LUCIAN
The council chamber was a sanctuary of marble and silence. Heavy curtains filtered the afternoon light into a muted gold that fell across the crest of the royal house carved into the table's surface. Lucian stood before it, his posture disciplined, his thoughts sharpened. Every detail of the room was precise, deliberate, and steeped in quiet authority, much like the two figures seated before him.
The Crown Prince regarded him from behind the table, his expression grave yet not hostile. At his side, the Crown Princess sat with the grace of one born to composure, her eyes steady, observing more than she spoke.
Lucian bowed with practiced ease. "Your Highnesses."
The Crown Prince's voice broke the silence. "Lord Ravenscroft. You have been the subject of considerable talk these past days."
Lucian raised his head, meeting his gaze. "I am aware, Your Highness."
"Then you know the whispers concern not only your conduct but that of Lady Evelina Everleigh." The Crown Princess said.
Lucian inclined his head slightly. "I do."
The Crown Prince's eyes narrowed a fraction. "And you do not deny them?"
"I see no reason to deny what is not shameful," Lucian replied evenly.
The Crown Princess's lips curved into a faint smile. "That is an interesting choice of words."
Lucian turned to her respectfully. "The court interprets what it pleases. I would rather meet truth with clarity than surrender it to rumor."
The Crown Prince leaned back in his chair, studying him. "You are aware, I hope, that Lady Evelina has drawn attention not only for her poise, but for the rivalry she has unintentionally inspired. There are those who see her presence as a challenge to their standing."
"I am aware, Your Highness," Lucian said. "And I will not allow her to be destroyed by their jealousy."
The Crown Princess spoke softly. "That is a noble sentiment. Yet noble sentiments often end in ruin when matched against ambition."
Lucian met her gaze without hesitation. "Then I must be careful to make mine stronger than theirs."
A brief silence followed. The Crown Prince's hand drummed lightly against the armrest before he spoke again. "You speak as one prepared to fight for her. But you know what that means. Every eye in this court will turn against you if you make your intentions public. Your alliances will be questioned. Your loyalty will be tested."
"I have faced worse tests, Your Highness," Lucian answered. "And I will face this one with full understanding."
The Crown Prince's tone deepened. "Then speak plainly. What is it you intend to do?"
Lucian drew a quiet breath, his shoulders squared. "I intend to protect Lady Evelina Everleigh's name and standing. And I intend to do so by making my purpose known before the court can poison it further. I will ask for her hand in marriage."
The Crown Princess's brows lifted slightly. "You speak of marriage?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
The Crown Prince rose from his seat, the movement slow and deliberate. "You mean to challenge the current of the court by binding yourself to the one woman at the center of its whispers."
"I mean to silence those whispers by turning them into truth," Lucian replied.
The prince's gaze sharpened. "You realize that such a decision will place you in direct opposition to Grand Duke Montclair. He will not stand idle. He is a man accustomed to bending the court to his will."
Lucian's voice lowered, calm and steady. "Then he has met his match."
The Crown Prince's expression remained unreadable. "You speak with conviction. But Montclair commands power that stretches beyond the ballroom and the council. He holds debts, favors, secrets. To cross him is to walk upon a blade."
Lucian's jaw tightened. "I have already bled for causes less deserving, Your Highness. For her, I will walk upon that blade willingly."
The Crown Princess leaned forward slightly, her tone cool but thoughtful. "What makes you so certain that this is worth the price?"
Lucian's eyes flickered for the briefest moment, softened by memory. "Because she is the only truth left in a court built upon lies. And because I cannot stand by while her honor is destroyed to satisfy another man's pride."
The Crown prince and princess exchanged a glance. She spoke first, her voice quiet, almost resigned. "There is danger in that kind of devotion, Lord Ravenscroft. It moves men to greatness or ruin."
Lucian inclined his head. "Then I will take my chances with greatness."
The Crown Prince regarded him for a long moment before speaking again. "Very well. If this is your path, then walk it with discipline. You will find little support in open court. Montclair has built his empire on alliances that will not break easily."
Lucian bowed slightly. "I will not fight him with swords or proclamations, Your Highness. I will dismantle him in silence."
The Crown Prince's interest sharpened. "How?"
"I will find the fault lines in his foundation," Lucian said. "He has made many promises and broken more. There are those who have suffered under his ambition but remain silent out of fear. I will give them reason to speak. Every man has a weakness, even one who believes himself untouchable."
The Crown Princess's eyes gleamed with quiet approval. "That sounds more like the Lord Ravenscroft I know."
Lucian allowed himself the faintest trace of a smile. "Then you understand I do not act without purpose."
The prince placed a hand upon the table. "You have my caution, but not my opposition. However, if your pursuit brings dishonor upon the Crown or destabilizes the court, I will intervene."
Lucian bowed deeply. "I would expect nothing less."
The Crown Prince gave a single nod. "Then go. And remember, sometimes silence cuts deeper than any spoken threat."
Lucian straightened. "I will remember, Your Highness."
As he left the chamber, the tension that had filled the air began to ease. The guards at the door stepped aside without a word. The corridor beyond was long and empty, its marble floors reflecting the fading light from high windows. Lucian walked in measured strides, his thoughts aligned as though the conversation had only confirmed what he already knew he must do.
He reached the end of the hallway and paused before a tall window that overlooked the gardens below. The late afternoon sun had turned the horizon to amber. Beyond the hedges, the city stretched toward the hills, alive yet distant. He rested his gloved hand on the stone sill, his reflection a faint shadow against the glass.
He thought of Evelina. The way she had stood in that cursed ballroom, surrounded by whispers she did not deserve. The quiet strength in her eyes when she refused to bow to humiliation. He had admired her long before that night, but what had once been admiration had become something far deeper, something unyielding.
He could still hear her voice from their last meeting, low and steady despite the fear in her heart. He had promised to protect her, and he meant to keep that promise even if it meant standing against every power in the realm.
His gaze hardened. Montclair.
The name itself was poison. The Grand Duke had long wrapped himself in courtesy and influence, but Lucian knew the decay beneath it. Montclair thrived on control, on fear, on the illusion of virtue. He had already begun his quiet campaign to discredit Evelina, and the court's appetite for gossip made the work easy. If left unchecked, he would destroy her reputation completely.
Lucian could not allow that to happen.
He straightened from the window and turned down a narrow stairway that led toward the lower wing of the palace. The air there was cooler, carrying the faint scent of parchment and ink from the record rooms. A servant passed him, bowing quickly before hurrying on. Lucian's presence in this part of the palace would not raise suspicion; he often dealt with administrative matters for the Crown.
He entered a small study near the archives, closing the door behind him. The space was dim, lit by the last touch of daylight through the high glass panes. He sat at the desk, drew a sheet of paper toward him, and began to write.
The letter was addressed to a man named Lord Harrow, an old ally who had once served as an investigator for the royal treasury. Harrow had left the service under questionable circumstances, dismissed by Montclair after uncovering irregularities in the Duke's ledgers. Lucian remembered the story well. Montclair had called it incompetence. Lucian had always suspected it was a truth too dangerous to reveal.
He wrote with deliberate care:
My Lord Harrow,
I believe it is time that old debts were reconsidered and that the truth buried in Montclair's accounts be brought once more to light. I require your discretion, and your skill. There is much to discuss that cannot be committed to ink. If you are willing, meet me at the eastern stables two nights hence, when the watch changes at the eleventh bell.
He sealed the letter with wax bearing his personal crest, a raven in flight. It was not a royal seal, but it carried enough weight among those who knew him. He placed the letter aside, then rose, his thoughts cold and clear.
This was the first move. Quiet, small, but significant.
Montclair had built his strength upon unseen foundations. Lucian would find them, weaken them, and let the structure collapse beneath its own weight.
He looked once more toward the window, where the last of the sun was fading behind the towers of the palace. The court would soon gather for another evening of glitter and deceit, unaware that one of its oldest players had just been marked for ruin.
Lucian allowed himself a slow breath, his expression composed but his mind alight with purpose.
"For you, Evelina," he whispered, "the game begins."
Then he left the study, his footsteps silent against the stone, carrying the weight of resolve into the approaching night.