't ask you to want me."
"You didn't have to."
He turned, walking away without another word, vanishing into the adjoining chamber. The heavy door slammed behind him.
Zara stood alone in the dim room, chest heaving. Her fingers tingled where his breath had touched them. Her body ached with something she didn't yet understand.
He was falling.
And he was dragging her with him.
But if he burned, so would she.
And for the first time… she didn't want to run.