CHAPTER 98: LOVE HURTS... LITERALLY!

[Rynthall Estate—Ten Days Later—Nursery]

The nursery smelled faintly of warm milk and sweet jasmine. Sunlight spilled through the tall arched windows, pooling in molten gold across the plush carpets and a battlefield of colorful blocks.

Lucien lounged on the velvet couch like a king without a throne, though his gaze never left the little war playing out before him.

Elysia—a tiny hurricane disguised in a frilly dress, hair clip shaped like a storm cloud gleaming wickedly—ROLLED over the Empress’s son with all the triumph of a conquering general surveying a captured city.

The boy—His Highness, the Prince—clutched a wooden horse to his chest, his small, chubby fist white-knuckled around it. Golden curls tumbled over his forehead in a halo far too innocent for the scene.

Then, without breaking eye contact, Elysia planted a chubby-fisted punch squarely into his arm—all while sucking her pacifier like the world’s most unimpressed gladiator.

The prince froze mid-chew. Yes, mid-chew—because he had been gnawing on the poor horse’s ear as if it were some royal delicacy.

Elysia’s glare deepened. The prince’s eyes went wide. And with the tragic solemnity of a man surrendering his crown, he dropped the horse.

From her perch on a nearby chaise, Empress Elise leaned toward Lucien, voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Your daughter had my son cornered in under five minutes. I’m... mildly concerned."

Lucien’s mouth twitched, but he hid the smile behind his hand. "Concerned, Your Majesty... or impressed?"

The Empress tapped a gloved finger against her lips, pretending to weigh the matter. "...Both," she decided, the word drawn out like fine wine on her tongue.

Both Lucien and the Empress chuckled softly—that shared, knowing chuckle of two people who understood the joys of watching tiny humans terrorize one another.

Then Lucien tilted his head, curiosity glittering in his eyes. "So... why the sudden imperial visit? Don’t tell me you came all this way just to let my daughter bully your son into submission."

The Empress’s playful smile faltered, replaced with a sudden, burning glint. She straightened her back like she was about to deliver a battle speech.

"I," she declared, voice ringing through the nursery like a war drum, "am ON STRIKE!"

Lucien’s eyes went wide, his ears practically perking up like a cat spotting a scandal. Strike? Royal strike?? Oh, this was gossip—no, this was GOSSIP.

He scooted so close their knees nearly touched. "Tell me everything. Did you—" his voice dropped to a whisper, "—fight with His Majesty?"

"Yes," she hissed, her perfectly manicured fingers curling into a trembling fist. "That idiot Emperor..." Her voice rose, dripping with outrage. "That man has been avoiding me for ten. whole. days."

Across the room, both toddlers paused mid-toy battle, glanced briefly at their mothers, and then went right back to slapping each other with wooden blocks.

Lucien gasped so loudly it was almost theatrical. "Ten days?! That’s... that’s practically treason!"

Elise pressed a hand to her forehead in mock tragedy. "I... I think he’s found some woman out there."

Lucien clutched at his own chest like the betrayal was personal. "No."

"Yes!" she wailed. "Some perfumed, slinky... court viper slithering her way into my husband’s attention!"

Lucien narrowed his eyes, then, with the sudden logic of a person half-invested in drama but half-invested in truth, asked, "Okay, but... Did you actually catch him? Red-handed? Or red-faced? Or even slightly pink?"

The Empress blinked, her fury stuttering. "...No."

Lucien gave her a slow, pointed look. "Then how exactly do you know he’s cheating?"

Without missing a beat, she seized his hand in both of hers, her grip as desperate as a drowning woman. "It’s a wife’s sense. You can feel it, can’t you? You know when your man is hiding something."

Lucien, swept up in the pure conviction radiating off her, nodded gravely and squeezed her hand back. "Yes... yes, I can understand."

But then—he paused. His brows knitted. His voice dropped an octave into that dangerous, thoughtful tone.

"But... I guess you might be wrong."

Elise’s perfectly arched brows shot up. "...Wrong? What do you mean wrong?"

Lucien sighed like a man about to drop an inconvenient truth. "I don’t know the whole story... but ten days ago, the Emperor sent a red-sealed letter to Silas. I saw his face when he read it... It looked serious. Like... something is stirring in the empire."

The empress straightened, fingers drumming against the armrest, her expression shifting from indignation to suspicion. "Really? But I didn’t sense anything... And there’s been no whispers. No gossip. No rumors."

Lucien’s gaze sharpened. "Which means... they’re trying to keep it quiet. Hide whatever’s happening from the public."

The Empress gave a slow, deliberate nod, the wheels in her mind turning. "I see... so it’s not about a mistress—it’s about secrets."

And then—

SLAM!

The nursery doors flew open so hard they rattled in their frames. Alphanso all but skidded into the room, pale as if Death himself had chased him down the corridor.

Lucien blinked. "...Alphanso?"

Elise arched one perfect brow, leaning toward Lucien to mutter under her breath, "He looks like he’s seen a ghost."

Alphanso clutched the doorframe, panting. His voice came out in one high, frantic burst: "MY LORD—LADY SERAPHINA... SHE’S—SHE’S TURNING LORD CALLEN INTO A ROTTEN TOMATO!!!"

Both Lucien and the Empress froze mid-breath, heads swiveling toward him in perfect unison.

"...Excuse me?"

Alphanso threw his arms into the air, words tumbling out like panicked marbles."I mean it literally, my lord—his face is red, his ears are red, his neck is red—she’s shouting so loud the portraits fell off the wall! If she screams any harder, the man will burst!"

Lucien stared at him for a long beat, then exchanged a slow, fascinated glance with the Empress.

"...We should go watch."

***

[Rynthall Estate—Garden—Later]

The courtyard had seen many things over the years—royal parades, grand feasts, even a horse that had decided to nap in the middle of a wedding ceremony. But this? This was new.

"Y-YOU—!" Seraphina’s voice cracked through the air like a whip as her fist swung forward. WHACK!

Callen stumbled back, clutching his cheek, yet grinning like a fool.

"I can’t help it, Lady Seraphina—" he panted, eyes dreamy even as his lip bled. "It was love at first sight—no, second sight—no—after the third punch, I knew. I’m yours."

BAM!

Another hit to his ribs.

"You fell in love after my beating, right? RIGHT?!" Seraphina’s eyes blazed. "Then here you go—TAKE IT—TAKE IT MOREEEEE!"

Her punches flew like a storm, her long sleeves flaring with each blow, as if even the fabric was helping her deliver divine justice.

The crowd froze.

A lady dropped her parasol. A knight stepped back so fast he tripped over his own sword. Someone whispered, "Oh heavens, she’s killing him—"

"—No, no, I think he’s enjoying it—"

"—That’s worse!"

Through this delightful chaos, the tall doors of the palace opened. Empress Elise stepped out gracefully, her toddler son in one arm, and Lucien beside her, carrying Elysia.

"Oh dear," Elise muttered, taking in the sight.

Her son’s eyes went wide as saucers; he looked horrified, his tiny fingers clinging to her sleeve.

Meanwhile, Elysia—who was perched comfortably in Lucien’s arms—was sparkling.

"Wahhh! Baaahhhahahah!!!!" She cheered, practically bouncing in place.

Seraphina did not disappoint.

POW!

Callen coughed but grinned through the pain. "Ahhh... yes... that’s the spot..."

Gasps rippled through the spectators.

"You’re all witnesses!" Seraphina roared between punches. "This man asked for this! He wanted this!"

Callen, flat on the ground now, gave a thumbs up. "Still do..."

The Empress pinched the bridge of her nose. "Lucien."

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"...We should let someone take the children inside before Elysia decides to join her aunt in combat training."

Elysia puffed her cheeks. "Boo! Baa!!!!"

Lucein nodded, saying, "I agree."