The Purple House's territory unfolded like a dream—lavender fields swayed gently in the breeze, their vibrant hue stark against the manor's imposing stone façade. Yet, to Lucian, the sight that once brought comfort now felt foreign, even hostile. He floated alongside Cassian, his translucent form flickering with every shift in his turbulent emotions.
Cassian rode with the quiet confidence of someone who knew his purpose, his gaze steady and forward-facing. In contrast, Lucian's agitation bubbled just beneath the surface. He lashed out the only way he knew how—with words.
"You're quite the sight, Valenor," Lucian sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "No uniform, no insignia yet you're meeting with a Duke from another house."
Cassian's grip on the reins tightened, but he didn't rise to the bait. His silence, as always, was maddeningly effective, and Lucian's frustration deepened.
'Why does he have to be so infuriatingly calm?' Lucian thought, clenching phantom fists. 'Here I am losing my goddamn mind.'
The realization hit him like a cold wave: he was nervous. Not just about being back in his childhood home, but about the fact that everyone in the kingdom likely knew of his supposed death. His mind churned with possibilities, plans, and half-formed ideas.
'I need a story… something to explain my return. Or maybe I don't. I could just redo the spell and disappear again, but—' His thoughts snagged painfully on a name. Adrian.
Lucian's chest ached, a cruel mockery of the living pain he could no longer feel. 'He didn't come for me.' The bitterness in his thoughts was sharp, but he softened it with an excuse. 'The Crown Princess. She must've stopped him. She always had her ways.'
The clinking of metal and the bark of a guard's voice jolted Lucian back to the present.
"Who goes there?" The guard stationed at the gates of the manor eyed Cassian warily, his spear glinting in the sunlight. He didn't seem to recognize the man in front of him.
Cassian halted his horse, his tone even but firm. "Cassian Valenor, from the Red House."
The guard's face paled as recognition dawned. "O-Oh! Your grace, forgive me. Please, come in!" He turned, hurriedly signaling to the other guards to open the gates. Magic shimmered faintly as the massive iron gates creaked open, revealing the path to the manor.
Lucian's eyes narrowed. 'Twice in one week, and they don't recognize him immediately? Strange. These guards have been here for years, and Cassian isn't exactly forgettable.'
But the thought was pushed aside as the manor came into view, and with it, a figure standing at the entrance. Lucian's breath caught—or would have, if he still breathed. His father.
Duke Lance Faelith was a shadow of the man Lucian remembered. His broad shoulders were hunched, his usually pristine appearance disheveled. Dark circles under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights, and his movements carried the weight of unbearable grief.
"Father…" Lucian's voice was a whisper, thick with emotion.
Cassian dismounted gracefully, his boots crunching against the gravel. "Duke Faelith," he said, inclining his head respectfully.
Lance forced a weak smile, though it barely reached his hollow eyes. "Cassian. I was told you were here. I… I'm glad. But why now? And why are you not in uniform?"
Cassian hesitated, his expression softening. "I came to ask how you were holding up, your grace." he said gently.
The duke's lips trembled, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might break down. "I…" His voice faltered, his gaze dropping to the ground. "I'm… managing, Captain. As best as I can."
Lucian felt something inside him crack. His father's grief was a physical weight, pressing down on him, and the memories of his mother's death came rushing back. He remembered how Lance had fallen apart then, retreating into himself for weeks, leaving Lucius to shoulder the responsibilities of the house.
And now, it was happening again.
"I didn't… think about how this would affect him," Lucian murmured, his voice barely audible.
Cassian's eyes flicked briefly to Lucian, catching the whispered words, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned back to the duke.
"I wanted to pay my respects to Lucian," Cassian said, his voice steady but laced with sincerity. "We didn't always see eye to eye, but he deserved that much."
'Lies.'
Lance's expression softened, a faint flicker of hope lighting his tired eyes. "Thank you, Cassian," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Few came to his funeral. Those who did… only wanted something from us. My son wasn't perfect, but he was scared. Deep down, he was kind."
Lucian froze. 'Only a few… came to my funeral? Not even Adrian?'
The words hit him like a blow, the weight of them sinking deep into his chest. He had expected indifference, perhaps even relief from some, but the stark reality of his isolation was a bitter pill to swallow. Even Adrian hadn't come.
As they moved toward the hall where his coffin rested, Lucian barely registered the whispers of the maids or the low murmur of conversation between Cassian and his father. The world around him felt distant, muffled, as though he were trapped in a bubble of his own making.
The memory of Adrian clung to Lucian like a shadow, growing darker and heavier with each step. His thoughts spiraled uncontrollably, dragging him back to moments that felt so vivid, they could have happened yesterday.
Adrian's laughter echoed in his mind, a rich, warm sound that used to soothe him during their walks through the palace gardens. He remembered their tea times—Adrian always preferred his tea plain, while Lucian insisted on a splash of cream. They'd tease each other endlessly, but it was always in good fun.
'I love him,' Lucian thought, his form flickering with the weight of his despair. 'And he… he couldn't even come to my funeral?'
The betrayal stung more deeply than he could have imagined. He couldn't understand. It wasn't fair. His thoughts churned, threatening to overwhelm him. For a fleeting moment, he considered giving up—letting the spell fade, letting himself vanish into nothingness.
But then, like a gentle breeze cutting through the storm, his mother's voice surfaced in his mind.
"That is the life you were meant to live. To claim what you deserve and what belongs to you."
The words steadied him, just enough to keep him from unraveling completely. 'Mother always knew what to say,' he thought, clinging to her memory like a lifeline. 'Would she still say the same words to my situation now or...'
His downward spiral was abruptly shattered by a piercing scream.
Lucian's head snapped up, his surroundings snapping into focus. He found himself in a grand hall, the air thick with the fragrance of flowers. Purple Liliroses adorned every surface, their delicate petals glowing faintly in the dim light. In the center of the room, a golden coffin rested, draped in an arrangement of Liliroses so beautiful it almost seemed surreal.
For a moment, Lucian was captivated. The flowers were his favorite—enchanted blooms that glowed in the presence of the dead. He had discovered them as a child during his nightly visits to his mother's grave, their soft light comforting him in the darkness.
But something was wrong.
The Liliroses weren't glowing.
Lucian's gaze darted to the coffin, his ethereal form trembling as unease crept up his spine. 'Why aren't they glowing? If my body is in there…'
His voice cracked as he turned to Cassian. "Cassian…" he began, his tone hesitant.
But the look on Cassian's face stopped him cold.
Cassian's crimson eyes were wide with shock, his usual composure shattered. His jaw tightened as though he was holding back words he couldn't yet bring himself to say.
A chill ran through Lucian as he turned back to the coffin. His translucent hand reached out instinctively, though he hesitated just short of touching the golden surface. With each step closer, the dread in his chest grew heavier, colder, until it was almost unbearable.
The coffin was empty.
Lucian staggered back, his form flickering violently. His mind refused to process what his eyes were seeing—or rather, what they weren't.
"No…" he whispered, his voice trembling. "No, this can't—"
"Where… Where is my son's body?!"
Lance's anguished scream cut through the silence, raw and filled with despair. His fists clenched, and his entire body shook as he turned to the attendants gathered nearby.
"Where is he?!"