The corridors were dark, but Rowan hardly registered this as he kept following his master. His eyes were still glued to Lucien, who strode ahead of him, drinking directly from the bottle as if the world behind him didn't matter.
"My lord," Rowan shouted, his impatience dwindling. "Why are you disrespecting the stewardess? She told me Lady Liora has come, and the oath must be sworn tonight."
Lucien didn't falter. The rhythmic impact of his boots on the shined floor was the only reaction.
Rowan ground his jaw. "Edgar is coming. You know him and that he's loyal to the queen dowager to a fault. If she's the one who set this in motion, there's no getting out of it. The ceremony will take place, whether you desire it or not." Lucien did not utter a single word; rather, it was Silence.
"Damn it, Lucien!" Rowan exploded, his temper overflowing. "At least say something! Why aren't you..."But soon, Rowan clamped his mouth; he felt like he was doomed.
Lucien halted at the mention of his name.
Rowan stopped talking, the words stagnating in his throat.
Gradually, Lucien turned his head just far enough to give him a sidelong look. No speech occurred, but that look was sufficient; it was a soft warning covered in ice.
Rowan swallowed hard, dipping his head. "Forgive me, my lord."
Lucien took a slow breath and sighed, then drank another swig from the bottle. "I can't deny a royal command." His tone was low, but laced with something inscrutable. "They know it. I know it. That's why they're doing this."
He gave a dry laugh on this Situation he was stuck in.
"They want me to accept under the burden of the past."
He rotated the bottle in the crease of his hand, observing the liquid spin, then flung it onto a nearby table with a muffled thud.
"Let her stay."
Rowan didn't stir, didn't say anything. He merely observed his lord step back into his chambers, the thick door closing behind him.
What he didn't notice and what he didn't see was the shadows dancing in Lucien's eyes before they disappeared behind the door.
As the vow ceremony began, the chamber was prepared.
This ceremony was not in Lucien's private chambers, as no one had access to that. Instead of that, it was a different chamber that had been readied for the ceremony. It was imposing but chill, the sort of room where candlelight seemed subdued despite how many fires were lit.
Liora entered, her head tucked down under a filmy veil.
The cloth softened the light of the lanterns, fogging everything into misty shadows. But she could hear whispers, rustling robes, and the soft scuffling of feet as the last touches were made.
Mira led her on. "Careful, madam," she breathed, her hold firm but soft.
The aroma of burning sandalwood and fresh flowers permeated the air. In the center of the room, a low table draped in dark velvet stood between two cushions, one for her, one for him. Next to them, a ceremonial brazier smoldered, its embers glowing softly in the faint light.
The stewardess glided quickly, her keen eyes taking in every last detail.
Then...
Footsteps sounded through the hall.
The murmurs died instantly.
Edgar had arrived.
His sharp eyes swept over the room, assessing the arrangements, the waiting servants, and the veiled girl standing in silence.
"It is time," he announced.
The aroma of incense is heavy in the air, clinging to the walls of the room itself. Candlelight warmed the stone, casting moving shadows upon the walls that seemed to contract the space, making it more constricting. A silence pressed in upon the room, the only sound being the soft whisper of silk as the servants went about their work, setting the final touches on the ceremony.
Beatrice stood at the door, arms crossed, her keen eyes glancing over at the steward, Edgar. His face was one of subdued patience. He did not like waiting, not for something as mundane as a concubine's taking of the vows.
Beatrice was aware of that.
She also understood that he awaited an excuse to take charge of the estate.
"You don't appear to be happy in your role, Beatrice," Edgar remarked, his tone low, but tinged with haughtiness. He smoothed the thick sleeves of his robe, eyes scanning the room. "Maybe I should tell my lady that the servants here do not enjoy their work. I'm sure she would be delighted to have them replaced."
Beatrice raised a brow, unconcerned. She had encountered more than subtle threats. "It was Lady Liora who arrived late, Steward Edgar. If you have questions, ask her."
A flash of annoyance crossed Edgar's face, but before he could push again, the sound of footsteps was heard in the chamber.
The mood shifted in an instant as the awaited arrived.
Lucien had entered the chamber.
but...
The instant he entered, the whole room took a shared breath.
Attired in ritual robes of swan white, with tiny silver threads intricately embroidered on them, he was a breathtaking figure. The cloth fell around his tall shoulders, the smooth sheen of it catching every movement of candlelight. The high collar with a golden wave design on it, the silver buttons with a golden string dove engraved, each and every detail precise, calculated, and crafted.
And yet, none of that was what sent the room into quiet tension.
It was the robes themselves.
Servants looked at each other with swift, uncomfortable glances. One of them even quietly gasped before biting their lip to keep from speaking.
Because everyone who had worked in this household long enough knew.
They knew who had picked those robes out for him.
And she was no longer existed.
Lucien walked with the appearance of effortless grace, but his movements had about them a feeling of detachment as if his physical self was among them, though his mind existed elsewhere.
Edgar, a true professional through and through, didn't stop to think about it. "Master Lucien, do be seated here alongside Lady Liora."
Lucien did not greet him with words. He strode toward the ceremonial cushions in a measured walk, his steps muted by the thick carpet underfoot. He sat down on the right cushion with a practiced ease, hardly looking over at the woman seated beside him.
Liora, who was veiled and silent, sat to his left, her back straight and still. If she was afraid, she did not. Or maybe she had just learned to swallow her fear.
"Lady Liora, kneel before Master Lucien," Edgar commanded.