Chapter 3: The Duke at the Door
I stared at Sofia, my mind racing. If I wanted to survive without being the "traitor" my sister ranted about, I couldn't just run away. Abandoning her now would turn her into my greatest enemy.
If I want her, I have to take her legally. And to take her legally, I need a divorce that doesn't involve my head on a platter.
I looked down at her. She was tracing the lines of my chest, looking satisfied and entirely too comfortable. I needed to know the depth of this hole I'd dug.
I reached out, my fingers firm as I tilted her chin upward, forcing her to meet my gaze. I put on my best arrogant, possessive mask—the "Lucien" persona she clearly craved.
"Tell me," I demanded, my voice low and vibrating. "Do you still like him? The Grand Duke?"
It was a test. If she felt even a shred of loyalty to Alaric Valecourt, I could play the "guilty conscience" card.
Sofia's eyes darkened, but not with anger. She leaned into my touch, her breath hitching. "I hate him," she whispered, her voice thick with genuine loathing. "He's a statue. A block of ice that only cares about the border and his 'duty.' I only like you, Lucien. Only you make me feel… alive."
She began to mutter something incoherent, a soft, gibberish stream of affection as she pressed her face against my neck.
Why me? I thought, a cold sweat breaking out. Alaric is a war hero. He's richer, more powerful, and according to the novel's cover, he's built like a mountain. Why choose a 'peacock' like me?
But the way she clung to me—like a drowning woman holding a liferaft—gave me my answer. Alaric was a Grand Duke. I was a sin she could call her own.
"Fine," I said, playing the part.
Driven by a sudden, shameless impulse to ground her—and perhaps to satisfy the "roleplay" she seemed to enjoy—I leaned down and bit the junction of her neck and shoulder. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a mark.
Sofia gasped, her back arching as she let out a sharp, needy sound. Her fingers dug into my shoulders, her eyes fluttering shut in a daze of pleasure. "Lucien… ah, you're so cruel today…"
I pulled back, feeling a surge of dark satisfaction. If I'm going to be a villain, I might as well be good at it.
I sat up and began to dress. The silk of my shirt felt heavy against my skin. "I have to go, Sofia."
"Why so soon?" she pouted, sitting up and letting the sheets fall to her waist, completely unbothered by her nakedness. "He won't be back for days. We have the whole afternoon. We could explore more of that… 'fever' you mentioned."
I was about to respond with a witty remark when the heavy oak door rattled. A frantic knocking followed.
"My Lady!" a servant's voice hissed through the wood. "The Grand Duke! His carriage has just entered the main gate! He's headed for the inner palace now!"
The temperature in the room dropped thirty degrees.
Sofia scrambled for her robe, her composure shattering. "He's here? Now?! He wasn't supposed to be back for a week!"
I stood there, half-buttoned, looking at the door. I had maybe three minutes before a man who kills monsters for a living walked in to kiss his wife.
"Sofia, look at me," I said, my voice cutting through her panic. I grabbed her shoulders. "What does that servant think I am? Does she know?"
"No," she gasped, her hands trembling as she tied her belt. "She… she thinks you're a close friend. A political confidant."
"Good. Maintain that," I commanded, my "Villain" brain finally clicking into gear. "I'll handle the talking. You just act like a woman who's been suffering from a migraine. Stabilize yourself. Now."
"We have to escape," she whispered, her eyes wide. "If he finds you here—"
"I'm not escaping," I lied, though every fiber of my being wanted to jump out the window. "I'm leaving through the front door like I belong here. But listen to me—I'm coming back tomorrow."
Internally, I was weeping. I'm coming back tomorrow to be executed. I'm literally scheduling my own funeral.
"Tomorrow?" Sofia's eyes lit up with a terrifying, obsessive hope.
"Yes, dear. Of course," I said, leaning down to give her one last, lingering kiss to keep her quiet. "I told you, didn't I? I'll take responsibility."
I turned toward the door, straightening my cuffs and smoothing my hair. My heart was a drumming mess, but my face was a mask of cold, ducal arrogance.
Time to see if I can out-talk a war hero, I thought. Or if Chapter 3 is where the novel ends.