CHAPTER 95: A UPCOMING STORM

[Rynthall Estate—The next Morning]

The sun was entirely too smug for the next morning.

It barged through the curtains like an uninvited relative, spilling golden light across the bed where Lucein lay sprawled, tangled in sheets that had clearly surrendered all dignity hours ago.

His hair looked like he’d fought a hurricane. And lost. His throat was raw, his legs... well, we’re not even going to talk about those.

"I didn’t even sleep a wink..." Lucein mumbled.

From somewhere in the room came a low, satisfied hum—the kind that said I ruined you, and I’m proud of it.

Silas.

Sitting there at the foot of the bed, shirtless, sipping his tea like last night hadn’t been a declaration of war on Lucein’s body. His skin practically glowed, like he’d bathed in moonlight and smugness all at once.

"Why," Lucein croaked, squinting through sleep-heavy eyes, "do you look like you just came back from a spa?"

Silas lowered his cup with deliberate slowness, tilting his head, and gave him the kind of smile that could probably get outlawed in several kingdoms.

"My love," he drawled, voice dripping with satisfaction, "I did have a spa experience." He paused just long enough for the corner of his mouth to curve up. "You."

Lucein blinked at him. Then blinked again. Then attempted to kick him.

But Silas caught his ankle mid-air, thumb brushing the sensitive skin just above his heel. "Must you try to injure me every time we have sex, my love?"

"Yes," Lucein growled, yanking his foot back. "Because you’re over there glowing like the heavens, and I look like hell’s chew toy, and it’s pissing me off."

Silas’s laugh was rich, deep, and infuriatingly warm. He set his tea aside, slid down beside him, and, without warning, pulled Lucein into his arms. "Oh, but it’s the power of your love that makes me shine," he murmured against his hair.

"Ughh....stop being clingy. And cringy."

Instead of stopping, Silas held him tighter, one arm a vise around his waist. "You should get used to it, my love," he whispered, brushing his lips along the curve of Lucein’s ear, "because I’ve marked you. And now... there’s no separating us."

Lucein squirmed, shoved, and grumbled—and finally sighed in defeat, resting his cheek against Silas’s chest. "You’re impossible."

Silas kissed the top of his head, his voice low and achingly tender now. "And... I’m the father of your child."

There was a beat of stunned silence before Lucein tilted his head up, eyes narrowing. "...Right, our child. My god, how will I feed her with these swollen and empty nipples?"

Silas smirked, wicked and beautiful. "She will understand."

Lucein glared. "No, she will curse you for drinking her entire day’s food. Oh, gods, why did I ever sleep with you?"

"Because," Silas murmured, tightening his arms until Lucein could feel the steady thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat, "you can’t resist me."

"SHUT. UP!" Lucein snapped, shoving at his chest. "I should go to Elysia—she’s probably crying her little eyes out because her mother hasn’t been there all night."

But the moment he tried to swing his legs off the bed—

"AAAAGHHH!!!"

"AAAAGHHHHH! MY BACK...! MY—BACK—it—f-f-fucking HURTS!"

He flopped onto his side like a fish freshly yanked from the river, groaning in every known and unknown language.

Silas leaned over him, concern flickering in those wickedly smug eyes. "There, there, my love," he cooed, trying to ease him into a more comfortable position. "You really should be more careful with your back. You’re FRAGILE right now."

"FRAGILE?" Lucein glared like a man possessed. "HEY—you—bastard—" he jabbed a finger at Silas’s chest, "I sincerely, from the deepest, darkest pit of my soul, HOPE you took out your stupidly oversized dick—"

"My magnificent—" Silas tried to correct.

"—SHUT IT—because IF—and I mean IFFFFFFFF—your high-and-mighty, royal, dukescented sperm is swimming around in there AGAIN—" he pointed menacingly to his own stomach, "I. WILL. PER. SON. ALLY. Cut. Your. DIIIIIIIIIIIIICK!"

Silas, absolutely unhelpful, tilted his head. "Duck-scented...?"

Lucein’s voice hit a dangerous pitch. "YES—Duke-scented! Like your entire existence—full of arrogance, wine, and stupid muscles!"

By now, Silas was outright laughing, shoulders shaking as he tried to catch his breath. "Oh, my love... such threats from such soft lips. You wound me. Truly. But if it helps, I find the idea of you threatening me while lying in bed, hair like a bird’s nest, adorable

."

"I’m not adorable! I’m dangerous!"

"Of course you are," Silas said, pressing a slow, obnoxiously tender kiss to his forehead. "Dangerously mine."

Lucein growled and said, "Go and get Elysia before I kill you."

Silas’s robe billowed behind him like some dramatic stage actor as he bolted down the hall.

Meanwhile, Lucein flopped back against the pillows, glaring at the ceiling. "Dangerously mine," he muttered, mimicking Silas’s deep voice. "I’ll dangerously shove your face into the soup if you come back without her."

From the doorway, Silas’s voice floated in, infuriatingly smug. "I am going, my love..."

Lucein rolled his eyes so hard they almost did a full lap around his skull. "Good. Go. Don’t trip and die unless you plan to haunt me with child-rearing tips."

And with that, Silas dashed away like he was on some heroic mission to save the empire—except the empire was just a three-month-old with chubby cheeks and terrifying lung capacity.

***

[Rynthal Estate—Later]

Lucein lay there groaning in pain, every bone in his lower back composing its own opera of agony. "What’s taking him so long?" he grumbled, tapping his fingers impatiently against the blanket. "Did he get distracted by something or what? Did he—"

"Wahhh... WAHHHH... WAHHHHH!"

The sound shot through him like an arrow. Lucein bolted upright—or at least, tried to. In reality, he managed a wobbly, trembling-legged stagger that could best be described as ’half-dead penguin.’

"I knew she would be crying," he muttered, hobbling toward the sound like a soldier returning to the battlefield.

The door swung open, and there was Silas, looking entirely too composed for someone holding a tiny, screaming hurricane in his arms.

"There, there," Silas cooed, bouncing the squirming bundle, "we are back to mama now—"

"WAHHHH! WAHHHH! WAHHHH!"

The baby was having none of it.

"Oh, for—give her here," Lucein snapped, swooping the little girl into his arms despite his aching back.

Wahhh! Wahhhhhhh! Wahhhhhhhh!

"There, there, I am here..."

And then, like magic—instant silence.

Elysia blinked her big, teary, red-rimmed eyes up at him, sniffled once... and then gave the tiniest giggle.

Silas froze mid-step, staring as though he’d just witnessed sorcery. "My love," he said slowly, "do you hold... some kind of magic? Because I swear she just looked at me like I was a useless piece of furniture, and the second you touched her—poof. Calm. Smiling. What is this witchcraft?"

Lucein dropped onto the couch with the smugness of a king reclaiming his throne, adjusting Elysia so she nestled perfectly in his lap.

"It’s not magic," he declared loftily, stroking her impossibly soft hair. "It’s called instincts. She knows I’m her mother. She knows I feed her on time, wrap her in warm blankets, and don’t disappear for ’important meetings’ halfway through the day."

Elysia, perfectly safe in his arms, let out a little coo as if signing an official statement of agreement.

And then a sharp knock at the door broke their cozy bubble. Alphanso stepped in with his usual solemn face. "My lord... We received a letter from the Imperial Palace. It’s urgent."

Silas didn’t even look up. "Just throw it away. I know it must be some nonsense from Adrein."

Alphanso hesitated, then added, "But my lord, it was sealed with red wax."

That got Silas’s attention. "What! Red Wax?"

Alphanso nodded, saying, "Yes, my lord."

His eyes flicked to Lucein, then back to Alphanso. "...I’ll be back."

Lucein arched a brow but nodded, his curiosity piqued. But Silas was already striding to the door. "Where’s Father?"

"He’s waiting for you in the office as soon as we received the letter," Alphanso said, quickly falling into step behind him.

"Alright," he said.

The door closed. The room felt... quieter. Lucein’s gaze lingered on it for a moment before turning back to Elysia. "I hope everything is fine, my little star."

Elysia blinked up at him with wide, innocent eyes—then promptly latched onto his nipple through his robe.

"Ow—! Can you not drink from there today, darling?" Lucein groaned, wincing. "Mama’s sore and in pain."

Elysia just stared up at him like a tiny, unrepentant queen and kept suckling.

Lucein sighed in theatrical defeat, kissing her temple. "Fine, fine—you win. I’ll feed you. But first, we’re taking a bath together. No negotiations, and then you can kill Mama with your lovely cute face."

Elysia giggled, a sound so pure it almost erased the heaviness lingering in the air. Lucein rose, cradling her close, and headed toward the bathroom... completely unaware that beyond these quiet walls, a storm was gathering—one strong storm that will separate Lucien from Silas and will leave him alone for a very long time.