Chapter Seven: The Art of War

The hall buzzed with whispers as Estella stood toe-to-toe with Lucien, her heart thudding hard against her ribs. Every pair of eyes in the room was glued to them—waiting for her to bend, to break.

But fuck that.

If he wanted her submission, he'd have to drag it from her kicking and screaming.

"You're not finished trying?" she echoed, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "You say that like you've done anything impressive yet, Your Majesty."

Lucien's silver eyes flashed—a warning. "Careful, Estella," he murmured, stepping closer until the heat of his body rolled against hers. "I can still make you crawl."

She tilted her head, a wicked smile curling her lips. "Is that a threat?" she taunted. "Or are you just mad your other concubines are too boring to keep you entertained?"

A ripple of shock swept through the gathered nobles. Somewhere behind her, Cassius let out a low whistle.

Lucien didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. But the tension in the air sharpened—thick and dangerous. "For someone who can barely walk straight after last night," he said, his voice soft enough for only her to hear, "you're awfully mouthy."

Estella leaned in, her breath grazing his jaw. "You think you fucked the fight out of me?" Her smile sharpened. "Try harder, Your Majesty."

His hand shot out—lightning-fast—fisting the silk belt of her robe and yanking her closer. "Don't push me," he warned, his voice low and dark. "Or I'll make good on my promise and fuck you right here—in front of all of them."

A lesser woman might have trembled. Might have flushed with embarrassment.

But Estella?

She laughed softly—wicked and wild. "Big talk for a man who needed three rounds just to make me moan," she said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Cassius coughed to hide his laughter. Even Grace, lounging on a nearby chaise, raised an intrigued brow.

Lucien's grip on her belt tightened. "You're asking for it," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"And yet, here I am—still standing," she shot back. "I guess the mighty emperor isn't as dangerous as everyone says."

The crowd held its breath. The air cracked with tension.

For a moment—just a heartbeat—she thought he might lose control.

Instead, he smiled—a slow, cruel thing that sent a chill racing down her spine. "Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, little rebel," he murmured, releasing her. "Because when I'm finished with you, you'll be begging me to keep you locked in my bed."

She refused to flinch. "In your dreams, Your Majesty."

Lucien leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear. "Sweetheart," he murmured, his tone laced with lethal promise. "You are my favorite fucking dream."

And just like that, he turned and walked away—leaving her trembling with equal parts fury and something far more dangerous.

Later That Night…

Estella slammed the door to her chambers, her blood still boiling. "Smug, arrogant, royal asshole," she muttered under her breath. "If his ego gets any bigger, there won't be room left for his damn crown."

"You're loud," a voice drawled from the corner.

She spun, fists raised—but it was only Cassius, leaning lazily against the wall with that infuriating smirk. "I could hear you insulting him all the way down the corridor," he added. "I have to admit—it's refreshing."

"What do you want, General?" she snapped, her patience hanging by a thread.

Cassius pushed off the wall, stalking toward her with easy grace. "I wanted to see how long you'd survive," he said, stopping just inches away. "But I underestimated you. I didn't think anyone could push Lucien that far without losing their head."

Estella smirked, lifting her chin. "I'm not most people."

"No," he murmured, letting his gaze drag over her. "You're much more fun."

A sharp knock on the door cut through the tension. Estella sighed, tugging her robe tighter around herself as she yanked it open.

Rhea stood there, pale and wide-eyed. "Lady Estella," she said softly, glancing nervously over her shoulder. "Valeria requests your presence."

The name alone soured her mood. "Of course she does," Estella muttered. "What does the palace's most desperate snake want now?"

"I—I'm not sure," Rhea stammered. "But it's urgent."

Cassius let out a low whistle. "Careful, rebel," he warned, brushing past her toward the door. "Valeria doesn't play fair."

"I don't play nice," Estella shot back, her eyes gleaming with fire. "Let's see who wins."

The East Wing…

Valeria's chambers were as cold and immaculate as the woman herself. Every surface gleamed, and the air was heavy with the scent of jasmine—sickly sweet and suffocating.

Estella stepped inside, her smile sharp and dangerous. "You called?"

Valeria stood near the window, her sleek black gown clinging to every dangerous curve. "You're quite the spectacle," she said smoothly, turning to face her. "The emperor seems…distracted."

"Funny," Estella mused, leaning casually against a marble pillar. "I didn't realize you still knew what it felt like to hold his attention."

Valeria's lips twitched—just a fraction—but it was enough to make Estella's blood hum with satisfaction.

"Careful, girl," Valeria warned, her voice smooth as silk. "You're only here because he's amused by your defiance. But amusement fades."

"And you're only here because no one else wanted to keep you," Estella fired back sweetly. "Funny how life works."

The smile on Valeria's face was slow and venomous. "I've survived longer than most," she said softly. "And if you think for one second that you'll take what's mine—"

"Yours?" Estella laughed—a sharp, wicked sound. "Honey, if he was yours, you wouldn't be standing here whining about me."

For a moment, just a flicker, something cold and violent flashed in Valeria's eyes. And Estella knew—this was war.

Good.

She was ready.