The soft flicker of candlelight from the chandelier mingled with the hearth's glow, casting restless shadows across Lucien's chamber. A knock echoed through the quiet, drawing Lucien's gaze from his book toward the door.
His butler entered, bowing slightly. "Your Highness, His Majesty has come to see you."
Behind him stepped a white-haired man in regal attire.
Lucien rose and inclined his head. "I greet His Majesty the Emperor."
The knight had said Cyrus would visit—but Lucien hadn't expected the Emperor himself.
"You may rise," Cyrus said, his footsteps already carrying him closer. By the time Lucien lifted his head, the Emperor stood before him, smiling tenderly.
He placed a hand on his shoulder. "There's no need for formality. We're not in court."
Lucien nodded. "I understand."
After dismissing the attendants, they settled onto the couch and sipped their tea in solemn silence. Only the crackle of the fire and the faint chirping of crickets filled the room. Lucien watched his reflection ripple across the surface of his tea.
Considering Cyrus didn't care much for him, Lucien couldn't fathom the personal visit. If this were merely a formal welcome, a letter would have sufficed.
Others might easily misread it—as though he favored him.
"I heard something interesting today," Cyrus said, pulling him back to the present.
When he looked up, Cyrus's eyes were already fixed on him. A faint amusement lingered on his features.
"Your plan," he continued.
Plan? Lucien frowned. Ah, that.
He set his teacup aside. "Did my brother present it at today's meeting?"
"He spoke only of ways to appease the crowd." Cyrus took a measured sip of his tea before placing the cup down. "It was your grandfather who mentioned your thoughts about a possible false flag."
"…I see."
A curve touched Cyrus's mouth. "I must say, I like how you managed to stir the court without even being there."
Cyrus leaned back against the cushions, regarding him with quiet intensity. "And after the meeting ended, Tristan told me about your proposal for peace talks with the Zerounix." He paused, tilting his head. "Honestly, I'm intrigued."
Lucien didn't respond right away. The Emperor's drawling tone didn't match the sharp glint in his eyes. Still, he was relieved Tristan hadn't brought up his idea during the council meeting. The nobles would have reacted just as Tristan had, if not worse.
And the Vazquez?
They would twist his words until his name was dragged through the mud.
"I didn't expect that a boy who hasn't even come of age would propose something most seasoned men wouldn't dare utter." Cyrus went on, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Either you're far too clever for your own good… or far too reckless."
Lucien held his gaze. "I just don't like losing."
Especially when his life was at stake.
Cyrus chuckled low, the sound steeped in delight. "Then perhaps we're more alike than I thought." His smile faded, eyes narrowing. "Still, it's unsettling—seeing that kind of fire in someone so young."
"I suppose hardship tends to fan the flames." Lucien reached for his tea and took a sip.
Experience had taught him to see countless shades of grey between white and black, and the same was true for Cyrus. Perhaps that was what made them alike.
"You're right," Cyrus lifted his cup, his somber gaze sinking into the dark surface of his tea. "This place was never kind to anyone who lived here."
Silence settled between them as they enjoyed their tea, punctuated by the distant chirping of crickets and the crackling of wood from the hearth. The atmosphere, surprisingly, wasn't unpleasant.
Cyrus drew the cup away from his lips. "I'll bring your idea to the court in my name, but I'll make a few adjustments. Is that all right with you?"
Lucien shook his head. "I don't mind."
If Cyrus managed to convince the court, it would bring him one step closer to his goal—stopping the war and with it, avoiding being sent to the battlefield.
"Alright," Cyrus nodded in satisfaction, setting the teacup aside. "Your birthday is approaching. Is there something you'd like as a gift?"
Truthfully, he hadn't given it any thought. His mind had been too preoccupied with figuring out how to return to Earth. But if he had to choose…
"I'd like access to the library in your palace."
The Emperor's palace was off-limits, which made the request a bold one.
Cyrus blinked, studying him as though he'd grown an extra head. "That's all? Just access to the library?"
Lucien nodded firmly. "Yes."
Cyrus let out a quiet sigh. "I know you love books, but you could ask for something grander, you know." He paused, then added, "Still, consider it done."
Lucien offered a faint smile. "Thank you, Father."
Cyrus nodded and rose to his feet. "It's late. You should get some rest."
Lucien followed suit, but Cyrus stepped closer and pulled him into an embrace. Warmth spread through him.
"I know it's a bit late, but… welcome back." Letting go of him, Cyrus's hand brushed Lucien's hair, his gaze unusually soft. "And since I'll likely be swamped once I start pushing your plan forward—happy birthday in advance, my son."
He pressed a kiss to his forehead, catching him off guard. With a firm pat on his shoulder, he stepped back. "Good night."
Lucien stood frozen as a tangle of unfamiliar emotions stirred in his chest. By the time he found his voice, Cyrus was already walking toward the door.
"…Good night, Father."
Cyrus glanced over his shoulder, offering a warm smile before vanishing beyond the dimly lit archway with his knights.
Left alone, Lucien exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His fingers brushed his forehead absentmindedly.
He shouldn't have done that.
Cyrus was supposed to be a heartless father—just as he had always believed. If Cyrus had stayed that way, the real Lucien's emotions wouldn't be stirring inside him now. Guilt wouldn't be coiling around his throat. And he wouldn't be left questioning Cyrus's sudden warmth.
Why did he do that?