Morning light crept through the cracks of the small room as Lucian woke with a soft gasp, startled by the cold air brushing his bare skin. He rose quickly, rushing into the tiny washroom to clean up before work.
His eyes dropped to the broken shard of glass lying on the floor — the only mirror they owned. He lifted it gently, angling it toward the sliver of sunlight.
His reflection stared back at him:
Curly dark hair.
Warm brown eyes.
A cute button nose.
Soft, plump lips.
Beautiful.
Delicate.
Too easy for the world to bruise.
Lucian sighed and set the glass down. "Another day," he muttered, pulling on his simple tunic and tying the belt around his waist.
He hurried downstairs.
"Lucian! Lucian! Lucian!"
The familiar, tender voice drifted from the kitchen.
Marilla — his mother — stood by the counter. Even in her late forties and weakened by illness, she was a striking woman, sharing Lucian's softness and beauty. Except her beauty had grown pale. Faded. Fragile.
Lucian smiled gently. "Hi, Mom."
Then he frowned, slipping into a scolding tone.
"You should be resting."
Marilla brushed him off with a weak laugh. "Oh, my sweet boy… what would I ever do without you? I'm sorry I've become such a burden."
Lucian rolled his eyes dramatically.
"Yeah, you kinda are."
They both laughed, the sound warm and familiar.
He was running late. He grabbed a small loaf, slung his satchel over his shoulder, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Her skin felt too warm.
"I'll be back soon," he promised.
"Don't forget to greet Marcus for me!" Marilla called out. "He's a darling."
Lucian groaned. "Please don't fall in love with my boss while I'm gone."
He stepped outside into the bustling morning street, dodging merchants, stray cats, and shouting vendors. The scent of bread and smoke followed him as he slipped into the bakery.
"You're late again, Lucian," Marcus said, hands on his hips.
Marcus — early fifties, wrinkled but handsome in a worn, earthy way — gave him a smile that Lucian had seen only one other person receive: his mother.
"Good morning," Lucian said, tying on his apron.
Marcus's smile softened. "How's Marilla today?"
Lucian hesitated. "She… didn't sleep well. The fever's still there."
Marcus exhaled heavily. "You should let me help with the cost of her medicine."
Lucian shook his head. "I'll manage. I just need more shifts."
"You're already working harder than half the men in this district," Marcus said gently. "I'm serious, Lucian. Let me help."
Lucian opened his mouth to reply — but the sound of trumpets cut through the air.
A sudden roar of excitement spread down the street.
"The royal parade!" someone shouted outside. "The king is passing!"
Marcus's eyes widened.
"Well? Go on. You've never seen one up close. Take a break."
Lucian hesitated. "Are you sure—"
"Go," Marcus insisted, shooing him out.
Lucian stepped outside into a sea of cheering crowds. People squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder along the main road. Children climbed barrels, women waved cloths, and men craned their necks to see.
Trumpets blared as armored guards marched past, shields gleaming in the sun. Chariots followed, pulled by white horses. Banners of rich crimson and gold fluttered in the warm breeze.
Then everything fell quiet.
The king approached.
King Aurelius stood tall in a gold-trimmed chariot, dressed in deep red robes. His presence suffocated the crowd.
Beside him sat his son — Prince Darius — young, sharp-jawed, and cold-eyed.
Lucian stayed near the back of the crowd, trying to blend in.
But the king's gaze drifted lazily…
slowly…
until it stopped.
On Lucian.
Aurelius's eyes narrowed with sudden interest, his posture straightening. He leaned forward slightly.
"Who is that boy?" he murmured.
Prince Darius followed his father's stare — and when his eyes found Lucian, something dangerous flickered there. Curiosity. Intrigue. Hunger.
The king lifted his hand slightly.
"Corvin," he said to his right-hand man. "Find out who he is."
General Corvin nodded and turned his hard gaze on Lucian, marking him instantly like prey.
Lucian felt a cold shiver run down his spine.
He looked away quickly, staring at the ground, pretending he hadn't noticed the king or the prince. But the weight of their attention pressed heavily on him.
Something terrible had just begun.
The parade moved on, but Lucian's breath didn't return.
Marcus appeared beside him, concern etched into his face.
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
Lucian swallowed. "The king… he looked at me."
Marcus froze.
His expression darkened.
"Lucian," he said quietly, "men like him take whatever they want."
"I didn't ask for this."
"You don't have to," Marcus replied. "Sometimes beauty is enough trouble."
Lucian's heart pounded.