Chapter Twenty-Two: The Rebel Won’t Kneel

The next morning, sunlight spilled across Lucien's chambers, warm and golden—but there was nothing soft about the tension in the air.

Estella stretched beneath the silk sheets, her body still thrumming from the night before. Lucien hadn't been gentle—not after the stunt she pulled in the grand hall. And gods, she'd loved every second of it.

But if he thought one night of rough sex would tame her, he was delusional.

She rolled onto her side, watching as he dressed. The black tunic fit him far too well—clinging to broad shoulders and muscle like a second skin. It would've been a shame to ruin it.

Not that it would stop her.

"You know," she mused, propping her chin on her hand, "for a man who likes to throw his power around, you're surprisingly easy to manipulate."

Lucien stilled, fastening the silver clasp at his throat. "Is that so?" His voice was dangerously calm.

Estella smiled sweetly. "I mean, I ask you to slap your favorite concubine, and you just…do it. Where's the challenge in that?"

His silver eyes locked onto hers, dark and unreadable. "You think you're clever," he murmured, crossing the room in slow, measured steps. "But you forget, little rebel—I let you play these games."

"Let me?" Estella scoffed, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "You didn't seem in control when I had you buried between my thighs last night."

Lucien's laugh was low, dangerous. "Careful," he warned, his fingers brushing over the fresh bruise he'd left on her neck. "Unless you want another reminder of who's in charge."

Estella tilted her head, refusing to look away. "You keep saying you're in charge," she drawled. "But I'm still standing. Still talking back. Still making you lose your temper."

His grip on her jaw tightened—firm, unyielding. "You're walking a fine line," he murmured. "Push me too far, and I'll break you."

She laughed softly, leaning in until her mouth brushed his ear. "You wish you could break me, Your Majesty," she whispered. "But we both know you like me just the way I am—wild, mouthy, and completely out of your control."

For a heartbeat, she thought he might snap.

But instead of striking back with words or teeth, Lucien did something far more dangerous—he smiled.

"Maybe," he admitted, his voice smooth and lethal. "But don't mistake my patience for weakness."

Before she could respond, he released her and turned toward the door. "Get dressed," he ordered, his tone clipped. "The council meeting starts in an hour, and you're coming with me."

Estella leaned back on her elbows, her smile wicked. "Afraid I'll get bored without you?"

Lucien paused in the doorway, his silver eyes flashing with a challenge. "No," he said quietly. "I'm afraid if I leave you alone, I'll come back to a dead concubine."

Estella's laugh followed him as the door shut behind him.

He wasn't wrong.

---

The Council Chamber…

Estella hated politics.

She lounged in the chair beside Lucien's throne, her chin propped on her hand as the council droned on about taxes, trade routes, and other boring shit that had nothing to do with her.

Lucien, of course, looked perfectly at ease—like he was born to rule over these insufferable idiots. But every now and then, his gaze would slide to her, heavy with unspoken threats.

And Estella? She made sure to smirk every time.

"Your Majesty," one of the older councilors finally said, adjusting his gilded robe. "There's still the matter of the western provinces. They're refusing to pay tribute—again."

Lucien's fingers tapped a slow rhythm against the armrest. "Send a message," he said coldly. "If they won't pay in gold, they'll pay in blood."

Estella raised a brow. "So dramatic," she muttered under her breath. "Why not just send a fruit basket?"

A hush fell over the chamber.

Every eye turned to her.

Lucien, to his credit, didn't react immediately. But when he did speak, his voice was soft—dangerously soft. "Would you prefer I ask nicely, little rebel?"

Estella shrugged. "Might save you the trouble of another uprising."

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

Then—Lucien laughed. A low, wicked sound that sent chills down the spines of everyone present. "Perhaps I should let you negotiate," he mused. "I'm sure your charm would work wonders."

Estella smiled sweetly. "You're finally catching on."

The councilors looked ready to faint.

Valeria, sitting at the far end of the chamber, looked like she wanted to burn Estella alive.

Good.

Let her stew.

---

Later That Day…

Lucien didn't speak as they walked back to his chambers. The tension between them crackled—thick and electric.

"You're enjoying yourself," he said quietly once they were alone.

Estella perched on the edge of his desk, swinging her legs. "Shouldn't I?" she teased. "I mean, what's the point of power if you don't use it?"

Lucien's expression darkened as he stepped closer, his hands braced on either side of her thighs. "You're testing me," he murmured, dragging his fingers up her legs.

"Always," she said, her breath hitching.

His lips brushed her jaw, his voice a rough whisper. "One day, Estella—I'm going to push back. And when I do, you won't be able to walk for days."

Her heart pounded, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch. "Promises, promises," she taunted.

Lucien's mouth claimed hers—hard, punishing—before he pulled back. "You should be grateful I'm in a forgiving mood."

Estella smirked, sliding her fingers through his hair. "Your Majesty, if this is forgiveness, I'd hate to see your idea of punishment."

Lucien laughed softly, but his grip on her thighs tightened—just enough to make her gasp. "Oh, you'll see," he promised darkly. "Soon."

And gods help her—she couldn't fucking wait.

---

Meanwhile…

Valeria stood outside the chamber doors, her nails digging into her palms.

Her cheek still throbbed from where Lucien had struck her—and the memory burned worse than the pain.

Estella thought she had won.

But Valeria wasn't done. Not yet.

And when she made her next move, it wouldn't just be a slap.

It would be war.