A Crown Chapter Two: A Battle of Wills

Lucien's fingers pressed against her soaked core, teasing her through the silk, and for a heartbeat—a single reckless heartbeat—Estella let herself melt into his touch.

But no bastard, no matter how powerful, was going to make her beg.

With a sharp twist, she shoved against his chest. Hard.

Lucien staggered back a step—more from surprise than force—but it was enough. She slipped free from his hold, her breath ragged, heart pounding like a war drum.

"Touch me like that again," she snapped, brushing her tangled curls out of her face, "and I'll cut your fucking hand off."

The amusement in his silver eyes only deepened, dark and dangerous. "Such violence. You make it sound like you didn't just moan for me, little rebel."

"Dream on, Your Majesty," she spat, crossing her arms. "I've had more exciting encounters with a loaf of bread."

His jaw tightened—just a flicker—but she saw it. Good. Let him choke on his own arrogance.

"You think I'm playing with you?" he said softly, stepping toward her again. His control was back—icy and smooth—but there was heat beneath it. The kind of heat that promised trouble. "I could break you in half, Estella. You'd come crawling back for more."

She snorted. "Please. I've had worse from my stepmother before breakfast."

Lucien tilted his head, studying her like she was a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. "You want me to believe you're this tough?" His voice dipped lower—too soft. Too knowing. "What are you hiding, little rebel?"

"Why don't you crawl back to your harem and ask one of your well-trained dolls?" she shot back, her sharp tongue dripping with venom. "Or are they too boring for you?"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop as his amusement faded.

"You're walking a dangerous line." His voice was cold now—razor-sharp. "I don't tolerate disobedience."

"And I don't tolerate assholes," she said sweetly. "Looks like we're both fucked."

For a long, tense moment, neither of them moved. The whole room felt like it was holding its breath—every concubine, every courtier, every snake in the palace watching to see which one of them would break first.

Lucien didn't blink. "You want to play games, Estella?" His smile was a cruel twist of lips. "Fine. But you should know—when I play, I never lose."

"Yeah?" She lifted her chin, eyes blazing. "Well, when I play, I break the fucking board."

His laugh was soft—dangerous. "You'll regret that mouth of yours."

"Better men than you have tried to shut me up," she said, stepping closer until she could feel the heat radiating off his body. "None of them succeeded."

His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist before she could pull away. Not hard enough to hurt—but enough to let her feel the strength beneath his touch.

"Careful," he warned, his voice low and lethal. "You're not back in your father's house anymore. Here, your defiance has consequences."

"Spare me the lecture, Your Majesty." She yanked her wrist free with a sharp twist. "If you think a few threats are enough to scare me, you're dumber than you look."

A dangerous smile curled his lips. "You're going to regret that."

"I regret a lot of things." She gave him a wicked smile of her own. "Marrying you isn't one of them—yet."

For a moment, she thought she saw something flicker in his expression—something raw and frustrated. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the cold, calculating mask he wore so well.

"If you want a war, Estella," he said softly, "I'll give you one."

"Good." Her heart thundered in her chest, but she held his gaze without flinching. "I never lose."

His smile sharpened into something feral. "We'll see."

---

Elsewhere in the palace…

From the upper balcony, Valeria watched the entire exchange with narrowed eyes.

The new empress was… unexpected. Bold. Reckless. Nothing like the polished, submissive little fools who usually swarmed the emperor's side.

And Lucien—gods, she hadn't seen him this intrigued in years.

Valeria's lips curled into a cold smile. That wouldn't do. Not at all.

If Estella thought she could waltz into the palace and steal the emperor's attention, she had another thing coming.

Valeria didn't share. And when she was finished with the little rebel, there wouldn't be enough left of her to scrape off the floor.

By the time Estella left the throne room, her blood was still boiling. Every nerve in her body buzzed with frustration—and something far more dangerous.

Lucien. That arrogant, cold-blooded bastard. She'd rather die than let him think he had the upper hand.

"Fucking tyrant," she muttered under her breath, shoving open the heavy doors to the outer hall. "He can shove his threats right up his royal—"

"Careful," a soft voice said.

Estella jerked her head up, eyes narrowing at the slender figure waiting for her near the marble staircase. Dark hair, a dress that clung to curves too perfect to be real, and a face that belonged on a coin—Valeria.

The concubine. The favorite.

"Aw, did I upset your precious emperor?" Estella sneered, folding her arms. "He'll survive."

Valeria smiled—but it didn't reach her eyes. "You're bold. I'll give you that." Her voice was smooth and sweet, like poisoned honey. "But boldness only takes you so far, darling."

Estella leaned against the wall, tilting her head. "And what's your advice? Spread my legs and shut up?" Her smile sharpened. "No offense, but that sounds boring as hell."

Valeria's lips curled into a colder smile. "No offense taken. After all, a wild dog like you wouldn't know how to please a man like the emperor."

"Please him?" Estella let out a loud, mocking laugh. "Sweetheart, if I wanted to, I'd have him begging on his knees."

For a second—just a second—Valeria's smile slipped.

"Careful," she warned, stepping closer. "Lucien doesn't tolerate defiance for long. You might amuse him now, but when he's tired of your games? He'll break you."

Estella pushed off the wall and stepped right into her space. "Let him try," she whispered, her smile vicious. "And if you want to come for me, Valeria—bring your best."

She spun on her heel, leaving Valeria standing there, and stalked down the corridor.

Let them try to break her. All of them.

She'd survived worse.

---

Meanwhile…

Lucien stood at the window of his chambers, watching the courtyard below. From here, he could see everything—the sprawling gardens, the guards on patrol… and Estella.

She walked like she owned the place. Like the palace itself was nothing more than a cage she planned to burn to the ground.

And gods, did that infuriate him.

No one—no one—had ever dared speak to him the way she did. She had no fear. No control. No understanding of who the hell he was.

And yet…

Lucien exhaled slowly, trying to banish the image of her—flushed cheeks, sharp tongue, and the defiance in her eyes when she told him to fuck off. No one had ever pushed him like that.

He should have been furious.

He was furious.

But underneath the anger, there was something else. Something darker.

He wanted to break her. Bend her. Make her choke on every arrogant word.

And yet…

He wanted her wild. He wanted her to fight back.

Because there was no pleasure in taking something already broken.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

"Enter," he said coldly.

Cassius strolled inside, hands tucked lazily behind his back. "Well, that was fun," he drawled. "I haven't seen anyone get under your skin like that since—"

"Don't," Lucien cut in sharply.

Cassius smirked, leaning against the wall. "She's different."

"She's a pain in my ass," Lucien muttered, but his gaze lingered on Estella's retreating form. "And she needs to learn her place."

Cassius tilted his head. "Is that why you're watching her like a lovesick puppy?"

Lucien's glare could've frozen fire. "Leave."

Still smirking, Cassius gave a mock bow and slipped out.

Lucien stayed at the window, eyes locked on the girl who refused to be tamed.

One way or another, he would make her kneel.

But part of him wondered…

Would she take him down with her?

---

Later That Night…

Estella paced her chambers like a caged animal. The silk sheets, the golden walls—it all felt too soft. Too polished. She wanted a fight. A real fight.

She wanted to wipe that arrogant smirk off Lucien's face.

A sharp knock on the door made her whip around. Before she could answer, the door swung open.

Lucien.

And gods—he looked like sin. Dressed in black, his shoulders broad enough to block out the light behind him, silver eyes gleaming with cold purpose.

"What do you want?" she snapped, heart pounding.

His smile was slow and cruel. "You."

Before she could fire back, he crossed the room in two steps, his hand curling around her throat—gentle enough not to hurt, but firm enough to steal her breath.

"I warned you, little rebel," he murmured, dragging her closer. "Push me too far, and you'll see what happens."

Her pulse hammered against his fingers, but she still smiled—sharp and dangerous. "I'm not scared of you, Your Majesty."

Lucien's eyes darkened. "You should be."

And then he kissed her.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet. It was a battle—a fierce clash of teeth and tongue that had her heart racing and her knees trembling. His mouth claimed hers, rough and demanding, and when she bit his lower lip, he growled—a low, primal sound that sent heat pooling between her thighs.

"You're still trembling," he taunted against her lips.

"I'm not trembling," she hissed. "I'm preparing to kick your ass."

His laugh was low and dangerous. "I'd like to see you try."

With a wicked smile, Estella hooked her leg around his and pulled—sending him crashing backward onto the bed.

Lucien's brows shot up as she straddled him, her hands planted on his chest. "Still think you're in charge?" she purred.

His smile turned feral. "We'll see."

And before she could react, he flipped her beneath him, pinning her wrists above her head.

"I told you," he murmured against her ear, his teeth scraping along her neck. "When I play, I play to win."

Estella arched beneath him, fire roaring through her blood. "Bring it on, Your Majesty."

And gods, he did.