CHAPTER 205: TRUTH SPOKEN

The study fell into a silence that seemed louder than any accusation. Liora’s knuckles were white where she gripped the edge of her chair, her mind spinning with Rowan’s betrayal and the Queen Dowager’s hidden hand.

Lucien stood still, every inch of him a coiled storm. But then...without warning, he turned sharply, striding toward the door.

"Lucien..." Liora called after him, rising quickly.

He didn’t look back. "There’s only one person who can confirm this without twisting the truth. If she truly played both sides, then she must face me."

Liora’s breath caught. "You mean... the Queen Dowager?"

His jaw flexed, eyes burning with the kind of resolve that had once made him feared across the empire. "Yes. If Lilian used my disgrace to shield the crown, then she owes me her confession. No more whispers. No more riddles. She will speak to me directly."

Liora hesitated. She had seen the Queen Dowager once from afar, dignified, untouchable, with eyes that seemed to see through everything and everyone. The thought of facing her made her chest tighten. "And if she denies it?" she whispered.

Lucien finally looked at her, and in his eyes she saw something sharper than vengeance: certainty. "Then we make her admit it."

That evening, under the cover of night, Lucien and Liora slipped into the shadowed corridors of the old palace wing, the part of the fortress where Queen Dowager Lilian kept her private chambers. Guards patrolled lazily, their loyalty more symbolic than necessary, for few dared disturb the queen mother’s solitude.

Liora pressed close to Lucien as he led her through an unused servant’s passage. The air smelled of stone and dust, and her heartbeat thundered with every creak of the floor beneath them.

At last, they reached the inner sanctum: a pair of ornate doors carved with lilies, the Queen Dowager’s emblem. Candles glowed faintly inside, their light seeping through the cracks.

Lucien didn’t hesitate. He pushed the doors open.

Inside, Queen Dowager Lilian sat at a writing desk, draped in silver silk, her pale hair braided with pearls. She did not startle at their intrusion. Instead, she looked up slowly, as if she had been expecting them.

"My wayward grandson," she said, her voice calm as still water. Her gaze slid to Liora, lingering with unnerving sharpness. "And the girl fate insists on tying to you. How long, I wondered, before you would come?"

Lucien strode forward, his presence filling the chamber. "You knew." His voice was a blade, each word cutting. "You knew I was innocent of that massacre. You let them condemn me to protect the crown."

The Queen Dowager’s expression didn’t falter. "I knew," she admitted softly.

Liora inhaled sharply. The calmness of the confession made her knees weaken.

Lucien’s hands curled into fists. "And you said nothing? You let me be branded a murderer? You let me bury my wife while the court spat on her grave?"

The queen dowager’s eyes glistened with something too complex to be pity. "Because, Lucien, one life, yours or hers, was worth less than the kingdom’s stability. If Alden’s throne had cracked then, the empire would have bled."

Lucien stared at her, rage and disbelief warring in his face. Liora, though, felt something else: a chill creeping up her spine. Because the Queen Dowager wasn’t lying. She truly believed it.

And worse, she hadn’t finished speaking.

"Besides," Lilian said, her voice dropping, "there is more to your disgrace than even you know."

The carriage ride back to Blackthorne Manor was silent. The air between Lucien and Liora was thick, not just with the echoes of Darius’s cryptic words, but with the weight of truths neither of them had fully grasped.

Lucien sat rigid, his gloved hand drumming against his knee, eyes fixed on the rain-slick streets beyond the window. Liora stole a glance at him, noting the tightness in his jaw and the way his shoulders carried both fury and restraint.

At last, she spoke.

"Lucien... You knew him before tonight."

His gaze snapped to her, sharp as a blade. "I did."

"And yet, you never mentioned him. Not once."

Lucien’s mouth curved into something between a smile and a grimace. "There are many things I have not told you, Liora. For your sake."

"For my sake?" she echoed, heat rising in her tone. "Or because you don’t trust me?"

The carriage lurched to a halt at the gates. He leaned closer, shadows cutting across his face in the dim lantern light.

"Do not mistake silence for mistrust. Some truths, once spoken, cannot be undone."

The driver opened the door, breaking the tension. Lucien stepped out, offering his hand with a courtesy that felt more like a command than kindness. She hesitated before taking it.

Inside the manor, the fire burned low. Rowan Vale was waiting in the study, a half-empty glass of brandy in his hand. He rose when he saw them.

"Well?" Rowan’s voice carried an edge of impatience. "What did Darius give us?"

Lucien removed his gloves slowly, as if each movement kept his anger leashed. "He gave us nothing but riddles."

Rowan frowned. "And you expected more from a man like him?"

Liora interjected before Lucien could snap back. "He knows something. About the massacre. About... your wife."

The room stilled. Even the fire seemed to quiet.

Rowan’s eyes flickered between them, then settled on Lucien. "If that’s true, then we can’t let him slip away again. He’s playing his own game, and if you’re not careful..."

Lucien cut him off, his voice low and dangerous. "I will not be played."

Liora, emboldened by the fire in her chest, stepped forward. "Then let me help. He looked at me tonight as though he knew my parents. He said things only someone involved would know."

Both men turned toward her. Rowan’s expression was wary, but Lucien’s was unreadable, his eyes a storm.

Finally, he spoke. "Then it seems fate has tied us all to Darius Vale. You to your past, me to my disgrace, and Rowan to his secrets."

Rowan stiffened, but Lucien didn’t give him the chance to reply. He moved closer to Liora, his gaze locked on hers.

"Tomorrow," Lucien said, "we hunt for answers. And if Darius truly holds the key..." His hand lingered at her arm, a rare gesture of grounding rather than control. "...then we will tear it from him."

The torches along the walls sputtered as Lucien and Liora stepped out of Rowan’s chambers, the echo of Darius’s words still lodged like splinters beneath their skin. The corridor felt colder, heavier, as if the stone itself carried the weight of secrets long buried.

Lucien’s jaw was rigid, but his hand brushed Liora’s briefly, so fleetingly she wondered if she had imagined it. He did not speak until they reached the outer courtyard, where the night pressed close around them.

"He was telling the truth," Lucien said at last, his voice low. "About the Council. About the night she died."

Liora searched his face. Shadows carved his cheekbones into sharper edges, but there was something raw beneath his controlled mask. "And what about you? Did you... suspect them all this time?"

Lucien’s silence was answer enough.

Before she could push further, a sound cut through the night: the rhythmic stamp of boots. A small contingent of palace guards entered the courtyard, carrying lanterns. At their front was Captain Aldric, a hawk-eyed soldier loyal to King Alden. His gaze landed on Lucien with too much familiarity and too much disdain hidden beneath protocol.

"Lord Blackthorne," Aldric said, his tone clipped. "The King requests your presence. At once."

Lucien’s lips curved in a humorless smile. "Requests," he echoed. "How gracious of my brother."

Aldric’s eyes flicked to Liora. "The summons was for you alone."

Lucien stepped closer to Liora, his body a shield, though his expression was careless. "Then she comes with me. Unless you plan to drag me there in chains, Aldric."

The tension sharpened like a blade. For a moment, Liora thought the captain might test him. But then Aldric inclined his head stiffly and gestured for them to follow.

As they walked toward the king’s hall, Liora’s pulse thrummed. She leaned just close enough to whisper, "What does he want from you?"

Lucien’s answer was soft, almost bitter. "He wants a spectacle. And I will give him one."

Inside the great hall, King Alden sat on the dais, Ellora by his side, her smile polished like cut glass. Courtiers clustered in gilded shadows, murmuring like a nest of vipers.

Lucien strode forward without bowing. The air thickened with scandalized whispers. Liora followed, her palms clammy but her chin lifted high.

"Brother," Alden drawled, light blue eyes gleaming. "You honor us with your presence. It has been too long since these halls felt your... charm."

Lucien smirked. "I would say the same, but charm was never these halls’ strength."

The courtiers gasped softly. Liora kept her gaze on the king, but out of the corner of her eye she caught Ellora studying her, measured, appraising, as though weighing her against some invisible scale.

Alden rose, his expression smooth. "I called you here, Lucien, because whispers reach me. Dangerous whispers. Of midnight meetings. Of alliances being formed in shadows." He let his gaze slide to Liora. "And of a woman who stirs the disgraced prince back to life."

Liora’s breath hitched. All eyes turned to her.

Lucien’s voice cut through before she could speak. "Careful, Alden. Whispers are dangerous things. Especially when they carry more truth than you’d like the world to hear."

The king’s smile did not falter, but his hand tightened on the armrest.

The hall trembled with tension, and for the first time, Liora realized, this was not merely about Lucien’s disgrace. It was about power. About who would control the narrative of the past... and who would own the future.