Chapter 98 - - 98 - What the Night Reveals

Chapter 98: Chapter - 98 - What the Night Reveals

"So what will you do?" Verna asked, turning to face him fully. The moonlight caught her eyes, revealing the fear she tried so hard to hide.

Lucien’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Don’t worry about it, Princess. If I have given you my word, I’ll take care of it."

She felt a little relieved, having someone like Lucien on her side was assuring—the kind of assurance that came from knowing a blade was sharp and would cut precisely where directed. But she was still quite scared of him. Not in the way one fears getting killed, not the primal terror of facing a predator. No, her fear ran deeper, more insidious.

What if she would have to marry Lucien as her mother wanted?

The thought coiled in her chest like a serpent. She didn’t want to live with someone she couldn’t love. Lucien was perfect in every conceivable way—handsome, powerful, intelligent, and infuriatingly capable. But you could be the ripest, juiciest peach in the world, and there would still be somebody who hated peaches.

Lucien studied her worried face, those dark eyes missing nothing. "What is it, Princess Verna? Seems like you are in some other trouble as well."

She took a sip of wine, letting the rich red liquid warm her throat before answering. "Do you think being a princess is easy?"

"I don’t know, Princess. I have never been one." His voice dripped with sarcasm, but not cruelty.

Despite herself, she smiled—almost laughed. The sound was rusty, unused. Then she sighed heavily, the weight of her crown pressing down on her shoulders even now, in these stolen hours of solitude.

"It’s just... choices that I have to make. Choosing between my desires and what’s beneficial for me and my subjects in the long run." The confession slipped from her lips like blood from a wound, and once it started, she couldn’t stop. "Every decision I make, every breath I take, it affects thousands of lives. I cannot be selfish, I cannot be weak, I cannot be human—"

"Because the moment you are," Lucien interrupted softly, "the vultures will descend."

Her eyes snapped to his, surprised by the understanding in his voice.

"So it’s a choice between desires and need." He swirled the wine in his glass, watching the liquid catch the light. "Usually, I would answer: choose need over desires every time. But I believe Princess Verna already knows something so basic. So it must be a very big decision indeed."

She nodded slowly. "Yeah... and I can’t even talk to you about it. It’s a personal decision."

"Ah." Lucien took a long sip of wine, and when he spoke again, his voice had lost its sardonic edge. "Well, but if I have to give any advice—and I’m not saying you should take it—it would be this: if it’s something that is not life-threatening, you should choose your desire. But if it’s something that can erase your existence, choose need. At least, that’s how I believe."

Princess Verna found herself looking at him differently. Not as the monster her mother warned her about, not as the weapon she might be forced to wield. Just... a man. A man who had seen enough of the world to understand its cruelties, yet somehow still possessed the clarity to offer wisdom without judgment.

"I never thought I would ever take advice from you," she admitted. "I thought you were someone who fights to feel pleasure... You’re better than that."

The words hung in the air between them, shimmering with an honesty she hadn’t intended to reveal.

It was true—Princess Verna was scared of Lucien. But now, talking to him, she realized he was not a bad person. In fact, she felt a little better. Lighter, as if some of the burden she carried had been shared, if only for a moment.

She reached for the wine decanter just as Lucien reached for his glass. Their hands touched.

The world stopped.

A bolt of something—lightning, fire, the very essence of life itself—shot through her body, racing up her arm and exploding in her chest. It felt as if she had received something she didn’t know she needed, something missing that she’d been searching for her entire life without knowing it. Her breath caught, her heart stuttered, and for one eternal second, she felt alive in a way she never had before.

Lucien saw the change in her—the slight tremor, the parting of her lips, the dilation of her pupils. "Are you okay, Princess Verna? If you are tired, you should go to sleep."

"No, I’m fine." The lie came automatically, a lifetime of hiding her true feelings making the words smooth as silk. "Maybe it’s just stress."

But it wasn’t stress, and they both knew it.

After spending more time talking with Lucien, Verna realized that it was calming—peaceful, even—talking to him in this night while everyone else slept. As a princess, everyone kept their distance. Even her bodyguard Norrik, who loved her—she knew he did, could see it in the way his eyes followed her, in the protective tension of his shoulders—but he was so painfully shy that he never gathered the courage to ask about her feelings. So they orbited each other like stars bound by gravity, never touching, never speaking the words that might change everything.

Now she was talking to someone who was merely a stranger, and yet... after talking with him, she had let out feelings, doubts, questions that she’d been holding inside for years. And for a moment—just a fleeting moment—she felt a little less alone.

When sleep finally claimed her, it was peaceful. Dreamless.

Besriel felt as if butterflies had taken up residence in her stomach. She hardly slept, her mind a carousel of images that refused to stop spinning: Lucien’s strength in the moonlight, the spray of blood, the bodies falling. The way he had looked at her afterward—protective, fierce, alive. And then... the image she couldn’t banish no matter how hard she tried: the unexpected sight of him after his bath, an image that left her far more flustered than she wanted to admit.

Gods above.

She pressed her hands to her burning cheeks, mortified by her own thoughts. She was a healer, a professional, a woman of medicine and logic. She did not swoon over strange men like some lovesick girl in a tavern song.

And yet.

Before she knew it, morning light was filtering through her curtains, painting everything in shades of rose and gold. She had a shift at the healing sanctuary—patients to tend, potions to brew, wounds to mend. But before she went, before she did anything else, she wanted to see him. Just once. Even if he was sleeping.

She told herself it was to check on his condition.

Liar, whispered a voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like her own conscience.

Besriel made her way to the upper floor of her house where Lucien had taken a room, her heart hammering against her ribs with each step. The corridor was quiet. She reached his door and found it slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness visible through the gap.

She pushed it open.

And froze.

Blood. There was blood everywhere—on the sheets, on the pillow, streaming from Lucien’s mouth as he lay there, his skin pale as death, his chest barely rising. The sight was visceral, horrifying, like something from a nightmare she couldn’t wake from.

"What happened?" She was at his side in an instant, her healer’s training taking over even as panic clawed at her throat. Her hands found his face, turning it gently toward her. More blood bubbled past his lips, staining his teeth crimson. "How did this happen? Did somebody attack?"

Lucien’s eyes fluttered open, those dark depths cloudy with pain. He covered his mouth with a handkerchief that was already soaked through, the fabric dark with his life’s blood.

"It’s nothing," he managed, his voice a ragged whisper. "Probably my astral pool is almost empty. Maybe I pushed myself too much yesterday."

Pushed too much? He had saved her life, fought off multiple attackers, and he called it pushing too much?

"You need to come with me." Besriel’s voice was firm, brooking no argument. "Please, let’s go to the healing sanctuary. There are many resources there to fix your astral pool—"

"N-no." He tried to wave her off, but the movement made him wince, more blood spilling past his lips. "It’s fine. I don’t want to become a burden on you."

The words hit her like a physical blow. A burden? Did he truly think so little of his own worth? Did he truly believe that saving her life was something she would ever consider a burden?

"No, Axel." She took his hand in hers, feeling the coldness of his skin, the tremor that ran through his fingers. "You are not a burden to me. Please—it’s my request."

For a long moment, he simply looked at her, those eyes searching her face for something she couldn’t name. Then, slowly, he nodded.

It took longer than it should have for him to stand. His body moved like that of a man who had been starved for weeks—weak, unsteady, every movement costing him something precious. Besriel kept her hand on his arm, offering what support she could, her heart cracking a little more with each pained breath he took.

The healing sanctuary was a sprawling complex of white stone and silver-veined marble, built into the side of a cliff overlooking the sea. Salt air mingled with the scent of medicinal herbs, and the constant crash of waves against the rocks below provided a soothing rhythm that had calmed countless patients over the centuries.

They arrived as the morning shift was beginning. Healers in their pale blue robes moved through the corridors with quiet purpose, their footsteps soft against the polished floors. Besriel guided Lucien to an empty bed in one of the private recovery rooms, helping him lie down even as his body seemed to collapse with relief at the simple act of no longer having to hold itself upright.

It didn’t take long for the damage to become apparent. Lucien lay there, his body looking weak and wasted, as if he hadn’t eaten or drunk anything in days. Just last night, he had been perfect—strong, vital, dangerous. Now he looked like a corpse that hadn’t yet realized it was dead.

That’s how realm masters’ bodies work, she remembered, the knowledge from her training surfacing through her panic. If anything happens to their astral core and pool, they can basically die.

The door opened, and Besriel looked up to see Lady Aelene entering the room. Lady Aelene pulled back her hair in an elegant twist, her eyes sharp and knowing. She took one look at Lucien and immediately moved to his side.

"Let me take a look at what happened." Her hands hovered over Lucien’s chest, and a soft golden light emanated from her palms, seeping into his body. Her brow furrowed. "This is... extensive damage. His astral pool is nearly depleted."

"Lady Aelene, he was completely fine until last night!" Besriel’s voice cracked. "Please save him. I don’t want anything to happen to him."

"Calm down, Besriel." Aelene’s voice was gentle but firm. "I’ll do everything I can. It’s damage that can be fixed—it will take time, but he will recover."

The next hour was the longest of Besriel’s life. She waited outside the room, pacing the corridor like a caged animal, her hands wringing together until her fingers ached. Every minute felt like an eternity. Every muffled sound from behind the door made her heart lurch into her throat.

Finally—finally—the door opened, and Lady Aelene emerged. She looked tired but satisfied, and when she saw Besriel’s pale, terrified face, she smiled warmly.

"Don’t worry. He’s fine."

Besriel’s knees nearly gave out with relief.

"But I have a complaint." Aelene’s smile turned teasing. "You never told me there was someone special in your life."

The words took a moment to register. When they did, Besriel felt heat flood her cheeks, spreading down her neck and up to the tips of her ears.

"N-no, Lady Aelene! I just met him yesterday. He saved my life while I was on my way home." The words tumbled out in a rush, desperate and embarrassed. "There’s nothing—it’s not—"

"Oh?" Aelene’s eyebrow arched elegantly. "But still, taking such good care of him. Especially since he’s a human." She paused, letting the words sink in. "And yesterday, you were lecturing me about saving my friend Prince Andrin, who is also a human."

Besriel wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. She stared at her feet, unable to meet the Aelene’s knowing gaze.

"Ca-can I meet him now?" she managed.

"You can see him, yes. But he can’t talk right now, and he’s in bad shape—he can’t walk either. It will take time for him to recover fully."

Besriel nodded and slipped past Aelene into the room.

Lucien lay on the bed, his skin still too pale, his breathing shallow but steady. He looked so different from the man who had fought off her attackers—so vulnerable, so fragile. The guilt hit her like a wave, threatening to drag her under.

This is my fault. If he hadn’t saved me, he wouldn’t be here. If I had been stronger, faster, better—

Tears spilled down her cheeks before she could stop them. She wanted to hug him, to hold him, to feel the warmth of his presence and know that he was alive, that he would be okay. But she couldn’t—he was too weak, too fragile. A single embrace might break him.

Aelene appeared behind her and immediately pulled her into a hug, letting her cry against her shoulder. "Don’t worry. He’ll be fine—his life isn’t in danger anymore. You can rest easy. And if you want, you can take a leave. You don’t need to work today."

"No, I’m fine, Lady Aelene." Besriel pulled back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I’ll start my work. Just—between breaks, I’ll come to see Axel again."

"Oh, so his name is Axel?" Aelene’s voice was teasing again.

Besriel felt her cheeks burn, but this time she didn’t deny it.

Night fell over the healing sanctuary like a velvet shroud. The corridors grew quiet as patients succumbed to sleep and healers retreated to their quarters. The only sounds were the distant crash of waves and the soft whisper of wind through the windows.

Lucien opened his eyes.

There was no trace of the weakness that had plagued him hours before. No sign of the blood that had soaked his pillow. His movements were fluid and sure as he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

He looked at the ceiling, at the moonlight filtering through the high windows, at the shadows that pooled in the corners of the room. Then he looked straight ahead, a slow smile spreading across his face—a smile that held no warmth, only anticipation.

"That was easy," he murmured to the darkness. "Now I’m very close to you, Prince Andrin."

His eyes gleamed in the moonlight, dark and hungry.

"I hope you’ll give me good entertainment."