Lucas sat across from Prince Samir, the glass of whiskey in front of him untouched, the scent of sandalwood and aged oak hanging between them like tension in silk.
The soft chime of an incoming call cut him off.
Lucas's eyes dropped to the tablet on the table.
Diana Pan.
His mother's name blinked across the screen like it had been waiting for the exact wrong moment.
Samir paused. Lucas hesitated.
"Go on," the prince said with a nod, already stepping away from the frame with quiet diplomacy.
Lucas tapped Accept.
The image of his mother filled the screen—elegant in a loose silk blouse, her dark hair swept back in a clip, a half-full glass of red wine in one hand. Her expression was amused, but her eyes narrowed the moment she took in her son's surroundings.
Behind him: velvet-draped walls, burnished gold trim, and the unmistakable geometric design of Al-Zahra architecture.
Her brows arched. "Ah."
"Mom—" Lucas began.
She cut him off with a smile that could gut a man gently. "Pour yourself a drink, sweetheart. And stop sitting like you're waiting for a permission slip. You're not in a school conference."
He blinked, and then—despite himself—laughed once.
Behind him, Samir chuckled softly and disappeared from the camera's view altogether.
Diana's tone cooled as her gaze sharpened. "You're with Samir, aren't you?"
Lucas glanced at the glass. "Yeah. He said he knew Dad."
Diana took a slow sip of wine. "Oh, he did more than that."
She tilted her head, as if peering through the screen into a different decade. "And me, for that matter. Long before you were even a thought."
Lucas frowned. "What does that mean?"
Just then, Samir reappeared, calmly stepping back into the edge of the frame. Diana's eyes didn't miss a beat. She nodded, slow and certain.
"You told him yet?"
Samir met her gaze, formal. "Only what's mine to share."
Diana didn't look away. "Then I'll do the rest."
Lucas turned slightly toward the screen, his mother now more present than pixels could contain. Her wine glass was gone. Replaced by something steadier in her hand—resolve.
She leaned forward.
"I should have told you earlier," she said. "But I was trying to let you have a normal life. I thought I could outrun the weight."
Lucas said nothing, only watched her. Carefully. Patiently.
Diana drew a breath. "I am a woman, so officially, I'm listed as a twice-removed cousin. My grandfather's is the first son from the the Al-Fayeed line—but as the daughter, my claim was always considered… symbolic."
She smiled bitterly. "Useful in peace treaties. Not succession."
Samir crossed one leg over the other, watching her speak with respectful quiet.
"But your father," she continued, "he was technically a distant relative of that same line—through his father's side. The connection is old, tangled, and buried under so much bureaucracy no one ever speaks it aloud."
She looked directly at Lucas.
"But together—your blood from him and me—it adds up."
Lucas blinked. "Adds up to what?"
"To enough," Samir answered. "Enough to make the list."
Lucas frowned. "What list?"
Samir gave him a calm smile. "The list of viable heirs. Not next in line—not yet. But next to be watched. Next to be considered. When a vacuum appears… names rise."
Lucas exhaled slowly. "That's a very long game."
"Exactly," Samir said.
Diana scoffed. "Don't act like he has time. If you're sitting here in person, he doesn't."
Samir raised a brow. "You think I flew here for drama?"
"I think you flew here because you're already putting pieces in place."
"Chill," Samir said smoothly, folding his hands. "You got to grow up free. You didn't even have to know about your inheritance until after Lucas was born. You raised him like a normal kid."
Diana's expression shifted, softened by something almost like guilt.
"I thought he'd have time," she said. "More than I did."
Samir gestured toward Lucas. "He's twenty-seven. He's not a prince yet. Right now he's a billionaire-in-progress with a very powerful AI and a media presence halfway to myth."
Lucas gave a dry laugh. "Comforting."
ATHENA's voice slipped into his ear, low and amused."Correction: 62% myth saturation. Trending upward."
Samir reached for his own drink, lifting it lightly. The amber liquid caught the light like a blade held still.
"I'll speak plainly now," he said, voice soft but crisp. "There are three other names ahead of you. All male. All from noble blood. All painfully traditional."
Lucas watched him, unmoving.
"They would make changes, conservative choices." Samir continued. "Which means outdated trade controls, anti-tech policies, and 'stability' that only benefits the oldest, richest families."
He sipped. "That's not the future I want for my people."
He set the glass down, leaned forward, and locked eyes with Lucas.
"You're not like them. You move in chaos. You think in systems. You wouldn't burn the house down—you'd rewire it. That's what this bloodline needs."
Lucas raised a brow. "You want me to modernize a monarchy."
"I want you to keep it alive," Samir said simply. "But without rotting it."
Before Lucas could answer, Diana's voice cut through with quiet weight.
"I love my son," she said.
Samir turned his head.
"I know," he said evenly.
"No," she said, firmer. "I mean—I love him more than I care about any bloodline, or any outdated council of old men in jewel-toned robes. If you pull him into your political chessboard, and he ends up getting torn apart—"
"I won't," Samir said gently. "You know I won't."
Diana's expression was iron wrapped in velvet. "Then swear it. No backroom deals. No shadow grooming. You let him choose his pace."
Lucas glanced between them. "Still here, by the way."
They both looked at him.
Diana smiled, soft again. "You always were better at reading the room than I gave you credit for."
Samir nodded. "You don't have to answer now."
ATHENA chimed in, dry as ever."Advisory: Delayed decisions are still decisions. Recommend timeline management within 30 days."
Lucas let out a breath, slow and measured.
Then he looked Samir straight in the eye. "Tell me what you really want. Not the diplomatic pitch. The real vision."
Samir's gaze didn't flinch. His voice dropped, steady and intimate.
"I need an heir," he said plainly. "Not a figurehead. Not a puppet. And certainly not someone who'll undercut me every step of the way just to make a point."
He leaned back, fingers laced, but there was no detachment in his tone.
"My brother—he's brilliant. Gentle. And he's found someone who makes him happy. I won't ask him to give that up for a title he doesn't want. His legacy is his mind."
Lucas nodded once. "So I'm your next best?"
"No," Samir said. "You're the one Cyrus believed in. And more importantly—you're someone who knows how to lead without needing to dominate every room."
Lucas looked at him carefully. "Fine. Let's say I consider it. What's the job, exactly?"
Samir didn't smile. He spoke like he was handing over a blueprint.
"First—nothing. You don't carry a title. You don't fly under a flag. Not yet."
He unfolded his fingers. "Your job, if you choose it, is to build. Business, influence, policy—whatever makes you harder to replace. You do that, and when the succession window opens… you don't have to ask for the crown."
Lucas nodded slowly, tension coiling in his shoulders.
Samir's voice gentled again. "You have two years. Officially."
He paused.
"But I'd prefer three months."
Lucas raised a brow. "That's… a gap."
Samir smiled faintly. "You're a fast learner. So was your father."
ATHENA buzzed softly."Logged: Strategic timeline proposal. Two-year window, optimal engagement in Q1. Three-month acceleration preferred for legacy alignment."
Lucas looked at the nearly empty glass on the table, then back at the man across from him.
"You're asking me to build an empire," he said.
"I'm asking you," Samir replied, "to stop pretending you weren't born for it."
Lucas didn't respond right away. He looked toward the tablet.
"I'm still here," she said flatly, before either man could protest.
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Thought you said your part was done."
She snorted softly. "Yeah, well, I'm still your mother. And I know that look you get when you're pretending to consider something you've already started accepting."
Lucas leaned back, arms folded.
Diana softened—just a little.
"Samir isn't wrong. But he's not entirely right, either." She looked at her son, calm but firm. "They won't try to work you like a mule. You won't be chained to a throne. But they will want something."
Lucas didn't move.
"They'll want you to marry," Diana said. "Eventually. And preferably someone with the right family name. A bloodline they can trace back without using a magnifying glass."
Lucas groaned under his breath. "So I'm not even allowed to fall in love now?"
She waved it off. "You can fall in love all you want. But if you're planning to have a child, and that child might inherit something that still matters to an ancient court? Yeah. Then it's going to matter who you fall in love with."
Samir didn't interrupt. This wasn't his part to speak.
Diana's gaze turned slightly wistful.
"If you marry someone with a noble line, things are easier. Smoother. But if it's someone else? And there's a son?" She shrugged. "That'll do just fine."
Lucas stared at her. "That's your advice?"
"That's reality," she said. "I didn't write the rules. I broke a few of them to have you."
There was a pause.
Then Diana smiled faintly. "The title is famous, Lucas. Not important."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Explain that."
Diana sipped her wine again, slow and unbothered. "People chase crowns. Not because they want to rule. Because they want others to believe they matter. But the truth? Power's not in the crown. It's in the rooms you walk into where people pause when they see you."
She looked right at him.
"And people are already pausing, aren't they?"
Lucas said nothing.
But he didn't argue since it was the reality he was starting to accept as his life.