Chapter Seventeen: Blades and Betrayal

The palace courtyard blazed beneath the noonday sun, the heat shimmering off the marble like fire. But Estella barely felt it.

Not with the sword in her hand.

She circled the training yard, her bare feet brushing against the warm stone, eyes locked on the man across from her. Lucien stood with his own blade, the silver edge gleaming as he twirled it lazily between his fingers.

The bastard was smiling.

"Getting tired, little rebel?" he taunted, his voice smooth and maddeningly calm. "Or are you just stalling?"

Estella tightened her grip on the hilt, her muscles aching from their last few exchanges. "You wish, Your Majesty," she drawled, her lips curling into a dangerous smile. "I'm just trying to decide whether to disarm you—or embarrass you first."

Lucien's silver eyes gleamed with amusement. "Big words for a girl who's already losing."

"Funny," she shot back. "I thought you liked it when I used my mouth."

His laughter was low and lethal. "I do," he said, stepping closer. "But I'm about to put that mouth to better use when I've finished breaking you."

She didn't wait for him to make the first move.

With a sharp twist, Estella lunged, her blade cutting through the air. Lucien parried easily, their swords clashing in a sharp, ringing sound that echoed through the courtyard.

"You're getting faster," he admitted, knocking her blade aside and advancing on her. "But you're still too reckless."

Estella snarled under her breath, dodging his next strike and twisting around him. "Reckless wins wars," she snapped, driving her elbow toward his ribs.

Lucien blocked her effortlessly, his free hand curling around her wrist as he yanked her flush against his chest. "No," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "Control wins wars. And you're still too wild to control anything—except maybe my patience."

Her blood boiled. She hated how easily he handled her, how much he seemed to enjoy toying with her like a cat with its prey.

"Let go," she growled, struggling against his hold.

Lucien chuckled, but his grip only tightened. "Why would I? You're much more fun like this."

Without warning, Estella shifted her weight, sweeping her leg behind his knee and knocking him off balance. Lucien's grip loosened just enough for her to twist free, her blade flashing toward his throat.

For a breathless second, the edge of her sword hovered at his neck.

But Lucien only smiled. "Good," he murmured, silver eyes burning with something far too dangerous. "But not good enough."

In a blink, he disarmed her. His sword clattered to the ground as he spun her around and pinned her against a stone pillar, his thigh wedged between her legs.

"You fight like you fuck," he rasped, his voice thick with amusement. "Sloppy. Impatient. Always trying to win the hard way."

Estella arched against him, refusing to yield. "And yet—I still make you work for it."

Lucien laughed softly, his mouth brushing the curve of her jaw. "Sweetheart," he whispered, his lips dragging over her pulse point. "I like working for it."

Her heart pounded, but she refused to let him see how much he was affecting her. "If you're done showing off," she said, her voice biting, "I have better things to do."

His hand slid down her thigh, gripping hard enough to make her gasp. "Like what?" he murmured. "No one else in this palace can handle you. And we both know it."

"Let. Go," she spat, though her body betrayed her—heat coiling low in her belly as his teeth scraped against her neck.

Lucien pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. "Say please."

"Fuck. You."

His smile was pure sin. "Anytime, little rebel."

And with that, he released her—stepping back with an infuriatingly calm expression.

Estella snatched up her sword, trying to ignore the tremble in her limbs. "Next time," she warned, pointing the blade at his chest, "I won't let you win."

Lucien bowed his head slightly. "I'm counting on it."

Elsewhere in the Palace…

Valeria had never been a patient woman.

She moved through the east wing with the grace of a serpent, her gown flowing behind her like liquid shadow. Every servant she passed shrank from her gaze—but Valeria barely noticed.

Her mind was elsewhere.

On him.

On the emperor who had stopped coming to her bed. The man who now spent his nights tangled with that wild little brat—Estella.

The name burned her tongue.

But Valeria had never lost anything she wanted—and she didn't intend to start now.

By the time she reached Lucien's private chambers, the guards stepped aside without a word. Of course they did. She had earned the right to walk these halls.

And she would remind Lucien exactly why.

She found him standing by the window, the fading sunlight casting long shadows across his powerful frame. His tunic hung open, exposing the hard planes of his chest, and for a moment—just a moment—Valeria allowed herself to imagine her nails raking down his skin.

"Your Majesty," she purred, letting her voice drop into something sultry.

Lucien didn't turn. "What do you want, Valeria?"

Not "come in." Not "I missed you."

Her pride flared. She glided across the room, stopping just behind him. "I heard you've been…distracted lately." Her fingers skimmed down his arm, tracing slow, teasing circles. "I thought perhaps you needed a reminder of what you already have."

His shoulders tensed beneath her touch. "I don't need reminding."

"But you miss me," she whispered, leaning in until her breath brushed his neck. "I know you, Lucien. I know what you want."

Slowly, carefully, her hands slid lower—trailing over his chest. "Let me give it to you."

Lucien caught her wrist before she could go any further. "Stop," he said, his voice like ice.

Valeria's heart twisted, but her mask didn't slip. "I only want to please you," she murmured. "Like I always have."

Lucien finally turned to face her, his silver gaze cold. "I'm not yours to please."

The words hit harder than a slap.

Valeria forced a smile. "Is that what she tells you?" she asked softly. "That wild little girl? She's a distraction, Lucien. A toy. She doesn't understand you—not like I do."

Lucien stepped back, putting space between them. "Be careful, Valeria," he warned, his voice quiet but dangerous. "I've been patient with you. Don't test me."

Valeria swallowed the bitter taste of rejection, lifting her chin. "You'll come back to me," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "You always do."

Lucien didn't answer.

And as Valeria swept from the room, her heart burned with one thought.

If he wouldn't come back willingly—she'd make sure he had no other choice.