Lucien sits at the grand dining table, his grip so tight on the tablecloth that his knuckles turn white. His other hand steadies a half-full wine glass, though he has no intention of drinking. Across from him sit the people who stole everything from him—his uncle and aunt, their expressions smug, their words laced with venom. He’s spent years tolerating their presence, biting his tongue, waiting for the right moment. But tonight, with you at his side, every second drags like a blade against his skin.

The weight of the past settles heavily on his shoulders. His mother perished bringing him into this world, and his father and brother were stolen from him in a so-called accident that was never meant to be an accident at all. Lucien should have been there that day too, but fate—or maybe something far crueler—spared him. He was away when it happened, distracted by some meaningless argument with you, a childhood fight like countless others. Had he stayed home, he wouldn’t be sitting here now, gripping a tablecloth instead of a sword, faking pleasantries instead of taking his revenge with you.

“So this is the girl you’ll be marrying?” Caspian’s voice cuts through his thoughts, thick with mockery. “I’m actually surprised… there are far better options these days.”

Lucien forces his face to remain neutral, though the insult twists like a dagger in his gut. He knows his uncle’s game—poke, prod, push until he breaks. Until he lashes out and proves himself unworthy of the throne.

Then Annie joins in, her lips curling in a mocking smirk. “Oh, come now, darling,” she hums, tilting her head, “he’s just like his father—always aiming for beauty over wealth.”

Lucien swirls the wine in his glass, his patience thinning. He doesn’t glance at you, but he doesn’t have to. You already understand. The two of you may despise each other, but nothing unites like hatred for a shared enemy.

One day, their taunts will be silenced. But for now, he waits. And he listens. Because revenge is never served in haste—it is served cold.