Chapter 100 - - 100 - The Princess’s Confession

Chapter 100: Chapter - 100 - The Princess’s Confession

Anne, Princess Verna, and Norrik were waiting for Lucien, as they always did. The routine had become a quiet torture, a slow rot of inactivity in a city that was not their own. They could not do much to help; Princess Verna’s face was too well-known, and one wrong glance from a loyalist could unravel everything. Whatever plan Lucien was weaving in the shadows, he kept it to himself. But they all knew, with a certainty that sat heavy in their guts, that he had already begun. The air in the cheap inn room was thick with the smell of stale ale and frustration.

Anne was drinking. Not the refined, measured sips of a lady of the court, but the deep, desperate gulps of a soldier who had nothing to fight. The bottle was her only companion, and she clutched it with a white-knuckled grip. Norrik sat across from her, his posture rigid with the effort of trying to calm a storm he couldn’t control. Princess Verna stood by the grimy window, her silhouette a study in quiet anxiety, her gaze fixed on the darkening street below as if she could will Lucien to appear. The silence between them was a living thing, filled with the unspoken truth that they were stuck here, useless, while Lucien was missing most of the time, not bothering to show his face.

"That bastard," Anne slurred, the words dripping with venom. She slammed the bottle onto the rickety wooden table, making the single candle flame jump. "I told him to tell us whatever he is planning, but no, he is just messing around. We are in an enemy country, and he is just wandering around, saving women whoever he can find. Fucking womanizer."

"I think he might have a good reason," Norrik said, his voice a low, placating hum. He was a wall of calm against Anne’s fire, but even his patience was beginning to wear thin. "Maybe it’s a part of his plan. He’s not the type to act without purpose."

Anne let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "That fucker only thinks about wine and women. I’m just stuck here getting pissed, and now I look like a loser." She lifted the bottle again, her reflection distorted in the dark glass. "If his cultivation wasn’t higher than mine, I would have smashed his pretty face with this bottle."

"So you do consider my face is pretty."

The voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once. The air in the center of the room shimmered, twisted, and then Lucien was simply there, stepping out of the void as if he had parted a curtain. He stood with an infuriatingly casual grace, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Anne shot to her feet, the chair scraping harshly against the floorboards. Norrik and Princess Verna followed suit, a jolt of shock and relief running through them.

"So finally you realised that we also exist," Anne spat, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of alcohol and sudden anger. "And who the fuck was that woman? Don’t tell me you already found someone to warm your bed."

Lucien walked closer, his movements fluid and unhurried. The smile never left his face. He stopped directly in front of her, and the raw, masculine presence of him seemed to fill the small space. He reached out, his hand cupping her face with a shocking gentleness. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, and his eyes, dark and deep as a starless night, looked into hers.

"I can understand your frustration," he said, his voice a low murmur that vibrated in the air between them. "And... your jealousy."

Anne’s breath hitched. For a split second, her fiery defiance faltered, replaced by something vulnerable and exposed. "Bastard, I’m not jealous," she retorted, but her voice was a whisper, her eyes betraying a truth her lips refused to speak. "Who would even want to be your woman?"

Lucien’s smile deepened, a knowing, almost predatory glint in his eyes. He turned away from her, the spell broken, and addressed the room. The sudden shift in his attention was like a physical blow to Anne, leaving her feeling cold and empty.

"I’m sorry," he said, his tone now serious, the playful seducer gone. "Because of me, you guys had to go through a lot, especially in this cheap inn. But don’t worry. My plans are already in motion, and I’m already in contact with Aelene. Things are going as I want, but you’ll have to trust me."

Princess Verna felt a wave of relief so profound it almost made her dizzy. The plan was in motion. Contact with Aelene had been made. This wasn’t just Lucien wandering around; it was a calculated move. The threat of war with Azurefall, the monstrous specter that had haunted her every waking moment, suddenly seemed less imminent. She looked at Lucien, and in her eyes, he was no longer just a capable lord; he was a savior.

"Don’t worry, Lord Lucien," she said, her voice clear and steady, a smile touching her lips. "You have my permission to do whatever you have to. Stop Prince Andrin and do not let war happen."

Since their private conversation that night, her relationship with Lucien had fundamentally changed. The fear she once felt in his presence had dissolved, replaced by a deep, abiding trust. Norrik watched her, his eyes sharp. He saw the hope that bloomed in her gaze when she looked at Lucien, a hope that was once reserved for him, or so he had believed. A bitter seed of jealousy, small and sharp, planted itself in his heart. He was unaware of how this closeness had even happened, and the not knowing was a poison.

Lucien closed the distance between them and took Princess Verna’s hand. His touch was warm and firm. "Don’t worry, Princess," he said, his voice a solemn vow. "I have given you my word. I’ll make sure I see this to the end."

Norrik’s reaction was immediate and instinctual. He stepped forward, his body a shield. "Lord Lucien, please don’t touch her hand so casually. She’s a princess."

"It’s fine, Norrik," Princess Verna said softly, her gaze still locked on Lucien. "Lord Lucien is someone whom we can trust."

"But Princess—" Norrik began, his protest a raw nerve of protectiveness and something more.

"It’s fine," she repeated, her voice gentle but firm. She finally turned to look at him, her expression shifting from serene trust to a mask of polite worry. "Don’t be stressed yourself too much. You should take some rest as well. Anne is also here to protect me, and nothing can hurt me if you guys are here." She paused, a flicker of apprehension in her eyes. "And Norrik... I wanted to tell you something."

"What is it, Princess Verna? I’m listening," Norrik said, his attention fully on her. He glanced at Anne and Lucien. "Please give us a few moments. Princess Verna wants to speak with me in private."

"No, it’s fine," Verna interjected quickly. "I want Lord Lucien to hear it as well. And Anne already knew. I wanted to tell you, and it’ll be better if they are also here."

The air in the room grew heavy again, charged with a new, somber tension. Verna took a deep breath, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

"Norrik... Lord Lucien... I... I..." Her voice trembled. She forced the words out. "I have demonic blood in my veins. Me, Queen Cynthia... our ancestors were from the demonic realm. So our blood is demonic. It’s been hundreds of years, so our demonic blood is starting to fade by generation. I have very little demonic blood, which is also the reason for my poor health. We are pure righteous and think about Valtheria with our hearts, but physically... we are half demonic." She looked from Norrik to Lucien, her eyes wide with terror and guilt. "Norrik... Lord Lucien... would you still serve my family and protect me?"

A profound silence descended. Norrik was in shock. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. He didn’t hate her for it—the thought was absurd. He had played with her ever since they were children, protected her, watched her grow into the woman she was. But the revelation was a physical shock, a hammer blow to his understanding of her, of the royal family, of the very foundations of Valtheria. He opened his mouth to reply, to swear his loyalty, but the words were stuck in his throat, tangled with his confusion and the bitter jealousy still simmering in his blood.

Lucien, however, did not hesitate.

"It doesn’t matter, Princess Verna," he said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "I don’t think you should worry about a matter like that."

Verna’s head was bowed, her chin nearly touching her chest as if in penance. His words were so unexpected, so casual, that she immediately looked up, her eyes searching his face. "What do you mean? Aren’t you angry that my family is demonic? And who knows, maybe we are just using you."

A flicker of something—amusement, perhaps, or a deep, weary wisdom—crossed Lucien’s face. "Princess Verna, if being demonic and being righteous was decided by blood, then Prince Andrin wouldn’t have massacred so many people, and you wouldn’t have helped people. I always used to hear that Princess Verna gives poor people opportunities, that she finds those who are capable and exceptional. Isn’t that how you found your retainer, Norrik? That’s your kindness, Princess. So I believe it’s not a matter of blood but a matter of action. Your actions are not demonic. Neither are Queen Cynthia’s. She is the sole ruler who rules from behind and makes sure that Valtheria is peaceful. I don’t see anything demonic in that. So rest assured."

A weight, immense and suffocating, lifted from Princess Verna’s chest. She felt like she could breathe for the first time in years. The guilt, the fear, the constant dread of being discovered—it all receded in the face of his simple, logical acceptance. He was right. It was about actions. But at the same time, she knew he was an exceptionally open-minded person, a man who had traveled the world and seen its many shades of gray.

Lord Lucien has visited many places, she thought, her heart swelling with gratitude. His thinking is so wide, he accepted it immediately. But Norrik... why are you not saying anything? ℯℯ𝑙.

"Thank you, Lord Lucien," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I felt relieved now. I wasn’t sure how you would have reacted, but after our conversation that night, I decided to tell you everything." There was a hint of sadness in her voice, a quiet disappointment that bloomed in the space where Norrik’s silence resided. She had hoped those words of unconditional acceptance would come from Norrik’s mouth, the man who had been her shadow, her friend, her protector for as long as she could remember.

Finally, Norrik spoke. His voice was strained, the words carefully constructed. "Lord Lucien is right. Princess Verna, you shouldn’t worry about it. I’ll always be loyal to you, just like before. Nothing has changed for me." He smiled, but it was an echo of his usual warm expression, a pale imitation that didn’t reach his eyes.

Princess Verna would have been happier if this response had come first, before Lucien’s. Now, it felt like a badly imitated answer, a script he had heard and was now reciting. But she was still happy, or told herself she was. She smiled back, a small, fragile thing.

"Well, after this heavy conversation, I want to drink wine," Lucien announced, his voice a welcome burst of levity. He clapped his hands together, shattering the somber mood. "Norrik, bring some glasses, and let’s have a drink, everyone. And that day isn’t very far when we will be in Valtheria once again." His smile was warm, genuine, and impossibly infectious.

After drinking, the heavy blanket of sleep fell over the room. Anne and Norrik had retired to their respective corners, and Princess Verna was asleep in the single bed, her breathing soft and even. The wine had done its work.

Lucien opened his eyes. Sleep was a luxury he could rarely afford. He lay still for a moment, listening to the silence, before his gaze drifted to the window. Anne was there, a dark silhouette against the pale moonlight, standing perfectly still.

He rose without a sound, his bare feet making no noise on the floorboards. He came to stand behind her, close enough to sense her presence in the quiet room.

His hand settled lightly against her back, a familiar gesture between the two of them. He left it there for a moment before withdrawing it.

"Bastard, you are still awake?" Anne’s voice was a low whisper, laced with a feigned annoyance.

Lucien leaned closer, his voice dropping to a quiet murmur. "Did you miss it already?"