Chapter 11: Enter the Duke Villa

The grand halls of Eclis faded behind her as Seraphina stepped into her waiting carriage, the door shutting with a soft click. The warmth of the sanctum still clung to her skin, the ghost of Elias's touch lingering like an unshaken memory. She exhaled, smoothing her dress as the horses lurched forward, carrying her away from the holy grounds and into the night.

Ding.

A golden screen flickered into existence before her eyes.

[ROUTE SELECTION]

[Available Paths: Elias Montclair – Priest of Devotion (Active) / Lucien Duskbane – Duke of the Sunlit Villa (New)]

Her gaze flicked to Elias's name. His rating was high, but—

[Current Rating: 89]

[One Point Missing to Unlock Next Phase]

Seraphina narrowed her eyes. Tch. So close.

Still, the system reassured her.

[Additional Interactions Will Secure Next Threshold.]

That was enough for now. She would return to Elias later—there was no doubt in her mind that their paths would cross again.

Her fingers hovered over the glowing selection before she tapped Lucien Duskbane.

[Route Selected: Lucien Duskbane – Duke of the Sunlit Villa.]

As soon as she made her choice, another notification appeared.

[ITEM OBTAINED]

[Celestial Tear – Effect Unknown]

Seraphina frowned. A magical item with an unidentified effect? The system rarely handed out rewards without reason. She traced her fingers over the glowing sigil before it vanished, storing itself in her inventory.

She would worry about that later.

For now, her destination was clear—Lucien's sunlit villa awaited.

The moment Seraphina's finger tapped Lucien Duskbane – Duke of the Sunlit Villa, the world around her blurred.

A rush of golden light engulfed her, her vision distorting as if she had stepped through a veil between worlds. Her breath hitched as gravity tilted—one moment she was in the carriage, the next, her feet touched solid ground.

Warmth.

A gentle breeze stirred the hem of her gown, carrying the scent of fresh citrus and sun-drenched flowers. The golden glow faded, revealing a breathtaking sight before her.

The Sunlit Villa.

It was nothing like the cold grandeur of the Celestial Palace or the somber, candlelit sanctum of Elias's domain. Instead, sprawling marble columns stretched toward the sky, covered in vibrant vines, their leaves rustling softly. A grand courtyard opened before her, sunlight streaming through high-arched windows that reflected the afternoon glow. The entire estate was bathed in warmth, a place of leisure and refined beauty rather than oppressive authority.

Seraphina barely had time to regain her composure before a familiar voice, smooth yet slightly amused, reached her ears.

"Now this is a surprise."

Lucien Duskbane stood at the entrance of the villa, dressed in a relaxed white shirt with the top buttons undone, his tailored vest hugging his lean frame. His deep blue eyes flickered over her in intrigue. "I was under the impression that I would be the one paying you a visit someday. And yet… here you are."

Seraphina straightened, recalling the pretext she had used to justify this visit. Information. That was always the safest way to establish herself in each of their lives. Every man needed something to keep the kingdom running smoothly, and she was the only one who could provide it.

And yet—her body still hummed with the aftereffects of system transfer, the faintest remnants of magic tingling along her skin.

Lucien stepped closer, his movements as easy as a man indulging in idle curiosity. The sunlight caught in his dark hair, making the strands glint like silk. His gaze, sharp and knowing, held an unspoken question.

Seraphina inhaled slowly, steadying herself. She had come here for a reason.

But somehow, under his gaze, it suddenly felt as though Lucien had been expecting her all along.

For a man with such a formidable reputation, Lucien Duskbane lived in a place that spoke of comfort rather than power.

Seraphina had come here under the pretense of forming an alliance, a carefully crafted reason to approach the enigmatic Duke. She needed his support—his influence, his neutrality in the kingdom's endless political games. He wasn't someone who played by the usual rules of nobility, and that made him unpredictable.

She had expected an aloof, untouchable figure. Someone difficult to sway.

But from the moment the doors had opened, she realized Lucien was nothing like what she had prepared for.

The air inside was warm, carrying the faint scent of leather-bound books and aged wine. Sunlight streamed through arched windows, casting golden patterns across polished wooden floors.

And there he was.

Lucien Duskbane, Duke of the Western Province, stood at the far end of the drawing room, lazily swirling a glass of deep crimson wine between his fingers.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, his lean frame dressed in an open-collared white shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and dark riding trousers that clung to muscular legs. His black hair was slightly tousled, as if he had just run a hand through it, and his piercing blue eyes fixed on her with unreadable interest.

Seraphina had seen handsome men before, but there was something unrushed about Lucien. He didn't impose. He didn't command attention like a warlord or a prince. He simply existed in his own space, and the world adjusted to him.

"Lady Seraphina," he drawled, voice smooth as silk. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Pleasure.

The word shouldn't have sent warmth curling in her stomach, but the way he said it—lazily, knowingly, as if she had already fallen into his hands—made something tighten inside her.

She straightened her spine, forcing herself to remember her purpose. "I came to discuss a proposition with you."

Lucien arched a brow. "A proposition?" He set his glass down on a nearby table and leaned against the edge, arms folding across his broad chest. "That sounds dangerously intriguing."

Seraphina exhaled. This was not going to be easy.

She had meant to keep things formal, but Lucien had a way of unraveling structure.

Instead of a stiff diplomatic talk, the conversation turned fluid, teasing, effortless.

"You're quite bold, visiting me alone," he remarked, a smirk playing at his lips.

"I assume you're not the type to take advantage of an unaccompanied lady," she countered, lifting a brow.

Lucien chuckled. "Depends on the lady. And how much she tempts me."

The casual flirtation should have annoyed her, but instead, it left her stomach fluttering.

She had tried to steer the talk back to business, but Lucien was maddeningly unpredictable. He poured them both wine, leading the conversation wherever he pleased, always watching her with those intent blue eyes.

At some point, she found herself laughing—genuinely, without pretense.

That was the first mistake.

The second was letting herself relax.

The third was when he reached out, brushing his fingers over hers as she took the wine glass.

It was the lightest touch. Barely there.

But the moment it happened, something shifted between them.

The air thickened.

Seraphina felt it—the slow, curling awareness of something forbidden, something inevitable.

Lucien tilted his head slightly, studying her. Like a cat watching a bird that had unknowingly stepped too close.

She swallowed. "Duke Duskbane—"

"Lucien," he corrected softly, fingers grazing her wrist now. "Since we're drinking together, I think we can drop the titles, don't you?"

Her pulse jumped. She should have drawn her hand away. She should have stopped this.

But she didn't.

And Lucien noticed.

A knowing gleam flickered in his eyes before he spoke again, voice lower now. "Seraphina," he said her name like a test, watching how it felt in his mouth.

She exhaled slowly, trying to steel herself. But it was useless.

She was already caught.

She wasn't sure who moved first.

One moment, she was standing. The next, she was pressed against the velvet couch, Lucien above her, his body caging her in.

His hand cupped her cheek, thumb stroking along the curve of her jaw. "You should tell me to stop," he murmured, though he didn't move away.

Seraphina's breath hitched. "I should."

"Then do it."

She didn't.

A slow, dangerous smirk curled his lips before he kissed her.

And gods, he kissed her like he had been waiting for this moment for years.

His lips slanted over hers, slow at first—coaxing, teasing, giving her the chance to pull away.

But when she didn't, he deepened it.

His tongue brushed against hers, sending shivers racing down her spine. His hands slid lower, tracing the curve of her waist, possessive but unhurried, as if savoring every inch of her.

Seraphina gasped when he pressed against her, the hard lines of his body making heat pool between her legs.

Lucien growled—a sound deep in his chest, pure male satisfaction at her reaction.

And then he was everywhere.

His lips trailed down her throat, sucking, biting, leaving marks—evidence that this moment was real, undeniable.

His hands found the laces of her dress, loosening them, fingers grazing bare skin.

Seraphina was drowning—in the heat of his mouth, the strength of his grip, the scent of him, woodsmoke and spice and something inherently Lucien.

He pulled her onto his lap, one arm wrapping around her waist, holding her against him.

Her breath stuttered as his hands slid beneath the fabric, cupping her breasts, kneading, teasing, making her arch into him.

"Lucien—" she gasped, hands fisting in his shirt.

His mouth was at her ear now, his breath hot against her skin. "Say my name like that again," he murmured, voice pure sin.

And then he rolled his hips against her, making her entire body shudder with pleasure.

A whimper escaped her lips, her head falling against his shoulder as he kept moving, slow and deliberate, until she was clinging to him, unable to do anything but feel.

Lucien chuckled against her skin.

"You're beautiful like this," he murmured, his fingers still working her sensitive peaks, his mouth trailing fire wherever it touched.

Seraphina could barely think. Could barely breathe.

All she knew was this moment.

And the fact that she never wanted it to end.

The air was thick with heat, the golden sunlight casting long streaks across the wooden floor. The scent of ink, parchment, and something distinctly Lucien filled her senses as she found herself pinned between him and the heavy mahogany desk.

Seraphina barely had time to react before Lucien's mouth was on hers, fierce and demanding, stealing her breath in a kiss that left no room for hesitation.

It wasn't careful. It wasn't slow.

It was pure, unfiltered hunger.

She gasped against him, fingers tangling into his dark locks as he tilted her head back, deepening the kiss with a low, satisfied hum. His hands roamed her body with knowing precision, tracing the curve of her waist before gripping her hips, pulling her against him until there was nothing between them but heat and the fabric of their clothes.

"You—" she tried to speak, but Lucien silenced her with another kiss, his teeth grazing her lower lip before sucking it between his own.

"Shh," he murmured, voice rough with desire. "No thinking. Not now."

His lips traced a path down her neck, hot and teasing, sucking just hard enough to make her tremble. Seraphina's breath came out in shallow pants, her head falling back as his hands slid beneath the fabric of her gown, fingertips dragging fire across her bare skin.

She should stop this. She should say something, anything—

But she didn't.

Didn't want to.

Lucien's hands tightened around her thighs as he lifted her onto the desk with effortless strength, pushing her legs apart as he stepped between them. The hard edge of the wood bit into her, but she barely noticed—not when his mouth was on her collarbone, not when his fingers were teasing the sensitive skin just beneath the hem of her gown.

"Lucien—"

"Say my name again," he commanded, voice dark and rich.

She did.

And he rewarded her with a sharp nip at her pulse point, his tongue soothing the sting a moment later.

The tension between them crackled like a live wire, too intense, too consuming. The playful smirk he so often wore was gone, replaced by something deeper—something that sent a thrill racing down her spine.

He wanted her.

And gods help her, she wanted him just as badly.

Lucien leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Tell me to stop."

Seraphina met his gaze, those deep blue eyes dark with unspoken promises.

She didn't.

And in that moment, she knew—there was no turning back