Lucien chuckled, a low, bitter sound, as he turned to face her. He brushed her hand off with a deliberate, unhurried motion. His eyes locked onto hers—dangerous, yet laced with an almost predatory curiosity, like a hawk studying something it didn't quite trust.
"And what do you mean by that?"
He asked, voice calm, but his gaze pierced through Josephine like a dagger honed in the dark—sharp, silent, and merciless.
Josephine gasped softly. There was something about his expression—how even his silence carried weight. It startled her, how Lucien could radiate that much lethal intent without raising his voice or hand. Just the look in his eyes showed how much hate—and perhaps madness—had crept into his mind like a slow-moving infection. This wasn't the same man she had once known.
"Are you… really the same person…?"
Josephine's voice cut through the silence, hesitant and low, as she stepped closer. Her brows furrowed with concern as she cupped his cheek, her fingers gentle, searching for something—any sign of the man buried beneath the storm he had become. She searched his face, his eyes, his soul, trying to understand what had broken.
Lucien laughed quietly—a sound that rang hollow despite its calm tone. He softly grabbed her arm, fingers firm but not unkind, lowering her hand from his cheek. His touch was respectful, almost mournful. The moment felt fragile.
"You talk as if you know me."
He replied, still holding her hand—his fingers unconsciously tightening around hers as his eyes locked onto her gaze, studying. The fiery intensity from earlier had faded, replaced by something quieter, more curious.
"You really don't see it, do you?"
She said with a soft, amused chuckle, her lips curling as she stared directly back at him, unflinching.
"I know you more than you think."
Lucien grinned, a flicker of something deeper dancing behind his expression. Their proximity hit him all at once—her presence, the scent of spice-leaf still clinging faintly to her hair, the subtle rise and fall of her breath. She was stunning—even by royal standards.
Before he had met Roselyn, it had been Josephine who lingered in his thoughts as the one he might one day settle down with. In his past life, they had never formed a true bond—circumstances and war had made sure of that—but if fate had twisted just slightly differently, she might have been the best partner he could've chosen. Maybe even the right one.
"You may have avoided suspicion for now," he said, voice regaining its edge, "but that doesn't mean your charms will win me over."
Josephine stepped back with deliberate grace, putting a measured distance between them.
"Looks to me like it's working."
Lucien rubbed his hand over his face, exhaling a low laugh that couldn't hide his amusement. Her reply was bold, dangerous, and undeniably sharp—just like her.
"Then you observed wrong."
But even as he said it, his mind spiraled—full of contradictions, thoughts that twisted and pulled in opposing directions. In his previous life, she had been little more than a talented vassal—brilliant, yes, but ultimately a threat. An enemy. Someone he had executed early in his rebellion without hesitation.
Now… now she looked nothing like a traitor.
Now she looked like someone he didn't want to lose.
Wait…
Gods… is that what this is? Am I losing myself to her… already?
Lucien shook his head, as if casting off a fog of conflicting thoughts, then cleared his throat—a low, intentional sound that sliced through the silence like a blade through mist. His expression hardened, the ghost of earlier emotion tucked neatly away behind the mask of command.
"Sly… I'll give you that."
He stepped forward with deliberate weight, each footfall measured and firm. When he reached Josephine's desk, he tapped its polished surface with the edge of his knuckles—three solid, echoing thuds that resonated through the opulent room. It wasn't idle drumming. It was punctuation—part threat, part declaration of dominance.
"But I'd rather use your talents for other work than trying to seduce me."
Josephine's head tilted ever so slightly, a gleam of curiosity sparking in her eyes. The remark didn't seem to offend her—instead, it intrigued her. Lucien's tone had shifted again, unpredictably, and that inconsistency fascinated her more than it alarmed her now.
"I wasn't trying to seduce you," she said, her voice slow and smooth, a blend of mockery and truth. "I'm just a caring woman, after all…"
She walked back around the desk with unhurried grace, every step measured, calculated—designed to reclaim the space. As she eased back into her high-backed chair, the tension from Lucien's earlier outburst seemed to dissipate like smoke. Her posture relaxed, the dagger gone, replaced by composed poise.
"What do you have in mind, my lord?"
Lucien stopped tapping. His hand rested flat on the desk now, fingers splayed like a claim. He didn't move immediately. Instead, he locked eyes with her—his crimson gaze meeting hers in a silent clash of wills, intensity mirrored between them like reflections in a blood-darkened mirror.
Lucien's mind finally settled on the only threat he could afford to act on right now."
He didn't trust Josephine completely—but he trusted her mind.
"Investigate Brent. That is all."
A long breath slipped past Josephine's lips, a subtle sigh that curled like the smoke from her earlier pipe. Her expression shifted, a faint grimace tightening at the corners of her mouth. She didn't protest—just gave a small nod, slow and thoughtful.
She already had her suspicions about Brent—his clandestine dealings with the church, the whispers in taverns and backrooms—but Lucien's urgency still eluded her. She hadn't yet heard of Brent's recent power move, the attempted eviction. Without that knowledge, his caution seemed more paranoia than strategy.
"But very well," she said, voice laced with reluctant acceptance. "I already have leads anyways."
"And if I find more than you expected?"
Lucien met her gaze, unflinching. "Then you'll know why I never trusted him—or anyone."