Chapter Twenty-Four: The Ball, the Rival, and the Queen in Waiting

The palace buzzed with anticipation as preparations for the Imperial Ball swept through every gilded corridor. Servants hurried with trays of polished silver and crates of imported wines. Tailors stitched their fingers raw as nobles ordered last-minute alterations for the event of the season.

But in Lucien's chambers—there was only heat.

And fire.

"You think you can tease me?" Lucien growled, his voice rough as he slammed Estella against the marble wall. "Flirting with Dorian like you want him to take you right there?"

Estella laughed softly—breathless but unyielding. "Jealousy looks good on you, Your Majesty," she purred, dragging her nails down his chest. "Maybe if you weren't so busy conquering empires, I wouldn't get bored."

Lucien's hand wrapped around her throat—not to choke, but to remind her who she was dealing with. "You're mine," he rasped, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "And tonight, I'll make sure no one—especially Dorian—ever forgets it."

"You talk too much," she taunted, her heart pounding against his palm. "Why don't you show me?"

Lucien's restraint snapped.

In one fluid motion, he lifted her into his arms, tearing the thin silk of her robe open. "You want rough?" he growled, dragging his teeth along her jaw. "I'll give you something to remember."

He pushed inside her without warning—deep, relentless, and completely unyielding.

"Fuck—" Estella gasped, her fingers digging into his back as pleasure crashed through her.

Lucien thrust harder, setting a punishing rhythm that had her body trembling against the cold stone. "You think Dorian could fuck you like this?" he demanded, his breath hot against her neck. "Make you moan like a desperate little slut?"

Estella bit her lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a scream. "Maybe I should let him try," she taunted.

His hand slid between her thighs, finding her swollen clit and rubbing with ruthless precision. "You'd break before he even got started," Lucien snarled. "Only I can handle you."

And when her release ripped through her—hot and shattering—he didn't stop. He chased his own pleasure, dragging her through a second orgasm until she was boneless in his arms.

When he finally pulled back, his silver eyes burned with possession. "Still bored, little rebel?"

Estella smirked, breathless but defiant. "Ask me after the ball."

The Night of the Ball…

The Imperial Ballroom glittered like something out of a dream.

Golden chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, casting soft, radiant light over the sea of nobles dressed in their finest silks and jewels. Musicians played a haunting melody, and the air was thick with the scent of roses and power.

But nothing—nothing—was as dazzling as Estella.

She stood at the top of the grand staircase, the crimson silk of her gown hugging every curve. Gold embroidery traced along her neckline and sleeves, shimmering like fire against her brown skin. Her black curls tumbled down her back, and the ruby pendant at her throat gleamed like blood.

Every eye turned toward her.

But only one gaze burned her from across the room.

Lucien.

The emperor stood at the base of the staircase, dressed in black and gold, a crown of midnight steel resting on his dark hair. He looked every inch a king—and from the hunger in his expression, it was clear he intended to remind her who owned her.

But Estella wasn't the type to be owned.

Especially not when there was another man watching.

Dorian.

He leaned casually against a marble pillar, dressed in dark red velvet—an arrogant smirk curving his lips. His eyes raked over her shamelessly, and when their gazes met, he lifted a wine glass in a silent toast.

The bastard knew exactly what he was doing.

"Are you planning to stand there all night," Lucien murmured, appearing at her side, "or do I have to carry you down?"

Estella smiled sweetly. "Tempting," she purred, taking his offered hand. "But I'd hate to ruin your grand entrance."

As they descended the staircase, the murmurs grew louder. Everyone knew exactly who she was. And tonight, she wasn't just a plaything.

She was a queen in everything but name.

Later That Evening…

The ball spun on—glittering and opulent—but Estella's focus never strayed far from the two men circling her.

Lucien, always close—always watching.

Dorian, lingering just far enough to be dangerous.

And when Lucien was pulled away by a councilor, Dorian seized his moment.

"You know," he murmured, offering her a glass of wine, "if you wanted a man who wasn't obsessed with power plays, you could've just asked."

Estella laughed softly, accepting the drink. "And here I thought you liked playing with fire."

Dorian's smile sharpened. "Only if I get burned." His gaze dropped to the bruise on her throat—faint but visible. "Rough night?"

"You could say that," she said, tilting her head. "Think you could do better?"

He stepped closer, his voice a low murmur against her ear. "I know I could."

A shiver ran down her spine—but before she could respond, a familiar, dangerous presence swept in behind her.

Lucien.

"Enjoying yourself?" His voice was soft—too soft—as he slid a hand around her waist.

Dorian didn't back down. "Immensely," he said, flashing that infuriating smile. "Your Majesty."

Lucien's grip on her waist tightened. "Careful," he warned. "I'm not in a generous mood tonight."

"Good," Dorian said smoothly. "Neither am I."

The tension between them crackled like lightning—dangerous, unpredictable.

And gods help her—Estella loved every second of it.

Later That Night…

The door to Lucien's chambers slammed shut behind them.

"You think this is a game?" he growled, backing her against the wall. "Flirting with him—taunting me in front of everyone?"

Estella smiled sweetly. "Jealousy makes you sloppy, Your Majesty."

His mouth crashed against hers—hard, punishing—as he pushed her onto the bed. "You want to push me?" he rasped. "Fine. But you'll be screaming my name when I'm done with you."

And when he dragged her beneath him, there was no more talking—just heat, pleasure, and a war neither of them was willing to lose.