Chapter twenty five:Quiet after the storm
Elira's eyes flew open.
Sweat clung to her skin. Her heart beat like thunder.
Moonlight poured through the manor window. The velvet curtains fluttered. Her hand clutched her throat, where the collar lay quiet but strangely warm.
Lucien sat by the edge of her bed, unmoving. Silent. Watching her.
She met his gaze.
And for a breathless moment, she saw him as he had been.
The boy in the grove.
The room was dim when she woke—curtains drawn tight, firelight flickering low.
Elira blinked against the haze in her eyes, her heartbeat thrumming like a distant echo. Her limbs felt heavy, her throat raw. Somewhere, in the dark folds of sleep, she'd heard screams. She remembered blood.
And now, silence.
Lucien was there, seated beside the bed, back straight, gloved hands folded in his lap. He hadn't moved. His eyes were already on her.
He looked like he hadn't blinked since she'd fallen asleep.
Her voice came out hoarse. "What happened?"
A pause. Then, coldly—too calmly—he replied,"The court was reminded of its place."
That was all.
Her stomach turned. "I saw them," she said slowly. "Seliora. Alric. The others. I saw what you did."
He tilted his head slightly, as if studying her. "Then you know it was no dream."
She sat up too quickly and winced. Her pulse raced. "You killed him."
"Alric," he said, his mouth curving faintly around the name like a curse, "bled out with your name still in his mouth."
Her breath caught.
"It wasn't necessary," she whispered. "You didn't have to—"
"Didn't I?" Lucien's voice came like thunder wrapped in silk. "He touched you like you were nothing. Like you weren't under my protection. In front of them all."
Her fingers curled into the sheets. "That doesn't mean you had to kill him. And stop calling me yours."
His gaze darkened, but she didn't flinch this time.
Lucien's eyes gleamed like storm-lit obsidian. "You may resent the title, but it won't change the truth. You were mine the moment you walked through my gates—and they knew it. That's why they tried to break you."
A pause. "Now they understand the cost."
"I say it because it's the one thing they fear," he said quietly. "You're not mine like a possession. You're mine like a line in blood no one crosses and lives."
"I don't want to be anyone's line," Elira snapped, voice trembling. "I'm not a claim or a warning, and I'm not a shield for your power plays."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. But she didn't stop.
"You think killing him made it better? All they saw was you turning into something just as monstrous." Her voice cracked. "And I saw it too."
Lucien's jaw clenched, shadows shifting behind his eyes.
"Would you rather I'd stood by? Watched him feed on you again?"
"I would rather you asked me what I wanted," she said, eyes brimming but unyielding. "Not decide for me like I'm a pawn in your bloody court."
She swallowed, unease curling in her chest. "Why did you show me?"
He tilted his head. "So you'd understand."
"I don't," she admitted. "Not really. I saw the blood. The fire. The fear in their faces. And I don't know if it frightened me more... that you did it, or that a part of me wasn't horrified."
He rose from the chair in one fluid movement, quiet but menacing, like a panther uncoiling.
"I gave him a moment to defend himself," he said. "He failed. That was mercy."
"And Seliora?" Her voice trembled despite her will. "She was screaming. And Lady Viole—she begged—"
"They watched," he cut in, eyes narrowing. "They laughed. Viole held you still, didn't she? Taunted you while he fed like a dog at her heel."
He stepped closer, his voice quieter now—but colder.
"They were not innocent. And they are not dead. Yet."
Elira's hands fisted in the sheets. "You did this because of me."
"Yes," he said simply.
It wasn't an admission. It was a sentence.
Her gaze dropped to his gloves, the faint dark stains along the edges of his cuffs. She thought of the way Seliora had clawed at the marble floor. The flash of Viole's horrified face, blood blooming from her lips as she was thrown across the ballroom like a broken doll.
"You… you terrified them," she whispered. "They'll never forget."
"They were never meant to forget." He stepped beside her bed, gaze falling to the mark on her throat—the one Alric had left. His jaw tightened. "You bore someone else's teeth."
"And now they bear yours?" she snapped, regretting the sharpness only a second too late.
Lucien didn't flinch. "No," he said. "They bear mine in memory. You, Elira…" His eyes locked on hers, unblinking, "...carry it in truth."
A shiver passed down her spine. "You can't just decide that."
"I already have."
She turned her face away, heart pounding. His presence was overwhelming, a cold fire pressing against her skin even without touch.
"You're not a god, Lucien," she whispered.
"No," he murmured, a shadow of a smirk tugging at his lips. "But tonight, they prayed like I was."