Chapter Twenty-Five: Blood and Desire

The air in the Imperial Training Grounds grew thick—charged with the weight of something dangerous.

Lucien stood in the center of the sparring ring, his black tunic stretched taut across his chest as he rolled his wrists, testing the weight of the sword the captain handed him. The soldiers watching fell silent—because when the emperor fought, blood always followed.

And gods, he wanted blood today.

A Crown of Shadows and Starlight

Chapter Twenty-Five: Blood and Desire (Continued)

Dorian leaned against a marble column at the edge of the ring, still shirtless from his own training session. The golden sunlight spilled across his broad chest, making every defined muscle gleam. But it was the arrogance in his smile—the wicked gleam in his eyes—that set Lucien's blood on fire.

Estella, standing nearby in a crimson gown that clung to every curve, tilted her head and smirked as the tension between the two men thickened. She knew exactly why Lucien had dragged her here—and she wasn't about to stop him.

Dorian pushed off the column and strolled toward the ring with that infuriating, lazy confidence. "I must admit," he drawled, accepting a sword from the captain, "I never expected you to invite me to play, Your Majesty."

Lucien's grip tightened on his sword, his knuckles white. "This isn't play," he said coldly. "Consider it a warning."

Dorian laughed softly, swinging his blade in an easy arc. "For what? Appreciating your taste?" His gaze slid to Estella, lingering just long enough to make Lucien's jaw clench. "Can you blame me?"

Lucien didn't answer. He lunged.

The clash of steel rang through the courtyard as their swords collided. There was no testing, no polite circling. This wasn't a sparring match—it was a battle. And both men were out for blood.

Dorian moved like liquid shadow—quick, agile, and too damn smooth—but Lucien was sheer power. Every strike he delivered was precise and brutal, forcing Dorian back step by step.

Estella leaned against the rail, her pulse quickening as she watched them. She should have been worried—but instead, a wicked thrill curled through her veins. Two kings, fighting over her. And gods, she loved every second of it.

"You're slower than I remember," Dorian taunted, barely dodging a slash aimed at his ribs. "Too much time behind a throne?"

Lucien didn't respond, but the next strike came faster—dangerously fast. Dorian blocked it, but the force sent him staggering. For the first time, the smile slipped from his face.

"You think this is a game?" Lucien asked softly, his tone too calm. Too deadly. "You think I don't know why you're here?"

Dorian tilted his head, blood dripping down his cheek where Lucien's sword had grazed him. "I came for trade," he said, still smiling. "I'm staying for…other reasons."

Lucien's silver eyes burned like cold fire. "Touch her," he warned, his voice low, lethal. "And I'll break every bone in your body."

Dorian didn't flinch. If anything, his smile grew sharper. "Is that a threat?"

Lucien stepped closer, his sword dragging along the ground. "No," he said softly. "It's a promise."

The crowd of soldiers watching shifted uneasily—but Estella? She smiled. She wanted this. The heat, the violence, the way Lucien's control frayed around her.

Dorian's gaze flicked to her, full of unspoken promises. "Maybe she doesn't want to be owned," he mused. "Maybe she wants something…more."

Lucien's blade was at his throat in an instant. "Say another word," he growled, "and I'll cut out your tongue."

Dorian laughed softly, stepping back. "Touchy," he said, flashing a wicked grin. "I'll see you at the ball tonight. Assuming you're not too busy keeping your little rebel on a leash."

Lucien didn't react. Not outwardly. But Estella could see it—the way his fingers twitched on the hilt of his sword, the way his shoulders tensed as if restraining himself from shoving his blade straight through Dorian's chest.

Estella, meanwhile, was thoroughly amused.

"Careful, Your Highness," she purred, stepping closer to Dorian. "You might make the emperor think you actually have a death wish."

Dorian's eyes gleamed with something dangerously close to mischief. "Who's to say I don't?"

The tension in the courtyard crackled like a storm.

Lucien exhaled slowly, reigning in his temper. Then, in a single smooth motion, he turned on his heel and walked out of the ring. "This conversation is over," he said coldly, handing his sword back to the captain.

Estella watched him leave, her pulse still thrumming from the fight, before turning back to Dorian. "You really shouldn't provoke him," she mused. "He's not known for his mercy."

Dorian smiled. "Neither am I."

Then, with a lazy bow, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Estella alone with the heavy weight of what had just happened.

Tonight's Imperial Ball was going to be very, very interesting.

---

Later That Night…

The Imperial Ballroom shimmered under the golden glow of a thousand lanterns. The air was thick with music, laughter, and the clinking of crystal goblets. Nobles draped in silks and jewels twirled across the polished marble floors, their movements elegant and practiced.

But despite the glamour of the evening, all eyes were on one woman.

Estella.

She stood at the top of the grand staircase, draped in deep crimson silk, the fabric hugging every curve. Golden embroidery wove intricate patterns along the neckline and sleeves, glittering like fire in the candlelight. Her long black curls cascaded down her back, wild and untamed, and the ruby pendant at her throat gleamed like blood.

She was a vision. A queen in everything but name.

And she knew it.

Lucien stood at the bottom of the staircase, dressed in black and gold, his presence a dark storm against the gilded splendor of the ballroom. His silver eyes locked onto her the moment she appeared, burning with a possessiveness that made her pulse quicken.

But just as she descended the first step, another figure appeared beside Lucien.

Dorian.

Dressed in deep red velvet, he looked every inch a rival king. His dark hair was tied loosely at the nape of his neck, his golden skin glowing under the soft candlelight. And when he saw Estella, his lips curled into a slow, wicked smile.

Perfect.

She took her time walking down the steps, enjoying the weight of their gazes. Let them watch. Let them burn.

By the time she reached the bottom, Lucien extended a hand. "Dance with me," he commanded, his voice smooth but edged with something dangerous.

Estella smirked but didn't take his hand immediately. "Are you asking, Your Majesty?"

Lucien's fingers twitched. "I don't ask."

"And that," she purred, stepping past him, "is why I'm saying no."

The air around them went deathly still.

A muscle in Lucien's jaw clenched—but before he could react, another hand was offered to her.

Dorian.

"Then dance with me instead," he said smoothly, his smile full of wicked challenge.

Estella hesitated for only a moment—just long enough to feel Lucien's fury coil around her like a storm. Then, with a sweet, sacrilegious smile, she took Dorian's hand.

Lucien said nothing.

But the way he watched her as Dorian led her onto the dance floor?

It was deadly.

---

The Dance of the Damned

Dorian was dangerously good at dancing.

He moved with effortless grace, his hands firm yet teasing as they guided her across the ballroom. The violins sang, the candlelight flickered, and Estella could feel the weight of Lucien's gaze burning into her with every step she took.

"You enjoy making him suffer," Dorian murmured, his breath warm against her ear as he spun her.

Estella's lips curled. "And you don't?"

Dorian chuckled. "Oh, I enjoy many things." His grip on her waist tightened slightly, fingers brushing over the exposed skin of her back. "But watching you defy him?" He leaned closer, his lips just grazing her cheek. "That might be my new favorite."

Estella's pulse spiked, but she refused to be the one who lost control first.

"Careful, Your Highness," she whispered, tilting her head so their lips nearly touched. "Lucien might take your head for this."

Dorian smiled against her skin. "Then I'd die happy."

Before she could respond, the music slowed to a halt.

And when Estella turned—Lucien was right there.

He had moved so silently, so predatorily, that she hadn't noticed him closing in. Now, he stood just inches away, his silver eyes dark with possession and rage.

"Dorian," Lucien said, his voice smooth. "Leave."

Dorian chuckled but didn't step away. "Now, now," he mused. "Is that any way to treat a guest?"

Lucien didn't blink. "The next time you touch what's mine," he said quietly, "I'll break your fucking hands."

The room tensed, nobles whispering behind their fans, waiting for someone to strike first.

Estella, of course, couldn't help herself.

She dragged her fingers down Dorian's chest—just a soft, teasing touch, but enough to make Lucien's eyes darken dangerously.

"Yours?" she mused, tilting her head. "I don't recall being anyone's property."

Lucien's control snapped.

In a single, fluid motion, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her against him—hard. His mouth crashed onto hers, his kiss punishing, possessive, and utterly merciless.

Estella gasped against his lips, her fingers digging into his chest as he claimed her in front of everyone. The ballroom fell silent—shocked whispers filling the air.

But she didn't pull away.

She kissed him back. Fiercely. Unapologetically.

By the time he broke away, his breathing was ragged, his grip on her waist bruising.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice rough with jealousy and hunger. "Say it."

Estella, still breathless, smiled wickedly.

"Make me."

Lucien's silver eyes blazed.

"Oh," he promised, lifting her into his arms right there in front of the entire court. "I plan to."

And as he carried her out of the ballroom, past the stunned nobles, past a smirking Dorian—Estella knew one thing for certain.

This night was far from over.