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TWENTY-ONE

LUCIEN

L ucien didn’t chase her.

Not at first.

He told himself it was for the best.

She needed space. Time. The truth had gutted her—cut clean through whatever fragile, fierce thing they’d started to build between them. And maybe he deserved that.

No, he did deserve it.

He’d lied. Not just once. Not in passing. Repeatedly.

He’d let her believe she was safe with him, while still playing both sides of a throne that wanted her bleeding. And even if his reasons had changed, the deception remained.

So when her silhouette vanished through the moonlit ferns, when her shadow slipped into the dark without a backward glance, Lucien didn’t follow.

He stood there. Cold. Still. Convincing himself it was mercy.

But then the sun started to rise, casting long, dappled streaks through the half-bloomed canopy. Birds began their low, lilting song. The garden awakened in all its cursed beauty though something in Lucien had withered.

He still hadn’t moved. Not until his shadows, usually coiled and silent, stirred restlessly around his boots. They were uneasy. Like they knew something had shifted. Like they could sense what he hadn’t yet let himself believe.

“Damn it,” Lucien whispered, already moving.

He didn’t call for her. Didn’t shout.

She was too smart for that, she wouldn’t answer.

But she had left a thread behind. Not deliberately, not visibly. But her shadow signature still lingered in the air like smoke after lightning. And Lucien knew how to follow what others couldn’t even see.

The trail cut through the far side of the garden. Through another veil-door. And straight into Thalia’s territory.

His blood turned to ice.

He found them at the edge of the Hollowmark crossroads, near an old stone arch long forgotten by most of the Veil-born.

Evryn stood with her back to him.

She was speaking to Thalia, something quiet, something unsure. Her shoulders were tense, her arms crossed. The wind blew her hair across her face, and even from the distance, Lucien could see she’d been crying.

She didn’t see him.

But Thalia did.

The moment her eyes locked on Lucien’s, her mouth curled into a slow, deliberate smile. Not warm. Not mocking. Triumphant.

Then she reached out. And Evryn—hesitant but not resisting—let her.

Thalia’s shadows swept around them, swirling in a practiced, sweeping motion. The portal closed. They were gone.

Gone.

She was gone. And he had let her go.

The forest around him cracked, soundless but splitting.

Lucien turned, ready to summon the storm in his blood, ready to break whatever had twisted this fate into a sick joke.

But instead of an enemy, it was Cassian who stepped from the shadows.

“Late to your own heartbreak,” Cassian said lightly, brushing a piece of lint from his silver-trimmed shoulder cloak.

Lucien’s jaw clenched. “You knew.”

Cassian cocked his head. “Knew what?”

“That she’d go to Thalia. That she’d leave. ”

“I helped it along, actually.”

“You what?”

Cassian strolled a lazy half-circle around him. “Saw you in the gardens last night. Both of you. All tangled up in emotion and skin and hope. ” His lip curled in distaste. “It was nauseating.”

Lucien’s fists clenched at his sides. “You had no right?—”

“I have every right,” Cassian cut in, voice sharpened now. “You’re the Queen’s blade. You don’t love. You don’t choose sides unless it’s the one that keeps the crown upright.”

Lucien stared at him, fury and disbelief warring in his chest. “So you sided with Thalia instead? She’s manipulating her.”

“Of course she is,” Cassian said simply. “That’s what we do.”

“You could’ve told Mother?—”

“And what?” Cassian scoffed. “She’d have killed the girl. You’d have fallen apart. And the Dominion would lose its only weapon who still has a conscience left to exploit.”

Lucien felt like the ground under him was splitting.

“You destroyed her trust in me,” he whispered. “And for what? A lesson?”

Cassian leaned in, voice low. “To remind you who you are.”

Lucien didn’t move.

Cassian’s smile was cold. “You were never meant to love anyone, brother. You were meant to be feared. You’ve let that girl make you soft. That’s dangerous—for all of us.”

“You arrogant, manipulative?—”

Cassian stepped back into shadow, already fading. “Careful. That softness might spread.” And then he was gone.

Like fog retreating at first light.

Lucien stood alone at the archway, throat tight, chest hollow. He wanted to burn it all down. Wanted to chase after her and fall to his knees. But most of all, he wanted to know why she hadn’t looked back.

And maybe, deep down, feared the answer.

He looked up at the sky, the veil-thinned clouds bleeding violet light through morning mist.

“Cassian thinks I’m soft,” he murmured.

His shadows stirred in response, slow and rising like a tide coming for blood.

“Let’s prove him wrong.”