Page 5

FIVE

LUCIEN

L ucien stood against the balcony’s edge where the ivy hadn’t yet strangled the stone. Aethermoor’s twilight light cast the palace in dusky violet, painting everything in hues of secrets. This was the only place in the Court that still felt remotely honest. Forgotten. Quiet. Hidden.

He felt him before he heard him.

Cassian moved like a whisper in silk, all loose limbs and barely-suppressed mockery. If Lucien was a knife, Cassian was poison in a wineglass—just as lethal, but prettier when it killed you.

“You’re getting slow, brother,” Cassian drawled from the shadows. “I’ve been watching you for a solid five minutes and not once did you try to gut me.”

Lucien didn’t look at him. “Maybe I’m losing my energy.”

“Or maybe the girl’s got you twisted up worse than a blood oath.”

Now he turned.

Cassian stood in the archway, leaning one shoulder against the stone, arms crossed over a velvet jacket that looked like it cost more than most commoners made in a year. His eyes were cat-slit and ice-pale, gleaming with the same cruel amusement he wore like cologne.

Lucien’s lip curled. “Did you come here to gloat or just to piss me off?”

“Neither.” Cassian clicked his tongue, sauntering forward with lazy elegance. “I came because Mother asked for an update. And I—being the dutiful second son—am here to deliver.”

Lucien said nothing.

Cassian exhaled a mock sigh. “So moody. All this brooding—anyone ever tell you it's exhausting to witness? You’re like a statue someone spilled sadness on.”

“What’s the intel, Cassian?”

His brother grinned, all sharp teeth and charm. “Fine. Straight to it, then.” He leaned in slightly. “The rebels are moving. Faster than we thought. Thalia’s gathering numbers in the Wyrdlands. She’s met with Grimhart emissaries. Rumor says she’s looking for a queen to crown.”

Lucien’s jaw tensed. “Evryn.”

Cassian tilted his head. “She fits the prophecy. Mostly. And the rebels like shiny symbols.”

“She’s more than a symbol,” Lucien muttered.

Cassian’s grin faltered. “What was that?”

Lucien turned away again, bracing his palms against the cool stone. “She’s not what the Queen thinks she is. She’s not just some stray with a bloodline. She can see me, Cassian.”

A beat of silence. Then, laughter.

“Oh, she saw you? You mean the great shadowmancer, assassin of the Crown, feared blade of the Throne? Seen by a little Borderlands nobody?” Cassian chuckled. “Do go on. This is better than Court theater.”

Lucien’s voice was low. Flat. Deadly.

“I vanished into the Veil, cloaked in layered shadow, slowed my pulse. She looked straight at me.”

Cassian blinked. The laughter dimmed, but the smirk stayed. “So she’s Sighted.”

“She’s stronger than Sighted. She fought three rogue shifters without shifting, without flinching. Her instincts are tuned to magic like she was born to walk the Veil.”

Cassian made a face. “We were all born to walk the Veil.”

“Not like this.”

He didn’t know how to explain it. Not really. But when Evryn had looked at him— through him—it had sliced deeper than any knife. She hadn’t seen the weapon, the monster, the name whispered in nightmares.

She’d seen him .

Cassian sauntered over, perched lazily on the balcony ledge. “So why haven’t you killed her?”

Lucien’s fingers tightened on the stone.

“Because every instinct I’ve spent my life sharpening is telling me she’s not just important—she’s necessary. She’s not a threat to the throne. She is the throne.”

Cassian raised a brow. “Sounds like prophecy talk. Mother will love that.”

Lucien shook his head. “No. It’s not prophecy. It’s... real. Tangible. Like she’s a key to something older than the Accords. Older than the bloodline war.”

Cassian’s gaze narrowed, calculating. “You think she’s First Blood.”

“I know she is.”

“And if she is, that means she can either end us—or save us.”

Lucien nodded slowly.

Cassian exhaled through his teeth. “You’re protecting her.”

“I’m studying her.”

“Sure you are.”

Lucien turned to him, silver eyes cold. “Don’t start.”

“Too late,” Cassian said, hopping down. “You think you’re better than the rest of us ‘cause you wear guilt like armor. But you’re still a killer. So the longer you keep her breathing, the more people you’re gonna have to cut down when she doesn’t pick your side.”

“I don’t have a side,” Lucien muttered.

Cassian’s voice dropped to a low murmur, razor-sharp. “Then she’s going to die on someone else’s.”

They stared at each other.

“She’s not ready,” he said. “And if I don’t figure out what she is before Mother wants her—she’s dead either way.”

Cassian shrugged. “Then you better move fast, brother. Because the Queen’s patience runs thinner than her mercy.”

He turned, cloak flaring behind him as he walked back into the shadows.

“Oh,” he added, glancing back with a wicked smile. “Tell her I said hello next time you watch her sleep.”

Lucien didn’t respond.

He just watched the mist roll over the balcony and wondered how long he had before he had to choose what he was fighting for .