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TWENTY-NINE

LUCIEN

T he throne hall was empty.

Too empty.

Lucien stood beneath the black-glass skylight, arms folded, the weight of his own silence pressing in on him like iron.

They had been waiting twenty minutes.

That was ten minutes too long for Queen Selyne.

She never kept a blade waiting—unless she wanted it dulled.

The two guards at the entry flanked him like statues, but Lucien could feel their eyes. Watching him. Weighing him.

He was being studied. Not greeted.

He shifted his stance, scanning the subtle changes in the room. The sconces had been relit. A second wine glass waited beside the throne. A faint perfume hung in the air—lavender and bloodroot.

But no footsteps echoed down the blackstone hall.

No rustle of silk.

No voice laced with poison and authority.

His mother wasn’t coming.

And Evryn was nowhere.

His blood went cold.

No. No, no, no…

He spun on his heel and stormed back toward the corridor they’d split from—where the servant had taken Evryn under the pretense of hospitality.

He should have stopped her.

He should have trusted his gut.

Instead, he’d let her go. Because she’d looked him in the eye and said, “I’ll be fine.”

And damn him—he’d wanted to believe it.

Fool.

“Going somewhere, brother?”

Cassian’s voice dropped like a dagger behind him.

Lucien turned slowly, fists already clenched.

Cassian stood just inside the eastern archway, draped in court black, polished and unreadable as always. His smirk was too gentle.

Lucien moved in, teeth bared. “Where is she?”

Cassian lifted a brow. “Who?”

“Don’t play that game with me.”

Cassian sighed, long-suffering. “Mother said you’d come storming. And here you are. So predictable, Luce.”

Lucien grabbed the front of his coat. “Where is she.”

Cassian didn’t flinch. He just leaned forward, lips brushing Lucien’s ear with mockery. “She’s being… processed. ”

Lucien’s whole body flared cold and hot at once. Shadows spiraled down his arms, rising instinctively.

Cassian stepped back and raised his hands. “Ah ah—temper, brother. We wouldn’t want Mother to think you’ve gone completely rogue. Again.”

Lucien’s voice was gravel. “Let her go.”

“She’s not yours to protect. Never was.” Cassian’s tone darkened. “She’s power. And you’re just the fool who fell in love with a loaded weapon.”

Lucien struck.

Cassian didn’t dodge fast enough, Lucien’s fist caught his jaw, and the crack of bone echoed down the hall.

The guards moved.

Cassian held up a hand, wiping the blood from his mouth. “Let him go. Let him burn out. ”

Lucien stared him down. Breathing hard. Heart splintering.

“You’ll regret this,” he hissed.

Cassian just smiled. “Oh, I already do.”

They escorted him out.

Not with chains. That would’ve been too crude.

But with expectation . Like a dismissed knight. Like a son who had outlived his usefulness.

They left him at the garden wall.

Alone.

Abandoned.

And that was their first mistake.

Lucien didn’t leave.

He knew this Keep better than anyone. Better than the guards. Better than the servants. He had been born here. Bled here. Trained here. This wasn’t just a fortress. It was his hunting ground. And now, they had taken her.

The woman he loved. The woman who had cracked his armor and carved herself into the hollow parts of him. Evryn was somewhere behind these walls.

And Lucien was going to burn through every one of them to find her.