Seraphina Navi prided herself on control.
Every meeting, every conversation, every smile — she read thoughts before words, dissected motives before gestures. People were predictable. Transparent. Manageable.
Lucian was not.
It started three days ago, during combat class. Her ability—normally effortless—had met only silence. She refused to accept it then. He must have been empty-headed, she told herself. Simple-minded, maybe even dull.
Today would prove it.
The restaurant he'd chosen was one of his adoptive father's — elegant, reserved, the kind of place where everything gleamed but nothing bragged.
Seraphina sat across from him, posture impeccable, a polite smile carefully arranged. *He doesn't even look nervous.* She thought.
She extended her senses again, reaching into that quiet space between thoughts—and found nothing.
Again.
Her chest tightened. *He's just not thinking about anything right now. That's all.*
"You've chosen quite the place," she began, her tone smooth but slightly too formal. "A curious choice for a training partner's lunch."
Lucian smiled faintly, resting a hand on the table. "It seemed fitting. You train me, I feed you. Balance, wouldn't you say?"
She blinked, caught off guard. *Was that… humor?*
Her lips curved faintly. "Is that how the Vaelmont family handles debts?"
He shrugged. "Only the important ones."
That shouldn't have made her pulse quicken. But it did.
When the food arrived — golden roasted duck with herbs and a light sauce — Seraphina decided to reassert herself.
"So," she said, tone turning analytical. "Your father's business empire… impressive reach for a merchant. You must have a great deal of influence."
Lucian dabbed his napkin, unbothered. "Power, status, legacy… exhausting pursuits. I prefer to let everyone else scramble while I enjoy the quiet."
She frowned. "That's a very… detached way of seeing it."
"Perhaps," he said mildly, "but it keeps things quiet—and I like quiet."
She studied him, trying to slip past his calm exterior, to see what he was thinking—Nothing.
Her throat tightened.
*Why can't I read him? Why can't I hear anything?*
She pressed deeper, subtle but insistent—Nothing again. Only smooth, blank silence.
For the first time, she felt something she'd never felt during a conversation before.
Nervousness.
"You seem distracted," Lucian said softly, breaking the silence.
Her head snapped up. "Not at all. Just… curious."
"About what?"
"About how someone can appear so calm in front of a princess."
He chuckled quietly, the sound low but warm. "I've come to learn that titles hold weight only for those desperate to prove themselves."
Her fork paused midair. *What does that even mean?*
He leaned slightly forward, resting his chin on one hand. "You do not strike me as one who needs to prove anything."
Her pulse skipped. "I… suppose not."
*What am I doing?* she thought, unsettled by how natural the conversation felt. Normally she'd be two steps ahead by now—analyzing his thoughts, measuring every word. But now… she was just talking.
By the time the meal was nearly done, her perfect composure had frayed around the edges. She'd tried reading him six times. Seven. Eight. Every attempt ended in that same smooth, impenetrable silence.
And now, sitting across from him, she began to suspect the truth.
*He's not empty-headed… he's immune.*
A person she couldn't read. The realization should have terrified her. Instead, she felt… something else.
Something strangely warm.
*Is this what it's like?* she wondered. *To speak without knowing what the other person truly thinks?*
It was uncertain. Vulnerable. But for the first time in her life—it felt real.
When the plates were cleared, Lucian glanced up from his glass.
"You know," he said, "you should learn to relax more often. You strike me as someone who's forgotten how to have fun."
Her lips parted slightly. "Fun?"
"Something simple," he said with that infuriatingly calm smile. "No titles, no lessons. Just a day to breathe."
She stared at him. "And who exactly would I do that with?"
He met her gaze. "Perhaps… you should begin with me."
Her heart skipped again, though she kept her voice steady. "Is that… a date?"
He smiled faintly. "Only if that is truly what you desire."
For a moment, Seraphina forgot to breathe. The strange warmth in her chest swelled — not comfort, not fear, something in between.
She'd spent her life hearing everyone else's thoughts. Now, for the first time, she wanted to know someone's without reading them. And that realization scared her more than anything.
***
When they stepped out of the restaurant, Lucian let the faint breeze carry away the lingering perfume and laughter. He didn't look back, though he felt her gaze linger longer than it should have. A quiet smile curved his lips.
*So, even she… the one who hears every thought, is not untouched by silence.*
He'd seen it clearly—the hesitation, the curiosity, the way her walls began to crumble the moment she realized she couldn't read him. It wasn't attraction he wanted, not yet. What he needed was familiarity, comfort… trust. Once she associated that feeling with him, the rest would follow naturally.
The afternoon drifted into something lighter.
Lucian led her through the merchant district, where the air smelled of spice and polished metal, the crowd thick with laughter and bartering voices. He moved with unhurried ease, pointing out trinkets and sweets, his tone teasing but warm.
For Seraphina, it was disorienting—this simplicity. No obligations, no courtly eyes watching her every move. Just conversation and laughter that didn't carry two meanings. Her mind still reached instinctively for his thoughts, again and again, but met the same wall of silence. At first, it had irritated her. Then it had unnerved her. But now… that silence felt peaceful, almost precious.
Her ability had always been both a gift and a curse. She had never known what it meant to simply believe someone's words. No matter how kind they seemed, the truth behind their minds always bled through—envy, greed, lust, scorn. Even the rare kind thoughts never felt real once she'd heard them. Everything was too transparent, too hollow.
But Lucian was different.
With him, there were no hidden voices, no contradictions between speech and thought. For the first time, she could let a conversation be a conversation. She could laugh, and not immediately wonder what he thought of her laughter. She could feel her own heartbeat instead of everyone else's.
And as the sun began to dip and the city's light turned gold, Seraphina found herself smiling—not the polite smile she wore at court, but something unguarded. She didn't know if Lucian was simply kind, or if it was something deeper. All she knew was that his silence felt like freedom.
Maybe, just maybe, this was what normal felt like.
Their day finally came to an end. The streets thinned, and dusk spilled across the rooftops in long amber streaks. They parted with polite words and soft smiles, the kind that linger after the sound has faded.
As Lucian watched her carriage vanish into the horizon, his expression softened—not out of sentiment, but satisfaction.
"She's beginning to feel," he murmured. "Excellent. The first step is always the most vital."
***
Seraphina lay on her bed, staring up at the canopy of her dorm room. The faint shimmer of moonlight crept through the window, tracing silver lines across the silk sheets. Her shoes were still by the door—she hadn't even bothered to take them off properly.
Her mind should've been busy with reports, names, strategies… but all she could think about was him.
Lucian.
She turned on her side, her fingers curling lightly against the pillow as if she could trap the thought before it slipped away. His words replayed in her mind—not extraordinary, not poetic, but sincere in a way that made her chest tighten. He actually listened. Not to her status, not to her role as a princess, but to her.
And the silence—his silence—lingered most of all. For the first time, she wasn't drowning in the noise of thoughts and deceit. Just quiet. Calm. It was intoxicating.
"Why am I thinking about him like this?" she scolded herself. Her father would call this weakness. A liability. And yet, lying there, she couldn't bring herself to care.
"Maybe he isn't like the others. Maybe he wasn't pretending. Maybe…"
She hesitated, biting her lip. Because deep down, a small, rational voice whispered the truth she didn't want to face.
"What if he is like the others?"
Her heart sank—and then steadied. She let out a small, almost defeated laugh.
"And if he is…" she murmured to the empty room, "do I really want to know?"
For once, the uncertainty didn't feel like fear. It felt human.
***
And with that, the first week since Lucian's return came to a quiet close. The following two unfolded in deliberate stillness.
Lucian maintained the perfect mask—an unremarkable student, polite, curious, quietly diligent. His days were spent studying and conversing just enough to appear ordinary. None questioned the faint chill that lingered whenever he smiled.
He spent his nights in silence, reading through old records, recent papers, and fragmented reports of the kingdoms' current affairs. Every headline was a clue. Every war, treaty, and scandal, another piece of the puzzle.
By the end of the fortnight, his understanding of this era had sharpened. The world had grown noisier, greedier, weaker.
In his dorm, Lucian sat by the window. He closed the last document, fingers tracing its edge as a quiet chuckle escaped him.
"How predictable humanity remains," he said softly. "Even after all this time."
His gaze drifted toward the horizon, eyes half-lidded in thought. The Lawless Continent was on his mind. Karn's men would soon arrive at the village.
He intended to welcome them personally.