Chapter 66: Sixty Six
It does sound like him, but trying to imagine a younger Lucien scrambles my mind. He looks like he just winked into existence one day, skipping over the growing process like normal people do. "Your mother, what was she like?"
He blinks those pretty silver lashes, lips twitching on a fond smile. "A menace."
I wait for more, but he doesn’t give me anymore. I lick the desert off my lips. "What happened, then? To Tiernan? How did you become king?"
Silence stretches between us before he says, almost idly, "He was poisoned at his coronation. Another family decided the Draemonts had been in power long enough and took matters into their own hands." Nothing on his face gives away anything kind of sorrow. "I hardly knew him. I was drunk in a tavern while he choked on his own blood. But he was young--by our standards. And he barely lived."
His mouth twists into something that isn’t quite a smile. "I was named Crown Prince soon after. My father didn’t trust me as far as he could throw me. Even remarried, just to see if he could breed someone better."
"Wyatt," I murmur, and he nods.
"Wyatt," he echoes. "The model son. Everything I wasn’t--obedient, efficient. My father’s little miracle." He tips his head at me. "But he never learned what I did, why I always came out better in everything without even trying."
"What’s that?"
"Tiernan and Wyatt were my father’s prodigies, so much so, they never did try to learn who they were," he says simply. "I was never anyone’s golden boy. No one’s heir. No one’s hope. And perhaps that was my freedom. I learned early that if I could not be their perfect son, I would be my own flawed god. I knew there was a darkness in me, and I embraced it. I loved myself too much to pretend I was someone I wasn’t. So when I fought, I fought as Lucien. When I lost, I lost as Lucien. There is no different versions of me, no throne or crown that defines me. Strip me of my title, bind me in chains, cast me into exile, wrap me in rags, and I still remain King. Because I know what I am."
His gaze lowers to the mess of chocolate smeared across my fingers, then back to my eyes. "And so do you, Valka. That is one of the many things about you that excites me. You do not do anything because it is what is expected of you. You do it because you damned well want to. You’ve never tried to hide or conform to expectations. Do not start now."
He smiles, lopsided. "If you want a cake you don’t sneak into a kitchen for it in the dead of night. You order five, have them carried to your room on silver trays, and eat every last crumb in bed. Because the moment you start folding yourself up to make other people comfortable, you hand them control over you."He reaches for my hand, his fingers cool as they curl around my wrist. "And last I checked, that power belongs only to me."
My breath hitches and the world narrows to the brush of his mouth as he lifts my hand and, without breaking eye contact, draws my stained finger past his lips. My body tightens and my mouth dries as his tongue glides slowly, deliberately, over the chocolate, the warmth of his mouth a sinful contrast to the cool air between us.
And my mind begins going in different directions. The glide of his tongue against more intimate areas. Against my tightened, aching nipples. As if hearing my thoughts, he sucks slightly, a single wicked pull that I feel all the way to my curling toes, before releasing me.
I feel hot all over. "W-was that necessary?"
He shrugs, infuriatingly casual. "I’m hungry. And you smell quite delicious."
I retract my fingers quickly, scowling. "Do you ever get tired of this push and pull? You tell me this isn’t what we are, and then you do things like that. Or kiss my forehead. Or tuck me in like some beloved thing. And then you vanish for a week and pretend I irritate you. I don’t understand you, Lucien. I don’t understand what you want from me. You said this was purely transactional. I do not need you here, confusing me."
"Confusion is a side effect of spending too much time thinking." He almost sounds giddy when he adds, "You’ve been thinking about me?"
"Don’t deflect."
"Deflect? I’m merely suggesting you try less thinking and perhaps a bit more feeling." He leans back, lips curving into that maddening half-smile. "Or would you prefer I start drawing charts and timetables of when I’m allowed to kiss your forehead?"
"This isn’t a joke!" I snarl, startling us both. I’m angry at him--furious, in fact--and I couldn’t even list all the reasons why. I understand why he’s keeping his distance, especially after what I did. I understand why this has to remain transactional, why letting him in would be lethal for me. But it pisses me off anyway. It burns. "I’m not doing this with you," I hiss, shaking my head. "Not again."
I shift to slip out from under the table , but his next words freeze me in place.
"Rafael Draemir will be at the Summit of the Three."
My head snaps back toward him, heart slamming once against my ribs. "What?"
"After the wedding, we ride for the Summit--you and I, and a handful of those I trust. It’s one of the reasons you had to go through the Selection. Why you needed the crown. It gives you access to the circles that I walk." His gaze sharpens, all the teasing gone in an instant. "The Summit is a once-in-a-lifetime gathering. Our best chance to glimpse their plans, maybe even stop the next war before it starts."
Then, softer. "Tell me, Valka... will standing in the same room as your boy-king be a problem?"