The atmosphere had shifted, settling into an uneasy calm that felt like the stillness before a storm. The earlier cacophony of slaps and shouting had given way to an oppressive silence, punctuated only by the soft ticking of a clock.
The teasing comments about marriage, once laced with playful jabs and sarcastic remarks, had ceased—at least for the moment. But the memory of those words lingered, hanging in the air like a challenge waiting to be issued. The room felt heavy with unspoken tensions, each person lost in their own thoughts, the silence between them thick and palpable. It was as if the argument had been a storm that had passed, leaving behind a landscape of unresolved emotions and unspoken resentments, waiting for the next gust of wind to stir it all up again.
Lucien sat rigidly on the plush, velvet sofa, its cushions adorned with intricate, silver-thread embroidery that seemed to shimmer subtly in the soft, golden light emanating from the crystal chandeliers above.
Despite the comfort the sofa promised, Lucien's posture remained stiff and formal, his legs close together and his back straight as an arrow, like a diligent soldier standing at attention. His hands rested neatly on his knees, his fingers interlaced in a gesture of respect, as he focused on maintaining a composed demeanor.
Across from him, separated by the elegant coffee table crafted from a slab of enchanted obsidian wood that seemed to absorb the light around it, his grandfather, Emperor Aurelian, sat with the effortless poise of a monarch accustomed to commanding attention and respect.
The emperor's bearing was regal, his presence filling the room with an aura of authority and power, as he sipped from a delicate, porcelain cup adorned with the imperial crest. The cup itself was a masterpiece of fine craftsmanship, its surface painted with scenes of mythical creatures and ancient battles in minute detail, each brushstroke a testament to the skill of the imperial artisans. As the emperor raised the cup to his lips, the soft clinking of the cup against the saucer was the only sound that broke the silence, a reminder of the formality of the occasion and the conversation that was to follow.
To Lucien's left, Empress Ava sat like a serene embodiment of elegance, her presence a gentle beacon of warmth and poise that seemed to soothe the atmosphere. With her eyes half-lidded in a state of contentment, she cradled her tea cup in her hands, the delicate cup seeming almost fragile in her graceful fingers.
As she swirled the tea in slow, quiet circles, the amber liquid danced within the cup, releasing a subtle aroma that mingled with the scent of the blooming flowers in the nearby vases. Her face, a map of gentle lines and soft, golden skin, wore a tranquil expression, as if the simple act of sipping tea was a meditation in itself. A strand of silver hair escaped her elegant coiffure, framing her face with a touch of distinguished elegance. Her gaze drifted occasionally to Lucien, her eyes filled with a deep, maternal warmth, though her attention remained largely focused on the soothing ritual of her tea.
On Lucien's right, his uncle, Vale Aurion, presented a stark contrast to the empress's serenity. He sat rubbing the vivid red imprint of a royal palm still glowing faintly on his cheek like an imperial seal, a testament to the emperor's displeasure. The mark seemed to pulse with a life of its own, a fiery reminder of the emperor's authority and Vale's momentary lapse in decorum.
Every now and then, he winced slightly, his eyes narrowing as he mumbled curses under his breath, the words barely audible but the sentiment clear. With exaggerated dramatics, he tried to relieve the lingering sting, his fingers gently probing the tender skin as if searching for a way to soothe the pain. Despite his efforts to maintain a stoic demeanor, a flicker of discomfort danced in his eyes, betraying the pain and his uncle's stern rebuke.
And just beside him sat Valeria, Lucien's older cousin, a vision of elegance and poise in her current attire. Gone was the simplicity of her maid outfit, replaced by a soft, snow-white gown that cascaded down her figure like a gentle stream. The gown was lined with intricate silver embroidery, delicate patterns that shimmered subtly in the light, adding a touch of understated luxury to her overall appearance. The fabric itself seemed to caress her curves, tastefully concealing her impressive figure while hinting at the beauty beneath. Her long, golden hair flowed freely over her shoulders, like sunlight spilling across silk, each strand glistening with a soft, ethereal glow. The way her locks cascaded down her back, framing her heart-shaped face, added a touch of whimsy to her otherwise refined demeanor.
With one hand, she daintily picked up a sweet almond biscuit from the delicate, porcelain plate in front of her, her fingers moving with precision. The biscuit crumbled slightly under her touch, releasing a faint aroma of almonds and sugar that wafted up to mingle with the scent of tea and flowers in the room. With the other hand, she held her tea cup with a grace that seemed effortless, her pinky finger delicately raised as she lifted the cup to her lips. The tea cup itself was a work of art, adorned with tiny, hand-painted flowers that seemed to dance around the rim.
Lucien could still feel where her chest had pressed against his arm earlier. He dared not look at her for more than a moment, lest she catch the still-lingering blush on his cheeks.
A long silence had settled between the four of them—five, if you counted Lucien's internal screaming.
The only sounds were the gentle clinking of cups, the soft crackle of the enchanted fireplace behind them, and the occasional bite of snacks being chewed politely.
Then, finally, the silence broke.
> "Lucien," the Emperor said, his voice deep and firm, like a mountain speaking, "have you been well these past years?"
Lucien snapped upright.
His mismatched eyes met the Emperor's gaze only for a second before darting downward in reflexive fear.
> "Y-Yes, Your Majesty—I mean, grandfather. I have been well. I've been growing up peacefully at the Velebrandt estate."
He nodded fervently, heart racing. The last thing he wanted was to disappoint someone who could kill a wyvern just by glaring at it. Or worse… slap like thunder.
The Emperor leaned back and stroked his yellow beard, the ends now tipped with streaks of white, the result of age, wisdom… and perhaps years of dealing with Vale's nonsense.
> "Good, good," he muttered, more to himself than anyone. "And your father—Aldric Throne Velebrandt. He hasn't returned in some time, has he? The resurrection of the Abyssian King has likely stirred the wild tribes and beasts of the west."
Lucien hesitated.
He had noticed his father hadn't come home in quite a while. But he also knew… that every month, like clockwork, a letter arrived. Always penned by his father's hand. Always assuring them that the western front held strong.
Lucien slowly nodded.
> "Father hasn't returned lately, but… he still sends letters every month. He says the frontlines are still secure."
The Emperor let out a low hum of acknowledgment.
> "That's good. That's very good."
He didn't smile—but the tightness in his shoulders eased, and he took another long sip of tea.
Meanwhile, Vale had taken the opportunity to reach forward—quietly, almost like a predator—and stretch out his hand toward the small plate of caramel tarts on the table.
SMACK.
A blur of movement—and the Emperor's hand shot out, slapping Vale's hand away before he could even touch a crumb.
> "Ow—! Dammit, Father!"
Vale recoiled, cradling his hand like a wounded child. The redness of the earlier slap now had a painful twin.
> "What was that for?!"
The Emperor raised a brow, sipping tea like nothing happened.
Vale looked at his father with narrowed eyes, a mocking grin curling on his lips.
> "Sorry, I thought it was a fly for a second. You know how much I hate flies—always buzzing around and trying to take food they didn't earn." He paused for dramatic effect. "A bit like a certain someone."
He didn't specify who, but his glance made it pretty clear.
Vale chuckled under his breath, still rubbing his smarting hand, and added through clenched teeth and a forced smile:
> "But I understand your hatred, Father. I really do. I despise those pests too. So… can I please have a snack now?"
The Emperor's eyes narrowed.
But before another round of Imperial Discipline could begin, the Empress spoke up, her serene voice cutting through the tension like a calming breeze.
> "Lucien, how is your mother—Lysandra? And your younger brother, Emilien? Are they well?"
Lucien's expression softened at the mention of them.
> "Yes. Mother and Emilien are doing fine. They're healthy… and happy."
The Empress gave a quiet smile and finally sipped her tea. The tension thinned again.
For a while, nothing but the sound of pastries being nibbled and teacups being stirred filled the room. Lucien finally dared to eat a cookie, the sweetness melting on his tongue—an oddly soothing moment amidst imperial pressure.
Then, the Emperor stood slowly, his joints cracking faintly as he straightened his back. He set down his empty teacup and gave a nod of finality.
> "Alright. That's enough sweets for me."
His gaze turned back to Lucien, and his tone took a thoughtful weight.
> "Lucien… your awakening is next week, is it not?"
Lucien paused mid-bite, then nodded with a mouthful of cookie.
> "Yes, Your Majesty."
The Emperor gave a single approving nod.
> "Then may Goddess Elyssira bless your soul and strength. May she grant you the power you seek."
Lucien swallowed hard—both from the blessing and the pressure.
The Emperor turned toward the large silver double doors, preparing to leave. But before he could take two steps, Valeria stood up.
> "Wait."
Her voice was soft but clear. Everyone turned toward her.
> "May I accompany Lucien back to the Velebrandt estate's vacant mansion?"
She smoothed the front of her white gown and looked at Lucien with a demure smile—one that said I'm being proper… but also I haven't forgotten what happened earlier.
Lucien paled slightly, heart pounding.
Vale grinned immediately, throwing an arm over her shoulder like a proud father presenting a prize.
> "Of course! A wonderful idea! Cousins should bond, right?"
The Emperor considered for a second. Finding nothing wrong with the request, he nodded.
> "Then I'll have Sir Rutherford prepare the carriage. Ensure their ride is safe and comfortable."
The Empress, still seated, spoke gently:
> "The two of you—don't do anything reckless."
Valeria placed a hand on her chest and bowed slightly.
> "Of course, Grandmother."
Then she turned to Lucien, her blue eyes glinting with playfulness.
> "I look forward to a wonderful ride with you, Lucien."
Lucien's entire soul screamed internally.
He nodded quietly. Said nothing. Did not object.
He couldn't object.
Not with the memory of her breast still burned into his arm's memory like a brand. He sat there, sweating buckets, mortified beyond reason, wishing someone would teleport him away.
But no escape came.
Only tea.
And cookies.
And Valeria's smile.