Free Web NovelChapter 42: 42 Follow Me, Moon
The dawn that broke over the King’s castle was devoid of warmth, painting the massive stone fortress in bleak shades of gray and pale blue.
As the royal black carriage finally rolled through the towering iron gates, the heavy screech of metal echoed like a warning. Dozens of the King’s elite guards stood in rigid formation along the courtyard, their silver armor gleaming under the weak morning light, their hands resting heavily on the hilts of their broadswords. The air here was different—thick with political malice and the constant, suffocating threat of the gallows.
On the coach box, Elian could barely move. The night ride through the forest path had been brutal. His body was completely numb, his muscles stiffened from hours of fighting the biting, freezing wind without a coat. When the carriage ground to a halt, he tried to slide down from the high seat, but his legs trembled so violently beneath him that he nearly collapsed onto the cobblestones, his breath coming out in ragged, white plumes.
The carriage door clicked open.
Rowena stepped out first, her expression furious and sharp after a night of icy rejection. She practically radiated venom, ignoring the guards as she waited for Lucien to follow and offer his usual aristocratic reassurances.
But the Duke didn’t even look at her.
Lucien stepped down from the velvet cabin, his grand stature commanding the courtyard instantly. Without a single glance at his furious princess, his green eyes scanned the space and locked directly onto Elian’s shivering frame. Specifically, his gaze dropped to Elian’s hands—wrapped in the black leather gloves he had forced upon him, now trembling and stiff from the frost.
The possessive, agonizing tension from the night before didn’t dissolve in the light of day; it only sharpened. Under the watchful, suspicious glares of the King’s guards, Lucien took a deliberate step toward his freezing attendant, his jaw tight as he prepared to navigate the absolute danger of the royal court with his chosen destruction standing right beside him.
Elian saw that Lucien was walking toward him and immediately walked around the carriage to get closer to the guards in front of the palace.
"Good morning, Your Majesty," he bowed his head to Rowena, keeping it that way to avoid looking into anyone’s eyes.
Rowena paused, glancing behind at Lucien, who had halted his movements the moment his attendant moved away from his position. A small frown marked her face, and she slowly returned her gaze to Elian, looking him from head to toe.
"Dirty," she scoffed and walked toward the stairs.
"My Princess," Lucien was beside her before she could raise her foot to the first step.
Elian stood behind them and watched Lucien take Rowena’s hand and lead her carefully up the stairs, leaving him behind.
He was alone, and it was his first time in that heavily guarded palace; he was scared to death by the uncertainty.
What if Lucien lured him out here to expose him to the King?
What if he was brought here to be punished properly for the sins of his father?
He glanced around him, seeing how large the courtyard looked with guards standing at every possible corner. He felt caged.
Was he just to stand here until dusk?
Sighing, he decided to climb the stairs and find his way inside that intimidating castle.
Slowly, he moved toward the stairs, his heart beating loudly.
"Stop," a voice spoke behind him.
Elian instantly halted, his pulse dancing out of rhythm as he heard the heavy footsteps approaching him.
"Who are you?" the man asked in an intimidating voice.
Elian gulped. Who was he? Elian Morel or the nameless Duke’s attendant?
"Who are you?" The man placed a heavy hand on Elian’s shoulder.
Slowly and reluctantly, Elian turned to face his questioner.
The man standing in front of him looked carved from winter itself. Tall and broad-shouldered beneath the silver-trimmed black uniform of the Royal Guard, he carried himself with the rigid stillness of someone trained to kill without hesitation.
A dark cloak rested heavily over one shoulder, stirring slightly in the cold wind, while a polished sword hung at his side like an extension of his body.
His face was striking in a severe sort of way—a sharp jaw, a straight nose, pale skin untouched by softness, and cold gray eyes that seemed capable of freezing a man in place with a single glance.
At first look, he appeared impossible to approach. Unfeeling. Dangerous.
Then his gaze lowered to Elian’s face.
And unexpectedly, the harshness in his eyes eased.
"Your name?" he asked, more softly this time.
Elian blinked away from the man’s captivating face, clearing his throat. "I’m the Duke’s attendant. Duke Lucien Valemont." He chose to go with the title instead of his name.
It would be wise to stay out of harm’s way for as long as he could, until he couldn’t.
The man stared at Elian for a second and nodded. "Follow me."
Elian didn’t waste a second; he immediately followed the tall man up the stairs, holding his injured wrist in his hand.
The grand hall was ten times larger than Lucien’s, and Lucien’s hall was no small one. The only difference was the light colors and paintings hanging around the walls compared to the dark and depressing mansion back at Lucien’s duchy.
He was led down a very long hallway, and it almost felt like they would never stop walking until the man finally stopped in front of a white, wooden door.
"Enter," the man said, pushing the door open.
Elian hesitated; he saw the way the man was calmly standing beside the door, watching him with calculating eyes. He had no choice but to go inside the room.
Step by step, Elian dragged his feet across the threshold and walked into the room.
He was amazed by how beautiful the place looked. A few Greek statues stood around the rectangular room, a large oval window was open, overseeing the large, beautiful courtyard, and expensive leather sofas were neatly arranged at the center of the room.
"This is the waiting room. You will be held here until the Duke or King requests your presence. Sit," the man said as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind them.
Elian nodded slowly, moving toward the sofa to lower himself onto it. At least it was better than standing outside for heaven knew how long Lucien was willing to let him stand like a fool until the sun showed up and fried him to crisps.
"So," the man murmured in a deep, calm voice, "does the Duke’s attendant have a name?"
Elian shifted uncomfortably in the very comfortable seat. "Um, I do," he muttered, staring at the floor like it was the most fascinating thing in the room.
"Well?" the man asked, lifting a chair to place right in front of Elian, sitting himself on it.
Elian got more uncomfortable; he wasn’t sure who the man was or what he wanted from him. Also, getting close to any other man that wasn’t Lucien felt extremely strange.
He hated it, hated that he felt like Lucien had somehow tuned his body to know only him. Even a normal conversation with another felt like a strange activity.
"My name is Elian," he said in a small voice, hoping it ended there.
"Elian... that’s a beautiful name," the man said, surprising Elian.
Elian paused, blinking slowly as if it would clarify what he’d just heard. He lifted his face and stared at the man’s face, and he couldn’t believe the man was smiling.
"Ah... thank you," he murmured, feeling strange.
No one had ever told him that his name was beautiful; he didn’t even think his name was beautiful. Why did this man say so?
"I’m Cassian Vale. Lord Commander Cassian, if you go by title," Cassian introduced himself, offering his hand to Elian.
Elian blinked twice, staring at the large hand in front of him.
"You do not like contact. Is that why you wear gloves?" Cassian asked, lowering his hand.
Elian shook his head and immediately shot out his good hand. "I’m sorry, I’ll shake yours," he said, staring at the man’s hand.
Cassian slowly reached his hand out and gently clasped Elian’s smaller hand in his. "It’s nice to meet you, Elian."
Elian nodded. "It’s, um... nice to meet you, Commander. I didn’t know you were the captain of the royal guards," he cleared his throat.
"You can call me Cassian. Leave the title for my men. Your wrist, what happened?" Cassian questioned, reluctantly releasing Elian’s hand.
Elian nodded. For once, he was grateful for Lucien’s decision. The gloves spared him the exhausting task of avoiding every accidental touch.
But why is Cassian asking them to be on a first-name basis? Elian really didn’t want any royal acquaintances; Rowan and maybe Soren were enough.
"Okay," he answered smoothly, drumming his fingers over his knee.
Silence fell over the room—not tense, just silence.
Suddenly, Elian’s stomach growled, and his hand flew to his abdomen in a flash, his eyes snapping up to Cassian in embarrassment.
Cassian said nothing as he stood, his eyes moving toward the door. "You’re not supposed to leave this room," he stated.
Elian nodded, already used to rules. "I understand. I’ll stay until—"
"But I can’t let a beautiful guest starve to death. Follow me, Moon; let’s get you fed." Cassian flashed a very small but charming smile and headed for the door.
Elian blinked slowly.
Moon?
Why would Cassian call him that?
He could feel it, and heaven knows he didn’t like where this was headed.
