A Lie That Loves You
The lie had been easy at first.
Hold hands in public. Stand too close. Let the city believe what it wanted—because belief was safer than curiosity.
But lies, Lumi had learned, were not empty things.
They shaped themselves around truth.
Tonight, the pretense required more than proximity.
A gathering had been called in the upper quarter—one of Serath's carefully sanctioned events meant to reassure the elite that order still held. Music drifted through shadowed halls, soft and measured, every note chosen not to disturb.
Lumi stood beside Blake at the entrance, her hand resting in the crook of his arm.
At twenty-five, Blake Crowe wore authority like a second skin. Dark formal leathers replaced his armor, the sigil of the Dreadsword prince etched subtly at his collar. He looked composed.
Too composed.
"You don't have to do this," Lumi murmured.
"Yes, I do," Blake replied quietly. "They need to see me steady. And they need to see you with me."
The truth stirred.
And you need the excuse.
They entered together.
Eyes followed them instantly. Whispers bloomed and died. Relief softened faces when they saw Blake's calm, Lumi's hand laced securely with his.
The lie worked.
They danced.
It was slow, deliberate—Blake guiding her with a gentleness that surprised even him. Lumi felt it in the truth, how carefully he measured each step, how aware he was of her breathing.
"This was never supposed to feel like this," she whispered.
Blake's mouth curved faintly. "Most dangerous things don't announce themselves."
As they moved, Lumi felt something shift—subtle, undeniable.
The truth did not flare.
It warmed.
Not revelation, but recognition.
He loves you.
The realization stole her breath.
Not because it was sudden—but because it had always been there, quiet and patient, waiting for her to be ready to hear it.
Blake felt her stillness. "Lumi?"
Before she could answer, the Dreadsword stirred at his side, a low murmur only he could hear.
End this, it whispered. Take her. Take the city. Peace is simple when love chooses order.
Blake's jaw tightened.
Across the hall, Serath watched them with open approval.
A prince in control.
A truth-bearer contained.
The lie was becoming useful.
And that was what terrified Lumi most.
When the music ended, Blake did not let go immediately. His hand lingered at her waist, thumb warm through the fabric.
"I need you to trust me," he said softly.
"With what?"
"With not choosing the easy version of us."
The truth pulsed—aching, intimate.
He is afraid of himself.
Lumi leaned her forehead against his. "Then don't let the lie decide for us."
Blake exhaled, slow and steady. "I won't."
But as they parted, Lumi felt it—the shift in the room, the way eyes recalculated.
The city was beginning to believe in them.
And belief, she knew now, had consequences.
As they left the hall, Blake squeezed her hand once—too tight to be casual.
The lie walked beside them into the night.
And it loved them both.