CHAPTER 204: ONE MORE WORD.

Rowan’s voice broke the tense silence, each word falling like shards of glass.

"You think Darius Vale was merely a soldier? A loyal general of the crown? No, Lucien. He was the one who orchestrated half the lies that ruined you."

Lucien’s eyes narrowed, every line of his face sharp with suspicion. "Careful, Rowan. You speak as if you’ve forgotten your place."

But Rowan didn’t flinch. Instead, he stepped closer, his jaw set. "I remember my place better than you ever did. Do you even know why I came to your side all those years ago? Why I...of all people chose exile with you instead of comfort under Alden’s wing?"

Lucien’s hand twitched at his side, but he didn’t reach for his sword. Not yet. "Spit it out."

Rowan’s gaze flicked briefly to Liora. His eyes softened, then hardened again as though weighing whether she deserved the truth. At last, he said,

"Because your disgrace... was never yours to bear. The death of your wife...your fall from grace...it was Darius Vale who carried the knife and the lie. But it was your brother Alden who handed it to him."

Liora’s lips parted, disbelief written across her features. She turned to Lucien instinctively, but his expression was unreadable, carved from stone. Only the faint tremor in his jaw betrayed the storm building inside.

Lucien’s voice was low, dangerous. "You’re accusing the king?"

Rowan nodded once. "Not accusing. Telling you what I saw with my own eyes. That night, when the palace burned with whispers... I followed the trail. It led straight to Alden’s council chamber. Darius left it carrying orders. Orders meant to place blame on you."

For the first time, Lucien’s composure cracked. His breath left him in a sharp exhale, his fists clenching. He had suspected betrayal, yes, but not this. Not Alden,the brother he once shielded from their father’s wrath, the brother he thought had only cast him aside to protect the throne.

Liora’s hand brushed Lucien’s sleeve. Her touch was light, hesitant. "Lucien... if this is true, then everything you’ve carried your exile, your disgrace,it wasn’t fate. It was theft."

Rowan’s voice softened. "Exactly. You’ve been fighting shadows, when the enemy has been seated on the throne all along."

Lucien’s silence was more terrifying than rage. His light blue eyes, so like Alden’s, were colder than winter frost.

At last, he whispered, almost to himself...

"Then it seems my brother and I are destined for war."

The fire in the hearth crackled low, throwing restless shadows across the chamber. Darius’s voice carried a weight that seemed to press against the very air, every word dragging the truth closer.

"You want to know why the world calls you a murderer, Blackthorne?" His tone was sharp, but his eyes gleamed with something colder, knowledge. "Because lies are easier to believe when they come from blood."

Lucien’s fists clenched at his sides, the scar across his knuckles paling. "You dare..."

"No," Darius cut him off, his hand lifting with deliberate calm. "Tonight you’ll listen. She deserves to know, doesn’t she?" His gaze flicked toward Liora. "The girl thrown into the jaws of this curse without so much as a warning."

Liora’s heart hammered painfully in her chest. She wanted to deny it, to turn away, but her feet rooted her in place. "Tell me," she demanded, her voice trembling but resolute.

Darius leaned forward, shadows swallowing his features. "Lucien’s fall... was not born from bloodlust. It was crafted. His first wife, your queen’s cousin, wasn’t slain by his hand. She was poisoned, slowly, by a woman who shared her own blood. And when she died in his chambers, every shred of evidence pointed to him. Convenient, isn’t it?"

The room seemed to tilt. Liora’s breath caught. "You’re saying... someone framed him?"

Darius’s lips curled. "Not someone. The queen herself,Ellora Valcour. Her ambition was too sharp to tolerate competition, and Lucien’s wife threatened her hold over the king. Remove the rival, cast blame on the estranged brother... and the path cleared for her crown."

Lucien’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. His silence was answer enough.

But Darius wasn’t finished. He turned slightly, the firelight catching in his eyes like steel. "And as for my family... my sister paid the price of loyalty. When she refused to keep silent about what she uncovered, she was branded a traitor and sent to her death. The Vales have been in the shadows ever since, watching, waiting. The Blackthornes are not my enemies, girl. The Valcours are."

The words struck Liora like a blade to the chest. Her aunt’s cruel betrayal, Lucien’s disgrace, Darius’s vengeance they weren’t separate threads. They were strands of the same tapestry, woven by the Valcour hand.

Her throat tightened, and for the first time, she saw the storm in Lucien’s eyes not as wrath, but as grief.

The room fell into a silence so heavy it pressed against Liora’s chest. The fire snapped and spat sparks, but its warmth could not soften the chill that had descended.

Darius’ lips curved into a smile that carried no warmth.

"So... she doesn’t know, does she?" His eyes slid from Lucien to Liora, deliberate and cruel. "How fitting. The Blackthorne heir still hiding behind half-truths."

Liora’s throat tightened. Doesn’t know what?

Lucien’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing. The silence itself was an answer.

Darius took a step closer, his presence dark and magnetic, the shadow of an old wound resurrected. "Your wife thinks you were disgraced for rebellion, for a murder you claim you did not commit. That much is true, partly. But tell her, Lucien. Tell her whose blood stains your hands."

Lucien’s eyes snapped with restrained fury. "Enough."

But Darius only laughed, a low, rasping sound. "Oh no, brother. It’s time the little dove knows the truth. How her parents..." he tilted his head, watching Liora flinch..."died because of a Blackthorne’s ambition."

Liora froze. The words carved through her like steel. Her vision blurred, the floor tilting beneath her feet.

"My... parents?"

Her mind clawed for air, for clarity, but dread had already coiled tight in her chest. She turned toward Lucien, searching his face...pleading, demanding. "Lucien. What is he saying?"

For a heartbeat, Lucien said nothing. His hands fisted at his sides, veins tightening against his skin. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost hoarse.

"Liora... not now."

Her blood ran cold. "So it’s true?" Her voice cracked, a mixture of disbelief and betrayal. "You knew? You..." She broke off, her hands trembling, rage and grief colliding inside her.

Darius’ smile widened at the fracture opening between them. "There it is," he whispered, almost gleeful. "The truth always cuts deeper than the blade."

Lucien moved then, stepping between them, his stance protective yet rigid. "One more word, Darius, and I’ll silence you myself."

But the damage was already done.

Liora’s heart pounded against her ribs. A memory, hazy, fragmented, slipped into her mind: a flash of fire, her mother’s scream, her father’s shadow collapsing in the dark. And now, Darius’ words laced through it, turning the fragments into a weapon.

She staggered back, eyes never leaving Lucien.

"You’ve been hiding this from me... all this time?"

Lucien’s expression faltered, pain flickering in his gaze before he masked it. "It isn’t what you think."

But the seed of doubt had been planted, watered with every secret, every silence between them.

Lucien’s words hung in the air like smoke, fragile and choking.

"It isn’t what you think."

Liora’s hands shook at her sides, nails biting into her palms. "Then say it. Don’t hide behind silence. Don’t let him be the one to tell me who you are." Her voice broke, but it rose again, fueled by the terror twisting inside her. "Were you there the night my parents died?"

The chamber stilled. Even the fire seemed to bow to the weight of the question.

Lucien’s breath hitched, his mask faltering for just a heartbeat, and in that heartbeat, Liora saw the truth. Not the details, not the whole, but the guilt. The shadow that had clung to him from the very first moment they met.

Her chest ached, her voice trembling. "Gods, Lucien... you were."

He turned away, as though unable to face her breaking gaze. His silence was louder than any denial.

Darius’ laughter grated through the air. "You see, little dove? The man you cling to is no savior. He was forged from the same blood and fire that stole everything from you."

"Enough." Lucien’s voice snapped, ragged with fury and regret. He moved so suddenly that Darius flinched despite his arrogance, the chains rattling as he stepped back.

But Liora’s pain didn’t flinch. Her eyes glistened with tears that burned hotter than any blade. "You should have told me," she whispered. "You should have told me the truth the moment you saw me. Instead, you let me fall into this... into you."

Lucien’s gaze finally locked on hers, raw and unguarded. "And if I had?" His voice cracked, low and desperate. "If I had told you that the Blackthorne name, the name I bear, was tied to the night that shattered your life, would you have ever looked at me without hatred? Would you have let yourself stand at my side?"

Liora staggered back, breath catching on the edge of a sob. The answer trembled on her lips, but she couldn’t force it free. Because she didn’t know.

Darius, ever the viper, leaned forward, eyes glittering with malice. "She doesn’t need to answer, Blackthorne. You already know. Love built on lies cannot stand. And you’ve been lying since the moment she drew breath."

Lucien’s fist struck the table beside Darius, the sound echoing like thunder. "One more word and you’ll bleed where you sit."

But the fury couldn’t mask what Liora saw in him, the weight of truth, the shadow of sins he could not wash away.

Her voice was barely a whisper, but it cut deeper than Darius’ barbs.

"You let me trust you."

The chamber seemed smaller, the air thinner. Lucien’s chest rose and fell as though he were drowning, and for the first time in years, he looked, not like a fallen prince, not like a weapon sharpened by exile, but like a man terrified of losing the only thing left that mattered.