"It was an accident," Rowan said, his voice tightening as he refused to back down, matching Lucien’s dark stare. "We were out past the western ridge. He wanted to try riding a horse for the first time but tripped over an exposed root near the ravine, and I grabbed him before he could fall over the edge. I gripped him too hard, Lucien. That’s it."

​Lucien’s gaze didn’t soften. He took a slow step closer, the scent of clove smoke and cold danger rolling off him. "You let him ride a horse? A royal horse? You took a traitor outside the safety of the perimeter, handled him with carelessness, and brought him back broken."

​"He is no traitor to me, and he isn’t glass, cousin, and definitely not your property!" Rowan barked, his own temper finally flaring. "He wanted to see the valley. He wanted a moment to breathe without your shadow suffocating him! If I hadn’t been there to catch him, he’d be at the bottom of the rocky ditch right now."

​"Then you should have left him to his own clumsy devices rather than returning him a broken mannequin," Lucien hissed, his fists balling tightly at his sides as he fought the instinct to strike his own blood.

​"Enough..." Elian’s hoarse voice cut through the rising storm.

​Both men snapped their attention down to the floor. Elian slowly opened his eyes, pale blue and glistening with unshed tears of pain, though his expression remained perfectly blank, completely frozen in that defensive mask he’d worn all morning.

​"It was my fault," Elian murmured, staring straight at the stone floor between Lucien’s polished boots. "I asked to go. Rowan only saved my life. If you wish to punish someone for the delay, the torn clothing, the horse, punish me. Do not blame him."

​Lucien’s chest heaved, a dangerous, volatile heat coursing through his veins. Hearing Elian defend Rowan—hearing him use that small, fragile voice to shield another man while treating the Duke like an absolute stranger—snapped the final thread of his legendary restraint.

​"Soren," Lucien commanded, his voice dropping to a low, authoritative vibration that brooked no argument. "Tend to his wrist. Immediately."

​"Right away, Your Grace," Soren said smoothly, stepping forward with a roll of clean bandages and a soothing medicinal salve, his grey eyes darting between the three of them with intense interest.

​Lucien didn’t stay to watch. He spun around on his heel, his dark cloak billowing behind him as he strode off the veranda and back into the cold, empty expanse of the grand hall. He needed to get away from them before the darkness under his skin forced him to make the exact ruinous decision Finn had predicted.

​Rowan stayed, watching Soren clean and wrap Elian’s wrist.

​"Can you keep yourself out of harm’s way for longer than a second?" Soren asked, his thumb gently rubbing Elian’s bandaged wrist.

​"Thank you, doctor," Elian murmured, taking his hand away from Soren.

​"I love my job, Elian, but I don’t want you as a regular here. Can you do that?" Soren asked, standing.

​He gently took Elian’s good wrist and helped him to his feet. "Can you do that?" he repeated, his hand still holding onto Elian’s wrist.

​"I can’t do anything, doctor. My life is not mine," he whispered, stepping away from Soren.

​"Thank you... for treating my bruises. Thank you for attending to me when I come here, and thank you for the future treatments... I don’t think I can help it." Even with tears in his eyes, Elian managed a weak smile.

​He turned to Rowan, nodding at him. "This is the most fun I’ve ever had... not even when I was free in the village. Maybe, sometime in the future, I’ll be free, and we can ride more horses." He chuckled.

​Rowan clenched his fists, hating the pain he heard through Elian’s voice. He knew the boy was scared for his life, unsure if he would live long enough to be free. And all this was because of his cousin.

​He took a deep breath and took Elian’s elbow. "Rest, Elian. Get well, then we can see, alright?" he spoke softly, gently leading Elian away.

​He gave Soren an acknowledging nod before entering into the grand hall.

​There, in front of the hallway stood Lucien, smoking with a nonchalant poise, his face blurred with smoke. The moonlight from the open door cast perfectly against Lucien’s tall, dark figure, his shadow reflecting on the wall like his dark mage.

​"I can walk on my own—"

​"Elian," Soren suddenly walked in like he forgot something.

​"Here, apply this heating oil after every change of bandage; it will help the swelling. Do not stress—rather, do the opposite; relieve your stress as much as you can..." He paused, picking off a twig dangling from Elian’s hair and tossing it toward his shoulder.

​"Do not soak the wrist in water. The swelling will worsen. And, please..." He glanced at Lucien behind him, "do not do any labor to inflict strain on it." He dropped the oil into Elian’s good hand, stared at his face for longer than a second, then he was gone.

​"Thanks, I’ll get up on my own," Elian said, stepping away from Rowan.

​He couldn’t let him get close to Lucien again tonight; the tension between the cousins could be cut with a knife. He was done with the fights; he just needed to go up and sleep... if, of course, that was what Lucien wanted.

​"Goodnight, Elian," Rowan said, watching Elian walk away.

​"Goodnight, Rowan," Elian murmured, keeping his head down as he walked past Lucien and toward Finn.

​Once again, he didn’t want to look at Finn, unwilling to face the judgment that might be in his eyes.

​"Goodnight, Elian," Finn said as Elian walked through the door, his eyes falling to his bandaged wrist.

​Elian didn’t respond; he continued up the stairs, hoping the Duke smoked twenty more cloves before coming up for the night, that way, he would have fallen deep into sleep.

​However, he soon heard the unhurried, steady footsteps behind him, the hairs on his neck instantly standing as Lucien drew closer to him with each steady step.

​He maintained his pace, not slowing to fall in step with Lucien and not hurrying so it didn’t seem like the presence was affecting him.

​Lucien kept his pace, too, always one step behind Elian.

​The smell of clove and smoke filled the staircase, adding to the already toxic air around them.

​Finally, Elian climbed the last step and hurried toward his room. But before he could lift his hand, Lucien’s voice stopped him.

​"In here," Lucien said, quietly pushing his door in, his eyes staring at Elian with residue rage.

​Elian sighed, facing Lucien finally.

​This was the first time they’d be properly speaking to each other since their kiss last night, and if Elian could help it, he’d rather be under his sheets, snoring away his hate for the Duke.

​"Why?" Elian found himself asking.

​He didn’t want to go into Lucien’s chamber, and he knew that Lucien was aware of that.

​Lucien didn’t respond; he stared at Elian for one more second and looked away, walking into his chamber.

​"I do not like my door left open," he said before disappearing inside.

​Elian bit his lower lip, staring at his own door with longing.

​Can one hate someone so much that it made their blood boil?

​With a defeated sigh, he walked over to Lucien’s door, shutting his thoughts down as they started to replay what had happened there last night.

​He should not be thinking about it, at least not while he was with Lucien. He would hate for Lucien to get even the slightest hint that he still pondered about their encounter.

​He stepped through the doorway and quietly closed the door, clenching his fist.

​"Come here," Lucien ordered from the side of his bed.

​Elian lifted his gaze and immediately lowered it; Lucien was shrugging off his shirt, his back to him, and Elian instantly noticed the way Lucien’s lean muscles flexed beneath his skin as he shrugged the shirt from his shoulders.

​"I said, come here," Lucien commanded, seeing Elian hadn’t moved from his position.

​Slowly, Elian moved, telling himself it would pass in a few moments.

​He stopped in front of Lucien, staring past his shoulder.

​"Look at me," Lucien murmured, stepping closer.

​Elian gritted his teeth, refusing.

​What was Lucien trying to do? Why was he trying to make everything worse?

​Lucien took a slow breath and another step, his body humming with that slow fire he’d been ignoring the whole day. Finally being close and alone with Elian, he felt the first wave of release and calmness wash over him.

​However, he hated that Elian’s obedience only ended with Rowan. Would it be so hard to obey him?

​"I said, look at me—"

​"Can I not, Your Grace?" Elian cut him off quietly.

​Lucien’s jaw tightened; he stared at Elian’s lowered head and chuckled.

​"You like being with him that much? Rowan?" he asked, his voice calm.

​Elian hesitated for a moment. "Yes..." he frowned, "he looks at me and doesn’t treat me like a traitor—" He stopped speaking as he felt Lucien’s index finger on his chin, lifting his face up.

​Lucien locked their gaze, taking his time to actually stare into Elian’s blue eyes. "I’m looking at you now. Is that what you want?" he whispered, his gaze dropping dangerously to Elian’s lips.