LUCIAN
The night was heavy with fog when Lucian reached the edge of the abandoned estate. The moon was only a faint blur behind the clouds, its light swallowed by the mist that curled along the ground. He dismounted quietly, the leather of his gloves creaking as he tied his horse to a rotting post.
The manor ahead had been grand once, long before neglect and ruin claimed it. The walls were streaked with ivy and soot, the roof bowed inward. A faint glow leaked from one cracked window, the signal he had been told to watch for.
Lucian stepped through the half-open door, his boots echoing softly against the damp stone. The air smelled of old wood and cold ash.
A single lantern burned on a table in what had once been the dining hall. Beside it stood Lord Varrow, his shoulders drawn, his hair more silver than brown. His eyes darted toward the door as Lucian entered, then softened slightly with recognition.
"Lord Ravenscroft," Varrow said quietly. "You came."
Lucian nodded. "I gave my word."
Varrow gestured to the chair opposite him. "Then sit. We have little time, and what I have to tell you cannot be spoken lightly."
Lucian sat but did not relax. The air between them felt charged, as though the walls themselves were listening. "You said you had proof of Montclair's deception."
"I do," Varrow said. He reached into his coat and drew out a bundle of worn papers tied with a faded ribbon. "These are the records I kept when I served as steward under Montclair's household. They were meant to be destroyed years ago. I could not bring myself to burn them."
Lucian's eyes narrowed. "Why not?"
Varrow's gaze flickered toward the lantern. "Because I knew what they meant. And I knew one day someone would need them."
Lucian untied the ribbon and unfolded the first sheet. The parchment was fragile, the ink browned by time. "This is a royal birth record," he said. "But the dates do not match the ones in the archives."
"No," Varrow said softly. "They do not."
He leaned forward, his hands trembling slightly. "You know the story told to the court. The late Queen gave birth to a son, the prince who later became Grand Duke Montclair. But that story is a lie."
Lucian looked up, his expression still. "Go on."
"The child born to the late Queen," Varrow continued, "was frail. He lived only a few hours. The Queen was devastated, but the King was away on campaign and she feared the court's reaction. The death of a royal heir so soon after birth would have stirred chaos. The council might have demanded an inquiry. Worse, it would have revealed the King's favored sister's infidelity."
Lucian's eyes sharpened. "Infidelity?"
"Yes," Varrow said, lowering his voice. "The Princess Royal had a bastard son, born of a commoner from the western district. The late Queen knew of it. The affair was not a secret to her, though it was never spoken aloud."
He hesitated, then continued. "On the night her own child died, she gave an order. The illegitimate boy from the Princess Royal who was hiding that time, was to be brought to the palace at once. He was only days older than the prince. The Queen demanded the midwives switch them before dawn. To the court, the child presented the next morning was her own."
Lucian sat very still, the weight of the revelation pressing on his chest. "So Montclair is not the Queen's son."
"No," Varrow said. "He is the son of the King's sister and her lover. The late Queen took him to preserve the illusion of an heir. She told no one. Only the royal physician, two attendants, and the midwife knew the truth. All of them are gone now. The records were falsified, sealed under royal authority. And when the late Queen died, the secret was buried with her."
Lucian looked down at the papers again. The handwriting was unmistakably the physician's, but there were inconsistencies in the dates, gaps in the registry, and a second name crossed out beneath Montclair's.
"Who was the boy before he became Montclair?" Lucian asked quietly.
Varrow's face was grim. "The Princess Royal and her lover called him Rian. The late Queen provided for her lover quietly, through the treasury's private account. After the exchange, he was paid to leave the capital. He died a few years later, but by then, the late Queen's deception had become too deep to undo. The King never knew, of course. He will never allow it. To the world, Montclair was royal. To the throne, he was a necessary lie."
Lucian let the papers fall softly onto the table. The lantern light caught the edges of the parchment, turning them gold. "And this has remained hidden all these years."
"Yes," Varrow said, "hidden and guarded. Montclair has no idea, he knows, he is the rightful heir as the late Queen's son."
Lucian's voice was low. "He was built by a lie."
"He exists by it," Varrow replied. "Though as the Princess Royal's bastard son, his titles, his wealth, his influence, all trace back to a birth that never belonged to him."
For a long moment, neither man spoke. The sound of the rain outside filled the silence. Lucian's thoughts turned like gears, measured and deliberate. This truth could destroy Montclair completely. It could unmake his family line, strip him of every right and title.
"Why tell me now?" Lucian asked finally.
Varrow gave a tired smile. "Because I am old, and because I have lived too long with cowardice. I served a false Duke, watched him build his empire upon blood and deception. You, Lord Ravenscroft, are not like him. You serve something greater than yourself. You still believe in justice. Perhaps that is what this truth needs."
Lucian folded the documents carefully and placed them back into the pouch. "You will leave tonight. Go north and stay out of sight. No one must know you spoke to me."
Varrow nodded slowly. "And you, my lord? What will you do with what you've learned?"
Lucian rose, his expression unreadable. "What must be done."
Varrow hesitated at the doorway. "If you expose this, the court will crumble. The memory of the late Queen, the honor of the Crown—"
"The Crown will survive," Lucian said. "Montclair's corruption will not."
When Varrow was gone, Lucian remained in the hollow room for a long while. The rain drummed harder against the broken windows, the sound echoing through the empty halls. He turned the pouch over in his hand, feeling the weight of it. Inside lay the truth of a kingdom's greatest deceit.
He walked outside into the rain. The cold cut through his coat, but he welcomed it. The horse stamped impatiently as he untied the reins. Lucian mounted and turned toward the faint lights of the city in the distance.
Each hoofbeat seemed to drive the truth deeper into his mind. Montclair was a fraud, a man born of a lie that had twisted into power. The blood he claimed as royal was tainted by deceit. The late Queen's secret had protected the throne, but in doing so, it had given birth to a monster.
Lucian rode through the storm, his thoughts racing faster than the wind. He knew what had to come next. The prince had to be told, but carefully. The truth was a blade that could cut through both justice and loyalty if handled without precision.
By the time he reached the city gates, dawn was breaking behind the clouds, painting the horizon in gray. The guards bowed him through, unaware of the revelation he carried.
When he reached his quarters, he placed the pouch upon the desk and stared at it in silence. For years, Montclair had hidden behind power and pretense. Now, at last, the foundation beneath him had cracked.
Lucian rested his hands on the desk, his reflection faint in the dark glass of the window. "Your blood was never for the crown," he whispered. "And it will not stain the throne any longer."
The rain eased outside, the sky paling with morning light. A storm had passed, but another was coming, one that would tear through the gilded halls of the court before it was done.