CHAPTER 39

The dawn of the next day brought the War Office envoys to Belfoire, swift and official. Two stern officers arrived, demanding custody of Nathaniel. Lucien, pale but resolute, delivered his bound cousin into their care. Nathaniel glared with unrepentant fury, hurling curses at Lucien, Vivienne, and Julian, claiming he'd escape eventually. The officers silenced him, hauling him into their carriage with guards in tow.

Vivienne watched from the manor steps, arms folded to still her trembling. The final orchestrator of the sabotage was gone. She felt relief overshadowed by pity that Lucien's own blood had stooped so low. The question now was whether the scars between them were beyond healing.

With the immediate crisis resolved, the War Office also recognized Julian's success in rooting out the conspiracy. He would need to travel to the capital soon, delivering a full report. Vivienne's role, though quietly acknowledged, remained discreet for her safety. Lucien's name was cleared—no charge of arms trafficking could stand against him now.

After the officers departed with Nathaniel, Lucien stood on the manor's front steps, staring at the empty drive. A hush draped the courtyard. Julian and Vivienne flanked him, uncertain what to say.

Finally, Lucien let out a shuddering exhale. "It's done," he murmured. "He's gone."

Julian set a hand on Lucien's shoulder. "I'm…sorry it had to be this way."

Lucien gave a curt nod, no words left. Then he turned, heading back inside. Vivienne and Julian exchanged glances, a shared sorrow for the burden he carried. They followed at a respectful distance.

Inside, the day slipped by in a blur of small tasks—Lucien issuing statements to local officials, Julian organizing the leftover evidence, Vivienne conferring with the staff to restore normalcy. By evening, an unnatural quiet settled. At dinner, the three of them gathered once more in the large dining room, no urgent plot overshadowing them—only the lingering weight of the past.

The meal began in near silence. Then, partway through the soup course, Julian cleared his throat. "I'll depart in two days for the capital," he announced quietly. "My superiors expect my debrief. After that…my future is uncertain."

Vivienne's stomach twisted. Lucien set down his spoon, gaze shuttered. "You're always free to come and go, Lord Wakefield." The formal title was pointed, but not hostile. "No doubt your next mission awaits."

Julian dipped his head. "Yes." A silence followed. He glanced at Vivienne, voice softening. "That leaves the question of…your future."

She inhaled shakily. "I suppose I should… I could return to my old life, or carve a new path. But—I don't want to simply vanish without resolution for us all." Her eyes flicked to Lucien. "If you'll have me remain, or—"

Lucien exhaled, tension brimming. "This manor was once your cage, in some sense. I would not force you to stay if it still feels so." He paused, swallowing thickly. "But nor do I wish to lose you. The choice is yours."

Vivienne's heart pounded. She turned to Julian, whose expression mirrored sorrow. "And you…?"

He mustered a faint smile. "I care for you. But my life is in flux. I can't offer stability right now." He hesitated. "I'd never stand in the way if you and Lucien can truly reconcile. And yet… I do love you, Vivienne."

Emotions erupted inside her, too tangled for words. She reached for her wine, sipping to buy time, tears pricking her eyes at how painfully honest both men had become. She finally set down the glass, voice trembling. "I love you both in different ways. But I know I can't cling to illusions. I owe it to myself—to each of you—to choose a path that's genuine, not built on false pretenses."

Lucien and Julian both looked at her, hearts in their eyes. She inhaled, tears slipping free. "Allow me a little time. Let me see if the memory of who I was with you, Lucien, can still exist without the deception. Let me see if, after your duties, Julian, you truly want a shared life or you prefer your solitary missions. Perhaps in a few weeks or months, we can meet again—decide with clearer minds."

A hush followed, thick with unspoken relief. The notion of not forcing an immediate choice, giving each other space and time, settled the jagged tension. Lucien slowly nodded. "A…sensible approach."

Julian bowed his head. "I accept that. We'll keep in contact, certainly." He turned to Lucien, offering a tentative hand. "Thank you, for your mercy and trust."

Lucien studied Julian's extended hand. For a tense second, Vivienne feared he'd refuse. Then, with a deep breath, Lucien clasped it, a look of grudging respect passing between them. "This…alliance was unexpected, but effective. Let's see if it can hold in peace as well as war."

A fragile smile tugged at Vivienne's lips. She reached over, placing her hand atop theirs, forming a brief triad of linked fingers. Perhaps, she thought, the impossible can be found in the spaces between betrayal and forgiveness.

They parted hands, each returning to their meal with lighter hearts. Outside, a gentle breeze rustled the manor's ancient oaks, as if the estate itself exhaled relief. The conspiracy was ended, Nathaniel removed from power. Now the final challenge lay in their personal heartbreak—a test that no cunning plan or swordsmanship could solve, only honesty and time.