Five: Beneath the Crown
741 Words
Lucien wasn’t just watching anymore. He was circling, looking for a way to confirm everything he felt he knew.
Evelyn felt it in every step of his approach. Every glance that lingered too long. Every carefully chosen word that veiled suspicion. The king who once stood still as she was condemned to death now prowled through shadows, chasing answers she had buried in the sea.
But ghosts don’t die. They haunt.
And Evelyn had learned to haunt quietly.
That morning, she was summoned to the eastern gardens. A strange request—Lucien rarely abandoned the war council, especially during a week riddled with border unrest. But when she arrived, she understood.
Lucien was alone, his cloak tossed across a marble bench. His sword cut clean lines through the warm morning air, each arc sharp and precise. Sunlight danced off the edge of the blade as if the weapon itself remembered blood.
Evelyn stood silently until he spoke.
“You fight like someone with nothing to lose,” he said, not facing her.
She c****d her head. “Is that a compliment?”
He stopped mid-strike and glanced at her. “It’s a warning.”
She took a step forward. “Is this training, or something else?”
Lucien lowered the sword. “This place is safer than the court. Nobles can’t spy through rosebushes.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And what secrets are you suddenly desperate to guard?”
He sheathed his blade. “Not secrets. Memories.”
That caught her off guard.
Lucien’s voice softened. “Last night I had a dream. I stood at the cliffs. They were dragging her—Evelyn—toward the edge. Only this time… I ran. I fought. I jumped in after her.”
She swallowed hard. “Dreams lie.”
He turned toward her fully now. “I haven’t dreamt of her in years. And now, suddenly, I see her in my sleep—and when I wake up, I see her in you.”
Evelyn’s pulse kicked against her skin. “Lucien—”
“You wear her locket.”
“I told you, I found it in the market.”
“And you expect me to believe that?”
Her tone shifted. “Believe what you want. If you think I’m a ghost, perhaps you should see a priest.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re good. I’ll give you that. But I’ve been hunting liars longer than you’ve been killing them.”
Before she could speak again, a page burst into the garden, breathless.
“Your Majesty… the steward collapsed in the kitchens. Poison. The cup was meant for you.”
Lucien froze. Then he turned to Evelyn. “Walk with me.”
They crossed through the palace in silence. Every footstep echoed with tension.
“This makes the third attempt,” Lucien said. “First the blade. Then the scroll. Now the poison.”
Evelyn’s jaw tightened. “Whoever’s orchestrating this is no longer hiding behind whispers.”
Lucien stopped before the Hall of Kings. Ancient portraits loomed overhead—dead men in faded oils, wearing crowns too heavy for their painted brows.
He looked up at them. “This crown was never meant to be worn in peace. It demands blood.”
Evelyn watched him. “What are you willing to give?”
He turned to her slowly. “More than I should. And maybe… someone already gave too much for it.”
Their eyes locked. It was not like before. It was heavier now. Like a noose pulled tighter around something unspoken.
“I need to know who’s standing beside me,” he said. “Not just who you say you are—but who you were before all this.”
She met his gaze without flinching. “And what if you already know?”
“Then say it.”
She opened her mouth—
Footsteps.
Caelan’s voice cut the moment. “Forgive me, sire. Lady Valen requests your immediate audience.”
Lucien didn’t respond. He held her gaze another second longer.
“Later,” he murmured. “But soon.”
Then he turned and left, sword at his side.
Evelyn stood beneath the cracked gaze of monarchs long dead.
She could still feel his closeness. The edge of his voice. The plea behind the accusation.
Lucien was unraveling.
And so was she.
But one of them would break first.
And the Viper never lost to kings.
- Writer
