The Mask of a Thousand Faces (lV)

Chapter 18: The Mask of a Thousand Faces (lV)

The Tainted Bloodline

At dusk a couple of hours after Noctis' mother's visit. Noctis received a summons from his father.

Fixing himself he strode out.

The walk to his father's study was measured. Noctis no longer walked like the forgotten heir of House Umbrael — he strode like a man accustomed to power. Each step echoed down the marble halls, his shoulders squared, his head held high. Servants lowered their gazes as he passed, and even the guards outside his father's door seemed to hesitate before granting him entrance.

Noctis did not miss it.

He liked it.

The mask's whispers still coiled in his skull, but he gritted his teeth and forced them down. He was still himself — he had to be.

A steward opened the door, and Noctis stepped inside.

The air in his father's study was heavy—thick with unspoken authority and veiled expectations. Noctis forced his breathing to steady as he stepped inside, the weight of the earlier conversation with his mother still clawing at his mind.

But he couldn't show weakness. Not now.

Duke Regulus Umbrael sat behind his vast mahogany desk, his broad shoulders squared, and his sharp, steel-gray eyes already pinned on Noctis. There was no warmth in them—only cold calculation.

"Close the door," his father ordered.

Noctis obeyed without hesitation, the sound of the latch clicking shut echoing like a verdict. When he turned, his face was composed, though the lingering touch of Lucien's mannerisms still seeped into his posture.

"Father." Noctis's voice carried a subtle authority—too strong for someone who had always been overlooked.

Regulus did not greet him. "Sit."

Noctis approached with deliberate ease, his gait unnaturally fluid, his back straight, chin raised. Even without meaning to, his presence commanded attention now.

His father noticed.

Noctis took his seat, crossing one leg over the other with predatory grace—another gesture Lucien would have done. He forced his hand to relax on his lap.

Regulus's gaze was piercing. "Do you know why I summoned you?"

Noctis met his stare unflinchingly. "I presume it's regarding Lucien."

A pause. Regulus leaned back, his fingers steepled. "It is."

Silence. The tension coiled tighter between them. Noctis did not flinch under his father's scrutiny, though he could feel his blood simmering beneath his skin—still tainted with the remnants of Lucien's presence.

"The court is ablaze with gossip," Regulus began, his voice like iron. "Lucien Umbrael. The prized heir of House Thorne. Reduced to nothing but a stammering, disgraced fool overnight."

Noctis maintained a mask of passive curiosity. "How unfortunate."

Regulus's eyes narrowed. "You were there."

The first crack of tension bloomed in Noctis's gut. He did not allow it to touch his face. "At the auction house? No. I was in the manor the entire evening."

A cold silence.

Regulus's stare sharpened, scrutinizing every flicker of movement in his son. "Are you certain?"

"Positive," Noctis answered smoothly. "If you'd like, I can summon Valen to confirm my whereabouts."

Regulus did not respond immediately. His silence was heavy, suffocating. Then, without warning, he rose from his chair and approached Noctis—slowly, methodically.

"Then explain something to me, son." His voice dropped an octave. "Why does your name now linger in court whispers?"

Noctis forced his body to remain still. "I don't follow."

"You." Regulus stopped directly behind Noctis, his presence looming. "A forgotten child of House Umbrael. An unremarkable son that the nobility has always ignored. Yet in one night… your name is on their tongues."

Noctis's pulse quickened. "Coincidence, perhaps."

"Coincidence," his father echoed mockingly. He stepped around, now standing directly in front of Noctis, gaze unwavering. "And your sudden shift in demeanor?"

Noctis froze internally. "I beg your pardon?"

Regulus's tone turned colder. "You walk differently. You speak differently. You hold the room when you enter. Even now—" His father gestured at Noctis's poised, predatory posture. "Your very presence reeks of influence."

A sliver of dread curled in Noctis's gut. He could feel Lucien's touch still curling in his bones, warping his natural instincts into something sharper—more commanding.

But he couldn't falter.

"I've merely matured," Noctis answered, his tone even.

Regulus chuckled lowly—humorless. "No. This is not maturity." His gaze darkened. "This is something else."

Silence. Noctis refused to break.

His father took a slow step closer. "Do you know what you are, Noctis?"

The words pierced through his composure. Noctis stiffened. "I don't understand."

Regulus leaned forward, his face mere inches from Noctis's. "I asked you—" his voice now a low snarl, "—do you know what you are?"

The air constricted. Noctis swallowed thickly. "I'm your son."

"Yes." Regulus's lips curled into something between a sneer and curiosity. "But do you know what flows in your veins?"

Noctis's throat ran dry. His mind—still splintered from the mask—recoiled. "Our bloodline."

"No," his father corrected coldly. "Your mother's bloodline."

The room seemed to darken.

Noctis's heartbeat thundered in his chest. "House Erevar—"

"Yes," Regulus interrupted sharply. "A house that should have died generations ago. Their blood—" his voice turned bitter, "—twisted, cursed, dangerous. And yet I married her. I married that bloodline into our house."

A beat of silence.

"And now I see it in you."

Noctis's pulse stuttered. "You're mistaken."

Regulus barked a harsh, bitter laugh. "Am I?" He gestured toward Noctis. "You think I didn't notice? The way you spoke to me just now. Your posture. Your stare. You didn't enter this room as Noctis."

His stomach turned cold. "You're imagining things."

"No." His father's voice was iron. "I've seen this before."

Noctis froze.

Regulus leaned closer, his breath cold against Noctis's ear. "In your mother. In her moments of rage—of ambition—when her will would bend those around her. It is not charisma, Noctis. It is blood. Cursed, tainted blood."

His father's words twisted like a knife in his chest.

"And you—" Regulus now glared down at him, "—are starting to reek of it."

Noctis's jaw clenched. His tongue felt heavy, his voice strained. "I don't know what you're implying."

"I'm implying," Regulus said coldly, "that you may have done something to Lucien."

Silence crushed the room.

Noctis's breath stilled. His hands curled into fists beneath the table. "That's absurd."

"Is it?" Regulus sneered. "One day, you were nothing. The next? You're spoken of as though you were born to command. Lucien falls, and suddenly my son steps into the light."

Noctis fought to keep his voice level. "I had no involvement."

"Don't lie to me," his father snapped.

Noctis's composure cracked. "I didn't touch Lucien!"

Silence.

The two men stared each other down, the room tense with something primal and unspoken.

And then… Regulus smiled coldly. "So you've awakened."

Noctis's breath hitched. "What?"

Regulus leaned closer. "The curse in your veins. The dormant power that House Erevar was once known for." His voice turned deathly quiet. "Your mother hid it well. But now I see it burning in you."

Noctis's throat tightened. "You're mistaken."

"I'm not." Regulus's gaze darkened. "And you will tell me—right now—what you did to Lucien."

Noctis's stomach lurched. His mind screamed—deny, deny, deny.

"I did nothing," he said through gritted teeth.

"You're lying." Regulus's voice was a whip. "I can smell it. You've tasted power, haven't you?"

Noctis's hands trembled. "I'm telling you—"

"You enjoyed it." His father's smile was now predatory. "Didn't you, Noctis? Watching Lucien crumble under your influence. Feeling control in your grasp."

Noctis's teeth clenched. "Stop."

Regulus leaned in. "You've become something else. I can feel it in your presence. I don't know how, but you unraveled Lucien."

"Stop it."

Regulus's grin widened. "Tell me. How did it feel?"

Noctis snapped. "I said stop!"

Silence.

The raw authority in his voice stunned even Regulus for a brief moment. Noctis's heart thundered. Lucien's influence still whispered in his skull—command, dominate, devour.

Regulus's eyes gleamed. "You see? It's already in you."

Noctis's breath was ragged. "I'm not him."

"No. But you could be." His father stepped back, his satisfaction unnerving. "I don't need Lucien gone, Noctis. I need a son who can command the world."

Noctis froze.

"And it seems," Regulus's smile sharpened, "you've finally stepped into that role."

The coldness in his father's voice made his blood curdle.

And for the first time—Noctis wondered if Lucien's shadow would ever leave him.

The silence following Noctis's outburst hung like a noose. His pulse thundered in his ears, and for one horrid moment, he feared his voice had carried something more than just anger—something primal. Something inherited.

Regulus did not flinch. He simply smiled—cold, calculating. "You see?" his voice was silk over steel. "It is already in you."

Noctis forced his fists to unclench. "You're mistaken." His voice sounded hollow, even to himself.

Regulus chuckled lowly. "Am I?" He circled the desk, his gait slow, predatory. "I watched you enter this room, son. You walked in like a prince, not a forgotten whelp." His gaze raked Noctis like a wolf surveying prey. "Even now, you suppress it—but I can feel it radiating off you like heat from a flame."

Noctis's throat tightened. "I am not like my mother."

"No," Regulus agreed, his smile deepening. "You are worse."

The words cut like ice.

Regulus stopped in front of him, looming like a dark monolith. "You think I married Selene out of affection?" he said coldly. "I married her for what she carried. That cursed bloodline—House Erevar—was a blight on the aristocracy. But their power?" His voice dipped into something akin to reverence. "That was undeniable."

Noctis's stomach turned. "You—"

"I wanted heirs," Regulus continued, unflinching. "Children who could inherit that same cursed power. I knew it lay dormant in you, Noctis. I merely assumed it would never awaken."

Noctis's mouth was dry. "So you knew."

Regulus scoffed. "Of course I knew. I watched it consume your mother in her youth. Before I bent her into something useful." His smile was razor-sharp. "But you? I thought you were a failure. A diluted vessel." His gaze burned now. "And yet—look at you."

Noctis's skin crawled. He felt Lucien's arrogance clawing at his veins again—the need to stand, to command, to dominate. He crushed it with sheer will. "You're delusional."

Regulus laughed softly. "Am I?" He turned his back to Noctis, striding toward the fireplace. "Lucien Umbrael has fallen. His father's alliance shattered. And now—" he turned back, his expression glinting with cruel satisfaction, "—you stand in the center of it all. The nameless son of House Umbrael, suddenly the most whispered name in the court and yet still hidden like a snake."

Noctis swallowed hard. "I had no hand in his fall."

"Deny it all you want my son," Regulus sneered. "I can smell it on you. The taste of power. The satisfaction of breaking a stronger man." He leaned forward, his voice now a low rasp. "How did it feel, Noctis? When you watched him crumble beneath your influence?"

Noctis's jaw tightened. "I said—stop."

But his father did not stop. His voice turned to dark silk. "Did you savor it? The way his will buckled beneath your words?" His grin widened. "Did it make you feel powerful?"

"I said stop!" Noctis's voice lashed like a whip, raw with barely restrained force.

Silence.

Regulus only smiled. "There it is."

Noctis froze, his pulse roaring.

"The blood," Regulus whispered. "You feel it now, don't you? It's waking. Twisting itself into your very bones." His voice held no fear—only dark, expectant delight. "The blood of House Erevar."

Noctis's breath quickened. "I am not my mother."

"No," Regulus agreed, his smile turning wolfish. "You're something far more useful."

The words made his stomach churn. "Useful?"

Regulus stepped forward until they were mere inches apart. "I will not tell a soul," he murmured.

The floor felt like it had dropped beneath Noctis. "What?"

His father smiled darkly. "I will not speak of your awakening. Nor your involvement with Lucien. Nor the… shift in your nature." His hand gestured vaguely toward Noctis's poised, almost predatory posture. "I will not name you a cursed child."

Noctis's chest tightened. "Why?"

Regulus leaned closer. "Because I need it."

The blood in Noctis turned to ice. "What?"

His father's smile was monstrous now. "This family has always been despised. We've been the mockery of the nobility since I married your mother. They've whispered House Umbrael is weak, diluted, irrelevant." His smile widened. "But you? You are the beginning of something else."

Noctis recoiled. "I'm not a weapon for you to use."

Regulus only laughed. "You already are."

Silence.

"You think I'm afraid of you," his father continued coldly. "I'm not. I'm thrilled. Finally—an heir worthy of bearing the Umbrael name."

Noctis's fingers trembled, his mind splintering. "You expect me to be your instrument?"

Regulus leaned forward. "No, Noctis. I expect you to become a king."

The words felt like venom sinking into his veins.

"I won't do it," Noctis said through clenched teeth.

His father only smiled. "You already are."

Noctis shot to his feet, his breath ragged. "I will not become a monster like you."

Regulus's smirk deepened. "Then why do you already wear the mask so perfectly?"

Noctis's blood ran cold. His father's gaze flicked toward his still-perfect posture, his commanding tone, the subtle predatory presence he now exuded—unconsciously inherited from Lucien.

"I don't…" Noctis faltered.

"Yes, you do," Regulus whispered. "The moment you sank Lucien, you ceased to be my overlooked son. You became the most dangerous creature in that court. And you did it effortlessly."

Noctis stumbled back, his chest heaving. "I didn't mean to—"

"But you did." Regulus's voice was dripping with dark triumph. "And you'll do it again. And again. Because the blood is awake now. And there is no putting it back to sleep."

Noctis's throat closed. "You—"

"And I will protect you," his father said, voice soft but sinister. "I will keep your secret. Not out of love—but because your power will elevate House Umbrael to dominance." His smile turned razor-sharp. "And you will do it, Noctis. Because you cannot help yourself."

Noctis's legs felt unsteady, his mind screaming for air. "You're wrong—"

"Am I?" his father sneered. "Then tell me. When Lucien crumbled… did you feel regret? Or did you feel power?"

Silence.

Noctis's mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

Regulus smiled. "Thought so."

And with that, his father turned away, as though the conversation was settled. "You may leave now, son."

Noctis stood frozen. His hands trembled. His vision swam. The mask's influence still clawed at his mind. Lucien's arrogance. His need to dominate.

And the horrifying part?

His father was right.

He had enjoyed it.

Noctis staggered out of the room, his father's parting words curling around his skull like a curse.

"You will become something monstrous, Noctis. And when you do—I will be waiting."