"Luci, is there something you truly, deeply want? Despite being so young, I'm certain there must be something you yearn for deep in your heart."
Stefania Faelith's voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, yet it carried the weight of maternal love and concern. Her lilac hair, once lustrous and full of life, now framed her face in limp strands, its brilliance dulled by her illness. She gazed up at her son, her pale violet eyes shining with a quiet warmth.
Lucian, just thirteen, felt his chest tighten at her words. He stroked her hair gently, his hand trembling ever so slightly. Seeing her like this—fragile, pale, and so unlike the vibrant woman who had always been his guiding star—was almost too much to bear.
"Of course, I do, Mother," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "Right now, I yearn for you to get better again."
His eyes flickered with longing as he added, "I miss our walks in the garden. Father and Brother are always too busy to take walks with me."
A weak smile touched Stefania's lips, her pale fingers twitching as though she wished to reach for him but lacked the strength. "My poor boy, you must feel so lonely," she said softly.
"But you know that's not what I mean. What are your dreams, sweetheart? What do you want to be when you grow up?"
Lucian blinked, confusion clouding his features. His mother had always been eccentric in her musings, but he usually understood her well—they were kindred spirits in many ways. He had inherited her striking beauty and sharp wit, the qualities that made her the jewel of high society.
But now, her question left him at a loss.
"I... I don't know yet, Mother," he admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Truly, I haven't thought about it much."
Stefania's smile grew faintly wistful. "What about the boy you like? Do you ever envision a future with him?"
Lucian froze. His face turned a deep shade of crimson, and he averted his gaze, suddenly fascinated by the intricate embroidery on the hem of her blanket.
"M-Mother, please," he stammered, his voice cracking slightly. "I don't want to talk about Adrian right now. Let's focus on getting you better."
"Why not?" Stefania teased, a glimmer of her old self shining through. "It is a mother's sacred duty to meddle in her sons' love lives."
"There's... there's no love life!" Lucian protested, his tone defensive as he avoided her gaze. "I'm not even sure he likes me back, Mother. And besides... I know well enough that my preferences are... unique."
A heavy silence settled over the room. Lucian's words hung in the air, fragile and raw. Relationships like the one he quietly longed for were unspoken in high society, their existence ignored or outright condemned.
He glanced at his mother, expecting her to chide him or change the subject, but she remained quiet, her expression unreadable. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he had said too much.
Then, she spoke, her voice tinged with a melancholy that sent a shiver down his spine.
"Do you want to know what my dream is?"
Lucian turned to her, startled by the shift in her tone. "Hm?"
Stefania's sad smile deepened, and she fixed him with a gaze so tender it made his chest ache. "My dream," she said softly, "is to see you and your brother live the lives you were meant for."
Slowly, with great effort, she raised her hand and placed it against his cheek. Her touch was cool, her fingers trembling as Lucian instinctively leaned into her palm.
"Lucian," she continued, her voice growing fainter, "my precious boy... take whatever you want. That is the life you were meant to live. To claim what you deserve and what belongs to you. Your father, your brother, and I... we will dedicate our lives to ensuring that your dreams are fulfilled..."
Her voice faltered, her hand slipping away as her eyelids fluttered shut.
"Mother?" Lucian's voice broke, panic rising in his chest. He knelt beside her, clutching her hand desperately. "Mother, what's happening? Open your eyes, please!"
Her breathing grew shallow, her chest rising and falling with a fragile rhythm. Lucian's heart pounded in his ears as he called out again, his voice trembling with desperation.
"Mother! Please! Say something!"
Stefania didn't respond.
"Someone! Guards, please!" Lucian's voice rose in panic as he turned toward the door. "Get the healer! Now!"
Lucian's eyes shot open, his chest heaving as if he had just surfaced from drowning. "Agh," he groaned, clutching his head as a sharp, throbbing sensation pulsed through his temples.
'It's been a while since I've dreamt of Mother.'
The vivid memory lingered, haunting the edges of his consciousness. It had been eight years since his mother passed away, eight long years since he had been the only one to hear her final words. He alone had been there, by her bedside, as her light faded.
Out of everyone, it had taken the greatest toll on him.
The grief had been relentless, pulling him into a suffocating abyss. Lucian suffered through months of severe depression, and while his father, brother, and even the household staff tried their best to lift his spirits, nothing seemed to work.
Nothing, except for one person.
"Adrian," he whispered, the name escaping his lips like a reflex.
And then it hit him.
Memories of the previous night came flooding back, sharp and cruel. His eyes widened in realization, his breath catching in his throat as he bolted upright in bed.
"Adrian… Adrian's engaged to the crown princess."
The words tasted bitter, each syllable scraping against his tongue like shards of glass. His heart pounded erratically, the walls of his room seeming to close in around him. Panic bubbled to the surface, raw and unrelenting.
"No," he muttered, his voice trembling as his mind spiraled. "No, I can't let this happen. I have to stop it. I have to—"
"Do what, exactly?"
Lucian froze. The voice was calm, deep, and distinctly mocking. Slowly, his head turned toward the source of the sound.
Sitting on the plush couch near the window—a seat typically reserved for his guests—was Cassian Valenor.
'What the fuck?'
The man sat there casually, one leg crossed over the other, his dark eyes glinting with thinly veiled amusement. His jet-black hair, as impeccable as ever, framed a face that was equal parts infuriatingly handsome and endlessly smug.
Lucian's confusion quickly turned to anger. "Cassian? What the fuck are you doing here? Who let you in?"
He called out to his servants sharply, "Agatha! Loid!"
Cassian raised a hand lazily, as if dismissing Lucian's alarm. "Don't bother. I dismissed them."
Lucian's jaw tightened. "You dismissed them? And they listened?!"
"Of course, they did," Cassian replied smoothly, his smirk deepening. "I had your father's permission to speak with you."
"Bullshit," Lucian snapped, his tone sharp as a blade. "My father would never allow someone like you to enter my room unannounced."
"Language." Cassian chuckled, a low, mocking sound that only served to infuriate Lucian further. "You're smarter than you look, Faelith. I'll give you that."
He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he continued, "Your father is currently with the king. Your brother is away on some urgent matter. As for your maids, well… Why wouldn't they let me in? I am, after all, the head of the royal knights, the crown princess's cousin, and the heir to the esteemed Red House. My presence here is hardly questionable."
"How humble." Lucian glared at him, his fury barely contained. "What do you want, Cassian? Get to the point before I throw you out myself."
Cassian tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. "I was sent to ensure you stay away from the crown princess. And from the future crown prince."
'What? The future crown prince?'
The words struck Lucian like a blow, but he didn't falter. Instead, he stood abruptly, his hands clenching into fists as he stomped toward Cassian without hesitation.
"You were sent? By who? That two-faced princess?" Lucian spat, his voice dripping with disdain. "And you think I'll listen to you?"
Cassian didn't move, his composure unshaken. If anything, he seemed to relish Lucian's anger. "Oh, I didn't expect you to listen. I expected you to throw a tantrum, just like you're doing now. It's what you're best at, isn't it?"
The tension in the room was palpable, a storm brewing between the two men. Lucian stopped just a few steps away from Cassian, his glare fierce enough to rival a dragon's.
"I don't care what message you're delivering," Lucian hissed. "Adrian doesn't belong to the crown princess. He belongs to me."
Cassian's smirk widened, his amusement evident. "Is that so? You sound awfully confident for someone who's been left behind."
"Say that again," Lucian growled, his voice low and dangerous.
Cassian leaned back against the couch, completely unbothered. "You heard me. Face it, Faelith. You're nothing more than a spoiled brat playing at being important. Adrian has a duty, and it doesn't include indulging your childish, and rather repulsive, fantasies."
Lucian's chest heaved with anger, his nails digging into his palms. "Get out," he said through gritted teeth. "Now."
"Or what?"
Cassian stood, his towering presence only adding to the tension. He leaned in slightly, his smirk never wavering.
Lucian's glare deepened, his fingers twitching at his sides as if preparing to lash out. His body tensed, a dangerous energy crackling in the air around him.
Cassian raised an eyebrow, his smirk unwavering. "What's this? Are you actually thinking of doing something reckless, Faelith? By all means, try. It might even be amusing."
Lucian took a slow step forward, his lips parting to deliver a scathing retort—or perhaps something far worse—when the door to his room burst open with a resounding crash.
"Lucian!"
Lucian froze, the sharp tone of his brother's voice cutting through the tension like a blade. Lucius strode into the room, his presence commanding and urgent, his golden eyes narrowing as they landed on Cassian. Without hesitation, Lucius positioned himself in front of Lucian, his stance protective, almost defensive.
"What are you doing here, Cassian Valenor?" Lucius demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
Cassian didn't flinch. If anything, his expression grew more smug, his fingers idly brushing the hilt of his sword as though to remind everyone of his rank and power.
Lucian barely registered his brother's arrival, his gaze fixed on Cassian, the seething anger within him threatening to bubble over. The air around him seemed to grow heavier, the faintest flicker of something unexplainable shimmering in the corner of the room.
But Lucius didn't notice—or if he did, he gave no sign. His focus remained on Cassian, his magic stirring to life. The plants in the room, from the small vase on Lucian's desk to the vines crawling along the windowsill, began to move.
Slowly, deliberately, they grew and coiled, their emerald tendrils snaking toward Cassian.
Cassian tilted his head, his amusement undeterred. "I came to deliver a message, nothing more."
"Message?" Lucius's voice was sharp, the vines tightening around Cassian's boots. "You've overstayed your welcome."
"Have I?" Cassian asked lightly, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. For a moment, it seemed as though he might draw it, but instead, he relaxed, his smirk returning. "No need to be so dramatic, Lord Faelith. I was just leaving."
The vines paused, their growth halting as Lucius glared at him.
Cassian turned toward the door, his steps calm and deliberate, as though the confrontation had been nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
But before he fully exited, he glanced back over his shoulder, his dark eyes locking onto Lucian.
"Give up, Faelith. Adrian Averin is not something that belongs to you. And there's only so much your father and brother can do to protect you from the consequences of your actions."