Lucien is in Kazia’s custody, and somebodyhurt him.
Stunned quiet, Kazia reaches out—and Lucien’s hand closes gently around his wrist.
The touch jolts through Kazia. Bare skin against his, Lucien’s hand large enough to snap his arm in half. Only now does Kazia realize how close he drew. He can hear each of Lucien’s slow, controlled breaths.
Freckles scatter across Lucien’s chest, between curls of red-gold hair.
Lucien stares down, all teasing gone. Like he’s holding a venomous snake, or a wounded bird.
“Unhand me,” Kazia snarls.
His wrist chills with the immediate absence. Lucien steps back, his own hands lifting slowly as if to show he’s unarmed. “Sorry.”
The word is too true, too human. Acknowledging a boundary between one person and another, not groveling to his captor.
Kazia stumbles away, nearly tripping over the corner of the coffee table. The distance isn’t enough, but he doesn’t let himself run any farther. “Don’t touch me. Don’t harm me. Don’t remove your bindings. Don’t escape.”
Lucien watches warily. The only sound is Shoe knocking a garnet wraith from the table.
“Can I put my shirt back on?” Lucien asks eventually.
“Yes.” Wrist still burning, Kazia crosses his arms. Does he look too defensive? But it’ll look more fidgety to uncross them now. He reviews yesterday’s duty roster. “Was it Yudra or Egon?”
Lucien’s shirt slides over his head to reveal a puzzled frown. “Didn’t catch his name, so it must have been Egon. Honestly, he barely got me. I’ve had worse bruises from training, or falling off a barstool.”
“I’ll increase Egon’s training, then,” Kazia murmurs—and Lucien laughs. Muffles it so fast, it might have been real. Kazia’s mind is still far away, kneeling on a map of Alantha.
He’s not going to increase Egon’s training; he’s going to assign him to scrubbing the washrooms. Yudra too, if she witnessed and said nothing.
“Listen, Your Highness,” Lucien says carefully. “I’m not happy to be here, but I’m not an idiot. I know when to cooperate. It would just be easier if I knew what you wanted.”
The offer is a trap, of course. Kazia has given Lucien too many reasons to hate him already.
Even if Lucien is being sincere, Kazia can’t surrender to that fiction. Kazia refuses to be his father, but he won’t be his mother either. All the laughter and politeness can’t change the fact that Kazia controls Lucien. The key in his pocket may as well be made of glass and filled with blood.
Unlike Aliza, Kazia feels the responsibility inherent to that control. It weighs around his throat.
“You don’t need to know what I want. Just what I order you to do.” Kazia uncrosses his arms. Thinks through his next words. “But if anyone else touches you again, you can tell me.”
It isn’t an order, and Lucien catches it. “Maybe I will, Your Highness.”
“Great.” Kazia scoops the rats up from the aerie board. “Stay there.”
Lucien doesn’t answer that time.
Kazia resolves to avoid unnecessary orders—but the necessary ones areabsolutelynecessary.
Shoe settles against his chest. Cloud attempts to burrow beneath his shirt. Grimacing against the ticklish whiskers, he returns them to the cage. When they cling, Kazia says, “I’ll play with you later.”
They hop from his hands.
Kazia will have to let them and the others out later tonight. Right now, he wants to test something with his captive mage—and they’ll need a tour of the castle to do it.
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CHAPTER EIGHT
Lucien
