Free Web NovelChapter 44: 44 The Broken Mask
Cassian led them to a private quarter reserved only for Lucien whenever he came to visit the King... his father-in-law.
The hallway was quiet, calm, and heavy, beautiful lanterns hanging from the silver iron on the white walls, casting a soft glow down the hallway.
"Your attendant’s chamber will be right next to yours, Your Grace. Your maids will each attend to your needs..." He paused, giving Elian one last lingering look. "I’ll see you again, my moon." He gave Elian a small smile before retreating from the private quarter.
The moment the heavy oak door echoed shut, Elian didn’t wait for Lucien to approach him. He immediately faced Lucien, ignoring his racing pulse.
"Which of the rooms is mine, Your Grace?" he asked, hoping Lucien would peacefully point him to his room.
Lucien’s cold, unfeeling mask slowly dropped from his face, replaced with something dangerous and deadly. Slowly, he cornered Elian against the door behind him, his frame blocking out all the light from Elian.
"My moon?" Lucien murmured, his hand reaching up, his leather-gloved hand gripping Elian’s jaw. "You seemed so comfortable with the name. What did you promise the Lord Commander in exchange for breakfast?" he demanded.
Elian gulped, exhausted and shaking. He could feel the raw, dark possessiveness completely boiling over in Lucien’s body, and he couldn’t understand why Lucien would even feel possessiveness over him.
Was it how every captor felt for his captive?
"Answer me, Elian," Lucien’s voice sounded strained as he leaned down, his green eyes drinking in Elian’s face hungrily.
It was just a night away from Elian, yet he felt like a beast deprived of feeding. He was almost going feral from the constant urge to claim Elian and have him understand that no one gets to call him names—only him.
"Nothing..." Elian managed to whisper. "I promised him nothing. He was just being kind—"
"Don’t be naive," Lucien’s hand slid around Elian’s waist, his fingers digging into his hip. "No man does anything out of kindness—"
"Everyone is not like you, Lucien," Elian snapped, pushing Lucien away from himself.
Lucien blinked slowly, his eyes darkening and narrowing. "Your wings... are they not clipped enough?" he asked darkly, suddenly yanking Elian’s arms and pulling him over against his body again.
"Let go," Elian struggled to no avail. "Please, let go... I’m really tired," he whispered, staring into Lucien’s angry eyes.
Lucien’s arm tightened instead. "You beg me to let you go, yet I didn’t see you trying to escape when he held you. Why does my touch repulse you so much?" he questioned calmly, his voice surprisingly soft.
Elian looked away, biting his lip. His heart was doing a weird jump as Lucien’s tone suddenly softened; he couldn’t keep looking into Lucien’s eyes, for he feared he might feel something forbidden.
Letting Lucien access his body was one thing, but letting Lucien access his emotions was the ultimate wreck. He couldn’t let that happen.
Lucien saw that Elian wasn’t answering him, and it only intensified that jealous flame within him. He needed reassurance urgently at the moment; if not, he might really do something stupid.
"Do you want him?" Lucien whispered into Elian’s ear, shutting his eyes to shut down the voice that was shouting at him to kiss Elian.
Elian sighed. "I do not like him..." he murmured. "I do not hate him, either. He’s just like everyone else in this kingdom, and as long as that remains the same, I shall not like or trust anyone but myself," he answered honestly.
Lucien lifted his face, his angry eyes now calmed, also seeking. "You can trust me," he said quietly.
Elian didn’t know when he burst out laughing, throwing his head back in utter amusement.
Lucien watched Elian laugh in his arms. Something shifted inside him; the laugh might be to mock him, but for the first time, he had made Elian laugh, and it kind of released something he didn’t even know needed freeing within him.
Was this why Rowan loved to make Elian laugh? His laugh was so beautiful and healing; he could listen to it all day.
"Pardon me, Your Grace. But what did you say?" Elian asked, no longer minding that Lucien held him in his arms.
Lucien slowly blinked, his lips tugging up in a gentle smile. "You can trust me," he repeated calmly.
Elian snorted. "Why should I do that?" he asked. "You hate me, you killed my father, locked my mother up, only keeping me alive for my abilities, and you treat me like scum... no, Your Grace. I will never trust you. Not even with a blade to my throat," he said, his venom returning to his voice.
Lucien’s face darkened. "That’s all you think about me?"
Elian nodded. "What else is there to think?"
Lucien sighed. "Good, then. You keep those in mind and understand that I will not hesitate to hurt you if I ever find you with Cassian or any other man. You’re mine, Elian, and I would kill anyone who tries to come between that—"
"You’re crazy—"
"Shh..." Lucien placed a gloved finger against Elian’s lips. "Do not push me, young Morel—"
"Your Grace, I’m here to draw your bath," a voice spoke behind the door before it slowly started to open.
Immediately, Lucien released Elian and put a good distance between them.
The head maid walked in with a few others carrying steaming buckets of water behind her.
"Good morning, Your Grace," she bowed.
"Go in," Lucien pointed to a door behind Elian.
She gestured to the maids to go ahead, then she turned to Elian. "Sire, which is your chamber?" she asked.
However, Elian did not respond, not because he wanted to be rude, but because he did not think anyone would refer to him as "sire."
"Sire?" the woman called again, trying to move toward Elian.
"Right next to mine, Monica," Lucien directed.
She nodded, gesturing for the remaining maids to go toward Elian’s chamber.
When they were left alone, Lucien faced Elian, who was lost staring at his gloves.
"You do not ignore the royal maids," he stated.
Elian snapped his gaze up. "What? I didn’t..." He paused, staring at Lucien in realization. "I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize she was speaking to me. No one calls me that; I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry." He felt really bad.
He was never one to ignore a person, especially a woman. He needed to apologize.
"Go inside. You said you needed rest... no wandering the palace, Elian," Lucien said, his gaze dropping to Elian’s lips for a split second.
"Yes," Elian nodded and quickly left.
His body always felt funny whenever Lucien gave him that look, and he hoped he never found out what that feeling meant.
The moment he entered his chamber, he came face to face with Monica.
"Ma’am," he called softly, stepping out of her way but also hoping she listened.
"You do speak," Monica murmured, signaling the maids to quickly leave the room.
Elian chuckled nervously. "I’m sorry... for earlier. I wasn’t paying attention. My name is Elian; I did not realize you were speaking to me," he explained earnestly.
Monica nodded. "Your bath is ready, Elian," she said and quietly left the room, closing the door as she did.
"Ugh..." Elian groaned, rubbing his tired eyes.
He walked over to his bed and lowered himself onto it; the temptation to sleep was heavy, but his skin was prickling with dirt and he needed to wash it off.
He was halfway to the washroom when he suddenly halted and looked at his wrapped wrist. How was he supposed to bathe himself and not get it wet? It would be very wrong and stupid to go to Lucien and ask for help.
He shook his head. "Don’t be ridiculous," he muttered.
He carefully unwrapped his wrist and gently moved it around. "Ah," he hissed quietly as pain shot through his hand.
However, he still wasn’t going to ask Lucien for help. He would wash himself as slowly as he could. He could endure the little pain for a few minutes.
The washroom was warm, the bath filled with scented oils and freshly washed clothes neatly folded on top of the small table at the corner. Discarding his clothes into a basket, he soaked himself in the warm bath and gently cleansed himself of the long, cold journey.
An hour later, Lucien was standing in front of his window when he heard a knock on his door.
He frowned, wondering why the King had sent someone to call on him; they had agreed to speak by nighttime and it was still noon. Slowly, he strode toward the door and opened it.
He was expecting to see Cassian or one of the guards, but when he saw Monica’s horrified face in front of his door, his fingers clenched around the doorknob as his heart sank into his stomach.
"Speak, Monica," he spoke tightly.
"The young man... he tried to kill himself... he’s dying," she whispered shakily.
