CHAPTER 102: SWEET TEETH AND HEAVY HEARTS

[Rynthall Estate—Lucein’s Office—Afternoon]

"I suggest you... raise the salary of our people, my lord," Marcel said carefully, placing a neat stack of documents in front of Lucien.

"A raise of salary?" Lucien echoed, raising a brow.

Marcel nodded solemnly. "The people who work for us... they’ve shown more loyalty while Lord Silas has been away. They’ve held the estate together, my lord, despite everything."

Elysia, perched comfortably on Lucien’s lap and swinging her tiny legs back and forth, paused mid-bite of a pastel-colored macaron. Her crimson eyes darted between her "Mama" and the Marcel.

Lucien smiled faintly, brushing a loose curl from her cheek. "Alright, then... raise their salary. Ten percent, Marcel. Is that enough?"

Marcel tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Yes, my lord. That should suffice."

Lucien nodded, picking up his pen and sighing as he signed the papers. Marcel accepted them with a small bow.

"Anything else?" Lucien asked, leaning back in his chair with a tired exhale.

Marcel shook his head. "That is all, my lord."

Lucien let out a long sigh and slumped further into the chair, Elysia curling closer against him, her little hands patting his chest. She nuzzled into him and whispered, "Mama..."

Lucien chuckled softly, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Do you want to sleep, little star?"

Elysia shook her head fiercely, tiny curls bouncing. "Nooo... noooo. I just want... I just want Mama to feel warm."

Lucien’s chest tightened, and he gave a gentle, reassuring pat to her back. "Warm, hmm? That I can do, my little legend."

A thoughtful silence fell for a moment, broken by Elysia’s small, innocent voice. "Mama?"

"Hmm?" Lucien hummed, glancing down at her.

"Does... does Daddy... not love you?" she asked, her head tilting in curiosity, her little legs swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

Lucien froze, caught off guard by the question. "Why... why would you ask that, sweetheart?"

Elysia snuggled closer, resting her cheek against his chest. "Because... because if Daddy loves Mama... then... then why isn’t he coming? Did... did something happen to Daddy?"

Lucien flinched slightly, swallowing the lump in his throat. His hand instinctively rubbed soothing circles on his back with a fear. "No... no, the mark is still there," he murmured, almost to himself. "...That means he’s alive."

He looked down at her, voice soft but steady, trying to weave reassurance through his own worry. "Your Daddy loves me... a lot, little star. He’s just... far away right now, but... he will come back. I promise."

Elysia’s crimson eyes widened, and she leaned against him more tightly, tiny arms wrapped around his neck. "Really, Mama? Really?"

Lucien smiled, his heart aching with a mixture of love and fear. "Really. Always, my little tornado. He will come back... I promise you that."

Elysia’s lips curled into a small, confident grin. "Then... then I will wait for him! And I will keep Mama warm... and fight dragons while I wait!"

Lucien laughed softly, shaking his head. "Yes, my brave little warrior... yes, you will."

And with that, the tiny human on his lap nestled closer, the weight of her innocence and love somehow steadying him amidst the storm of his own worries.

***

[Imperial Palace—Throne Room—Same Time]

The grand hall of the Imperial Palace was silent, save for the measured footfalls of the armored knight who now knelt before the Emperor’s throne. Emperor Adrein leaned forward, his fingers pressed hard against his forehead, eyes shadowed with fatigue and disbelief.

"So... you’re telling me... the war—ended... six months ago?" His voice was low at first, then rose with disbelief as he spoke each word.

The knight bowed slightly, his own voice steady but cautious. "Yes, Your Majesty. Six months ago, the northern campaign concluded."

Adrein straightened abruptly, his crimson eyes narrowing dangerously. "And... if the war ended six months back... then... WHERE THE HELL IS SILAS?"

The knight flinched under the weight of the Emperor’s fury. "We... we are trying to locate the Grand Duke, Your Majesty... but he... he is nowhere to be found. After conquering the neighboring kingdom... after defeating their Emperor... he vanished. Completely, Your Majesty."

Adrein hissed through clenched teeth, his hands gripping the gilded arms of the throne. "You’re joking. You’re... fucking joking, right? You’re telling me Grand Duke Silas... just disappeared?"

The knight swallowed hard, bowing deeper. "We wish it were jest, Your Majesty, but the truth is... we have no trace of him."

Adrein leaned back slowly, his eyes scanning the high vaulted ceiling as if it might offer some explanation. "What about our knights... our generals... our captains? Surely they’ve seen something?"

"They continue to search, Your Majesty," the knight replied, voice steady but somber. "But they have sworn... they will not return to the Empire until Grand Duke Silas is found."

Adrein exhaled, a low, sharp hiss of frustration that echoed through the throne room. He clenched his jaw and rubbed at his temples, trying to quell the storm rising in his chest. "Send more knights... more captains, more generals. Search every village, every forest, every mountain in the north. Leave no stone unturned. And... make sure no word of this... reaches the court. Not yet."

The knight bowed deeply. "As you command, Your Majesty."

When the echo of armored boots faded down the hall, Adrein remained seated, hands pressed to his temples. His voice dropped to a low, almost humorless murmur, tinged with worry he refused to show in public.

"I hope... you’re alive, Silas," he muttered, leaning forward on the throne, eyes narrowing. "Because... if you’re not... your wife... will kill me himself. And I... I don’t think I’d survive that."

The hall fell silent again, the weight of uncertainty pressing like iron on the Empire.

***

[Rynthall Estate—Later]

SLAM!!!!

"MY DARLING...!"

Seraphina’s voice rang through the Rynthall estate like a foghorn announcing the apocalypse. But, as usual, nobody flinched. The maids continued dusting, the servants carried trays, and the gardeners pruned roses—because here, the grand entrance of Seraphina was a daily phenomenon. Chaos was just part of the job description.

"Aunty...!"

The little tornado—Elysia—shot down the grand staircase like a bolt of crimson-eyed mischief. Her curls bounced wildly, and her giggle echoed like chimes in a hurricane.

"Elysia... IF YOU FALL, I WILL BAN CAKES IN THIS ESTATE!" Lucien’s voice cut through the air, equal parts threat and desperation.

Elysia skidded to a dramatic halt mid-step, one tiny foot hovering in the air. Her head tilted slightly, lips pursed in deep contemplation. Slowly, deliberately... she began walking down the remaining stairs.

Why? Because no one—absolutely no one—was allowed to mess with her desserts. Not even her mama.

Finally, her tiny foot hit the last step. A glint—no, a sparkle—flashed in her mischievous crimson eyes. Without warning... she launched herself like a furry little missile into Seraphina’s waiting arms.

Seraphina caught her effortlessly, scooping her up with a flourish that could rival a circus performer. "Oh, my sweet little whirlwind... did you miss your aunty? Huh? Did you miss me?"

Elysia wriggled happily, kicking her tiny legs. "Aunty... you’re wetting me!" she squealed, cheeks scrunching up with delight.

Seraphina looked down, mock horror painted across her face. "Oh no! My dear, this is... a tragedy of monumental proportions! Wet... wet Elysia... my poor little angel!" She fluttered her hands dramatically, as if Elysia’s dampness was a scandal worthy of the palace archives.

Lucein descended the stairs, hands tucked neatly behind his back, trying to appear stern but failing miserably as he muttered, "Seriously, Sera... you’re spoiling her far too much."

Seraphina’s eyes narrowed, lips pursed in theatrical indignation. "Spoiling her? Lucein! She deserves every ounce of love the world can give. Every ounce! Do you understand me? EVERY. SINGLE. OUNCE!"

Elysia, perched in Seraphina’s arms, scanned her with the intensity of a tiny, crimson-eyed general plotting a battle. Her head tilted, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes. "Aunty... what did you bring me today?" she asked, her voice dripping with anticipation.

Seraphina gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "What do you mean, what did I bring you? Do I look like a woman who would come empty-handed to my precious little sugar fiend?" She peppered Elysia’s cheeks with kisses until the child squirmed. "Of course I brought desserts—straight from your favorite bakery. The entire counter, practically."

Elysia froze. Her crimson eyes widened like twin lanterns, her lips parted, and then—sparkles. Actual, visible sparkles of joy seemed to explode around her face.

And then her tiny mouth started to water.

Lucien, watching from the foot of the stairs, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Elysia. Control yourself. You look like a starved wolf."

"I am not a wolf!" Elysia declared proudly, though her eyes remained glued to Seraphina’s satchel like a hawk. "I’m... I’m..." she tapped her lip dramatically, "a dessert dragon!"

Seraphina threw her head back and laughed, holding the girl higher. "Oh, saints above, Lucien—did you hear that? She’s officially declared herself a dragon."

"Perfect. She’s finally realized who she is," Lucien muttered, his tone dry as ever, though his lips betrayed the faintest curve of a smile.

The halls of the estate swelled with laughter—Elysia’s triumphant squeals, Seraphina’s melodic teasing, and the quiet rumble of Lucien’s amusement. For a fleeting moment, it felt like the world was whole.

Yet beneath it all, Lucien’s heart pulled elsewhere, a quiet throb of longing echoing in his chest. Every chuckle, every spark of warmth was shadowed by the same ache—the absence of Silas. His husband’s face haunted the corners of his thoughts, his voice a phantom in the silence between breaths.

Even in the glow of laughter, Lucien was waiting. Always waiting.