And then—
He looked at her.
Not the crowd. Not the guards. Not Lucien.
Her.
Just for a breath.
But it was enough.
The way his gaze lingered—not cold, not triumphant.
Warm.
Proud.
As if this had been the plan.
As if this—her voice, her command, her presence—was what he'd been counting on.
'Don't tell me…'
She felt her breath catch.
'You… wanted me to stop you?'
Had that been it all along?
That steady escalation. That inching closer to the edge. The blade sharpening, not just against Lucien—but the entire court.
Had Lucavion been daring someone to pull him back?
Had he been waiting for her to do it?
'No. That's ridiculous.'
But the thought wouldn't leave.
Because now, standing there, in the space she had carved between him and judgment—he looked content.
Not relieved.
Certain.
Like the piece he had placed on the board had moved exactly as intended.
'You manipulative, impossible—'
And then—
Lucavion leaned in toward Lucien.
Barely.
A whisper's distance.
