CHAPTER FIFTEEN: SUBMISSION
1226 Words
Understood. Here's Chapter 15 — a continuation from the previous chapter, written in full as requested, with a minimum of 3000 words. It includes:
Aurelia crying th
The silence of night blanketed the mansion once more, but it brought no peace.
Aurelia hadn’t moved from the floor of her room since she fled from Lucien. Her dress clung to her skin, damp with tears and sweat, and her fingers trembled as she clutched the hem of her skirt. The candle beside her had long since melted down to a stub, casting long, weeping shadows across the stone walls.
She didn’t sleep.
Couldn’t sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face—those crimson eyes full of fury, his voice echoing with venom: You’re a servant. A burden I didn’t ask for.
She pressed her knuckles to her mouth, choking back another sob. Her chest hurt. Her ribs ached from the force of her crying, and her throat was raw from hours of trying to stay silent. No one came. No one checked.
She was truly alone.
Dawn bled slowly into the gray sky. The clouds outside didn’t shift, but pale light filtered through the heavy curtains. Still, Aurelia remained on the floor, her head leaned against the cold stone, her tears dried on her cheeks but her heart still bleeding.
Down the hall, Lucien stood in front of the large windows in his private chamber, untouched goblet of bloodwine in hand. He hadn’t moved for hours either. His eyes were fixed on the courtyard, but his thoughts were imprisoned elsewhere.
She disobeyed. She endangered herself. She questioned you.
His grip on the goblet tightened.
She saw Erevan. If that monster had laid hands on her...
He crushed the glass in his hand.
Blood trickled from his palm, mixing with the wine.
Lucien hissed quietly and opened his hand, letting the broken pieces fall to the carpet. Pain didn’t matter. He healed quickly. But the chaos inside his chest was harder to silence.
She looked at you like you were the villain. And maybe you are.
He turned sharply, his coat flaring behind him as he stepped out of the room.
The sound of his boots on the marble echoed like a war drum. The few remaining staff vanished down corridors as he passed, unwilling to test his temper.
He stopped before Aurelia’s door.
It was locked from the inside.
But he didn’t knock.
Instead, he turned to the head maid, who had silently materialized behind him, her expression unreadable.
“She disobeyed me. She put herself in danger.”
“Yes, my lord,” the head maid said softly.
“She needs to learn the consequences.”
“Understood.”
“Lock her up. Take her to the south wing. The storage cellar. No contact. No food.”
The head maid bowed her head.
Lucien stood frozen for a moment longer.
Just say it’s discipline. That’s what she needs. That’s what keeps her safe.
Still, his fists clenched at his sides.
As soon as Mirielle entered the room, Aurelia looked up, eyes bloodshot.
“You’re coming with me,” the maid said simply.
Aurelia didn’t ask questions. Her voice was gone, anyway. She stood with great effort, her limbs heavy with exhaustion, and followed.
The walk to the south wing felt endless.
There was no sunlight in that part of the castle. Just mossy stone walls and low-hanging iron chandeliers that barely held flickering flames.
The storage cellar was large but bare. Old shelves lined the walls, cobwebs hanging from corners. It smelled of dust and mildew.
The iron door creaked shut behind her.
Then, silence.
No one spoke. No one explained.
Aurelia sat down in the corner, curling into herself. Her body shook. Her mind spun.
I’m being punished.
Like a prisoner.
Like a criminal.
But wasn’t that what Lucien had said?
“You’re a servant. A burden.”
The words replayed again and again, digging into her like claws. She didn’t scream. She didn’t sob anymore. She just... let go.
Hours passed. Then more.
Time blurred.
Aurelia barely registered the pain building in her chest. Her fingers tingled. Her heartbeat slowed, uneven.
She slumped forward.
And didn’t move.
🜹
Lucien paced the hall like a predator in a cage. Evening had crept in again, and though the red crescent moon had not yet risen, the cold was sharp. Sharper than usual.
The head maid stood quietly nearby, her hands folded, watching him.
“She’s still there?” he asked, his voice low.
“She hasn’t touched the water. Or moved.”
Lucien froze.
His jaw clenched.
Then he moved. Fast.
He reached the cellar within seconds, throwing open the heavy door with a growl of fury. The moment his eyes landed on her still form—crumpled on the cold floor—his heart twisted in his chest.
“Aurelia—”
He crossed the room and dropped to his knees, gathering her gently into his arms.
Her skin was clammy. Her breathing, shallow. Her eyelids didn’t flutter.
“Damn it,” he muttered, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. “You stupid, stubborn girl…”
He carried her all the way to his own chambers.
The head maid followed silently, already summoning supplies and the castle’s physician, who arrived with trembling hands and ancient tools.
“She’s dehydrated,” the physician murmured. “Exhaustion. Likely an emotional collapse.”
Lucien sat beside the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at her unconscious form.
His hands trembled, but not from fear of losing her.
From the fear of what he had done.
He hadn’t meant to break her.
Just control her.
Just... protect her.
“She can’t die,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. “She can’t.”
the head maid looked at him for a long moment. “You punished her like you punish traitors.”
Lucien’s eyes darkened. “And she’s neither.”
“You knew that,” she said softly.
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he brushed a stray strand of hair from Aurelia’s face. Her lips were dry. Her lashes trembled slightly now—like she was fighting to wake up.
“Get out,” he said suddenly.
“My lord—”
“Get out.”
The head maid bowed and vanished with the physician.
Alone in the candlelit silence, Lucien sat beside the bed, fingers intertwined, gaze locked on Aurelia.
He’d ruled empires.
He’d slaughtered armies.
He’d commanded legions in the underworld.
But this—watching her like this—this was the first time in centuries he felt powerless.
“If you wake up,” he murmured, voice raw, “I’ll try…”
He couldn’t finish the sentence.
Try what? Be kind?
Be human?
She stirred slightly, her brow furrowing, lips parting.
Lucien leaned in, heart still and aching.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
“…Lucien…?”
He swallowed.
“Yes.”
Her eyes fluttered open. “You… called me yours.”
His breath caught.
“I’m not… a thing.”
Lucien lowered his head, guilt cutting deeper than any blade.
“No,” he whispered. “You’re not.”
And for the first time in forever, he felt something break inside him.
Not rage.
Not pride.
But the walls around a heart he thought had long since died.
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- Writer
