Lucien
Lucien’s stomach drops as everything falls into place. Less a revelation than a suspicion crystallized. The thunder has passed, but the rain is relentless. “That’s why Imrik hurts you.”
Kazia nods.
“And that’s why it’s a secret,” Lucien says.
“If any mage finds out…” Kazia’s lips press into a thin line.
Lucien can’t blame Kazia for wanting a knife, even though his grip makes it obvious he has no training with it. The hilt looks ornamental, and Lucien would bet on the edge being dull. Maybe Lucien can teach Kazia the basics sometime.
As if Kazia would allow him that close again. Fuck, this isn’t going how Lucien planned. Except he didn’tplanthis confession. It was an impulse. The right thing to do.
Just like Kazia didn’t plan to remove Lucien’s collar either.
Lucien can’t reveal the broken collar without compromising Whisper. The conveniently broken null-ring is implausible enough, if Kazia wasn’t too panicked to question it.
For good reason. If pain activates Kazia’s grail magic…
“I don’t know a lot about grails,” Lucien says quietly. “But I didn’t think it worked like that.”
“It doesn’t work like that.” Kazia’s knuckles whiten around the ornamental hilt. “I’m just a freak.”
Lucien considers his next question. “You said the last war was a test. How old were you?”
“Could have been worse.” Kazia’s shrug isn’t casual enough. “I was eight.”
Lucien isn’t prepared for the fury igniting his blood. His face numbs with it. His bones ache. He breathes through it, controlling anger and magic alike, because the people responsible aren’t here. Kazia doesn’t need his anger right now.
Instead, Lucien imagines tugging the knife from Kazia’s grasp. Massaging the tension from his slim hand. Letting down Kazia’s hair and stroking through it until all the stress melts away.
But Kazia doesn’t want to be touched right now, any more than he needs Lucien’s anger. Every moment in Lucien’s presence is making it worse. So Lucien returns to the mantel. The collar is still warm and fits perfectly around his throat. Lucien pauses, flanked by the snarling dragon statues, and forces himself to fasten the buckle.
He hates it. But when he looks up, there’s something fascinating about Kazia’s distress. Even hurting and afraid, Kazia doesn’t like seeing Lucien put the collar on.
“Let’s talk in the morning.” Lucien manages a grin. “Assuming you don’t have me killed in my sleep.”
Kazia’s eyes widen, then narrow. “Maybe I will.”
Lucien gives an overdramatic bow. “I look forward to working with you, if I survive the night.”
He’s almost at the door when Kazia says, “Wait.”
The collar is broken, and Lucien holds the key. He still turns and waits.
Kazia’s throat bobs. “I know I can’t control you anymore. But please, don’t tell anyone.”
There’s another, more important plea. Lucien hears it in every defensive flinch. It’s written in the red rims of Kazia’s pale eyes. Past orders scrawled like a ritual on Lucien’s soul.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Kazia,” Lucien says.
Kazia stares blankly, then answers, “We’ll see.”
***
Scalestone hums above the library. A fortune’s worth of shards glitter in the chandelier. It’s almost as distracting as the tiny, scowling prince across the room.
Lucien plucks a book at random, then returns. The exact book doesn’t matter. Kazia is just sending him on occasional pointless errands for the sake of the guards outside, who might peek through the open door.
