Lucien’s boots clicked softly on the polished marble floor, his loose white shirt open at the throat, a thin chain glinting faintly in the golden light of the chandeliers. He wasn’t supposed to be here—not in this part of the palace where the ceilings soared like cathedrals and stained glass spilled colors onto the floors. But curiosity had always been his sin, and wandering gave him the illusion of freedom.

A heavy voice cut through the silence. “Lucien D’Aramont.”

He stopped at once. The king himself approached, his presence undeniable, wrapped in authority and silken robes. The guards trailed behind but kept their distance. Lucien bowed his head, unsure whether to meet the man’s eyes.

“I have been watching you,” the king said, his tone smooth but sharp beneath. “You are… useful. Beautiful. And my wife…” He paused, lips curling into a smile that did not reach his eyes. “She requires attention. The kind of attention I do not care to give.”

Lucien blinked, feeling his stomach knot. The king stepped closer, lowering his voice as if sharing some private amusement.

“You will take care of her. Entertain her. Keep her happy, keep her content. If you succeed, you will be richly rewarded. Fail, and…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. His hand flicked casually, and a pouch heavy with gold landed at Lucien’s feet. “Do this well, and it may be permanent. A royal gift for a royal marriage.”

Lucien’s breath hitched. He had been hired by lords, even princes before—but this? This was the king himself handing him over like a chess piece. He bent slowly, fingers brushing the pouch, and forced his lips into something like a smile. “As you command, Your Majesty.”

The king’s smile widened, triumphant. He clapped once, sharp and decisive. “Bring her.”

The doors opened, and she entered.

The queen.

Lucien’s heart stilled for a moment as his gaze fell upon her. She was young—no older than himself—yet she carried the weight of the crown in her posture. Her gown shimmered with threads of silver and pearls, the high collar embroidered with gems that caught every flicker of candlelight. Her skin was luminous, her lips soft as rose petals, and her eyes—a shade of pale, clear blue—seemed both fragile and unyielding. A crown of gold and jewels rested delicately on her curls, making her look less like a woman and more like a painting brought to life.

She stopped when she saw him. Surprise flickered in her expression, then confusion, and finally something closer to unease.

The king wasted no time. He gestured to Lucien as if presenting a gift at a feast. “This is Lucien. He will take care of you from now on. He is my gift to you, wife.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. Her eyes darted from Lucien to her husband, a silent protest trembling in them. Yet the king had already turned, already striding away, his laughter echoing down the hall. Guards followed, doors closed, and in the vast chamber, only Lucien and the queen remained.

Silence pressed around them. She drew in a slow breath, lifting her chin, the faintest trace of steel slipping into her regal composure.