The next morning came on quiet feet.
The air was cooler, the sky overcast—like the heavens were holding their breath.
Lucian waited by the gates, cloaked in a dark riding coat, hair tied back, a pair of gloves tucked into his belt. The stallions beside him were restless, hooves pawing the earth like they knew what we were heading toward.
I met him without a word. He offered his hand, not out of chivalry, but alliance.
I took it.
We rode.
Past the rosewalks, past the watchtowers, past the forests where light dared not linger.
Toward the ruins called the Slumbers.
And though neither of us spoke for hours, the silence was anything but empty.
It was a beginning.
Or the start of an end.
The carriage ride to the Slumbers was quiet. The cobblestones grew uneven, and the lanterns on the road dimmed as if the city itself was trying to forget this part of its body.
When the carriage finally stopped, the shift in atmosphere was immediate.
Gone were the gilded balconies and perfumed air of upper Noctare. Here, buildings leaned into each other like old drunks, and the scent was earthier—bitter herbs, smoke, something faintly metallic. I stepped out without waiting for Lucian to offer his hand.
I scanned the street: narrow, cracked, alive with quiet movement. A boy darted past with a stolen apple. A woman behind a cloth-draped stall hawked "dreamroot elixirs" in a voice that sounded far too old for her face.
Lucian's boots crunched beside me. "You've never been here," he said, more an observation than a question.
"No," she lied. "But I've read enough to be curious."
He gave her a look then—subtle, almost unreadable, but tinged with something bordering on intrigue. Perhaps even concern.
They walked together, drawing the occasional glance. A few bowed. Most did not. And one child—mud-streaked and limping—paused, staring up at me with a strange light in his eyes.
"You came back," he whispered.
I froze.
Lucian turned, brows furrowing. "What?"
But the boy had already turned and disappeared into the smoke of a nearby alley.
We continued deeper.
A tattered canopy stretched over a small courtyard, half-buried in moss. In the center sat a broken statue—its face eroded, but a crown still visible in the worn stone. At its feet were offerings: wildflowers, copper coins, and—curiously—a violet hairpin identical to the one Lucian had given me.
I knelt. "This wasn't just a shrine," I murmured. "It was a message."
Lucian's voice was low. "Who would leave that here?"
I looked up at him slowly. "Someone who knows me."
Or knew me.
Or knows what I'm becoming again.
I reached out and touched the stone offering bowl, my fingers brushing over wilted petals and rain-slicked copper. Just beneath the dried stems and dust, something caught the light.
A glint. Then two.
I pushed the flowers aside.
Nestled at the base of the statue were small gemstones—five, maybe six of them—uncut, but unmistakably valuable. Amethyst, jade, a raw piece of sunstone... and something stranger, like a black opal but threaded with veins of silver light. Not dropped here by accident. Not meant for trade.
"These aren't offerings," I murmured. "They're seeds."
Lucian knelt beside me. His gloved hand hovered above the stones, then lowered slowly. "Magic-grade minerals. Rare. And untouched."
He looked up at me, a question forming behind those cold, impossible eyes.
I didn't let him ask. "Use them."
He blinked once. "For what?"
"To reinforce the eastern bridges. To reopen the broken wells. Reinforce the walls. Noctare's heart is dying from its feet up, and no one's dared to touch the rot." I stood, brushing dust from my skirt. "So touch it."
A pause.
Then, he took a slow breath from him. Not irritation. Not resistance.
Approval. Genuine. Quiet. Warm like iron just before it cools.
"I didn't expect this from you," he said. "Not today."
I tilted my head. "Then adjust your expectations."
His mouth curled—half a smirk, half a shadow. "I will."
Then he added, almost lightly, "But I want a condition."
I turned, my eyes narrowing. "What sort of condition?"
He rose, full height, the dying light casting sharp lines across his jaw. "Sleep with me tonight."
The words landed softly. Too softly. Like silk over a dagger.
I didn't flinch.
Not because I wasn't surprised.
But because I had expected worse.
I studied him. There was no mockery in his tone. No lust in his gaze. Just a calculation—calm and waiting.
I exhaled, slow. "Why?"
His reply was immediate. "Because if I'm to build our Noctare from the ground up, I want to know whose hands I'm building it for."
I agreed.
As long as the people in the slumbers smiled.
I will carry out all the duties of the Duchess.
Including the one he asked for.
The room was too quiet.
Even the wind outside had quieted, as if the Slumbers themselves were holding their breath.
I sat by the hearth, the firelight painting gold across my bare shoulders. The robe they'd left me was thin—linen and silk, barely tied. I hadn't fastened it properly. Maybe on purpose. Maybe not. My body had stopped pretending it wasn't aware of his presence the moment the door clicked shut behind him.
Lucian stood near the edge of the room, silent as stone, gloved fingers brushing over the frame of the old dresser. He wasn't looking at me, not directly, but he saw everything.
"You're staring at the wall," I said.
"I'm deciding," he said.
I lifted a brow. "About what?"
"Whether to treat you like porcelain or fire."
I stood. Slowly. The robe shifted against my skin. I walked over to him, not touching, not yet. "And which one wins?"
He met my eyes. "Which one wants to be held?"
My heart didn't stutter—but it almost did.
I didn't answer. I just reached up, touched the edge of his collar, and slipped one button loose. He let me. Then another.
I could feel his breath. Steady but tight.
"I'll give you tonight," I said. "But it doesn't mean I'm yours."
He dipped his head, lips brushing the edge of my ear, voice barely a breath.
"Good. I don't want yours," he murmured. "I want you."
I kissed him before he finished the sentence.
It wasn't gentle. Not at first.
It was months of silence and guarded stares and forgotten memories colliding at once.
But when his hand slid to the small of my back, steady and warm, everything slowed.
His kiss softened. Deepened.
Like he wasn't claiming me—he was memorizing me.
We fell into the sheets like that. Careful. Curious.
No commands. No bruises. No rush.
His hands were rough in all the right ways, but they moved like they were learning a language. My body answered in turn. Heat curling, breath catching, his name bitten down between clenched teeth and soft moans I didn't know I was capable of making.
And after—
After, when the fire had dimmed and our breaths had softened, he didn't pull away.
He stayed.
One arm beneath my neck, one across my waist. Our legs tangled like vines. My head resting just below the beat of his heart.
"You're warm," I whispered.
"I'm never warm," he said.
But he didn't let go.
The light was pale and grey-blue when I woke.
Rain was tapping faintly against the glass panes—soft, rhythmic, like a lullaby sung backward.
Lucian was still asleep.
Or maybe he wasn't.
He lay behind me, steady and still, one arm curled around my waist like it belonged there. I hadn't meant to fall asleep beside him. I'd meant to keep my guard up, even with skin against skin.
But I'd slept. Deeply.
His breath was warm against the back of my neck, and the sheets were tangled around our legs.
A part of me—traitorous, quiet—didn't want to move.
But I had work to do.
Carefully, I turned. His eyes opened the moment I did. Sharp and alert, even first thing. Of course.
"We need to talk about the Slumbers," I said, voice still low with sleep.
"Which part?" he asked, the corner of his mouth curving faintly. "The gemstones? Or last night?"
I ignored the second question.
"The gemstones are valuable. But they're not just coin—they're leverage. This village has been ignored for years. Left to rot. We could change that. Not just give them resources—make the Slumbers matter again. Economically. Strategically."
Lucian's eyes searched mine. "You want to restore the village."
"I want to invest in it," I corrected. "Rebuild the roads. Reinforce the outer fields. Reopen the old trade post. If we work with the people here instead of ruling over them, they'll protect the mines better than soldiers could."
He was silent for a long breath.
Then: "You thought of all that since yesterday?"
"No. I've thought about it since the last time I saw a starving child here three years ago."
Lucian reached for his shirt at the edge of the bed. He didn't rush. "And what would you need from me?"
I looked him in the eye. "Authority. Resources. Protection."
"And what do I get in return?"
I held his gaze. "A village loyal to you. A future Duchess who won't let your estate rot from the inside. And maybe," I added, leaning in just enough to brush my lips against his jaw, "a better night's sleep."
He caught my wrist gently, not to stop me—but to feel the pulse there.
"You play a dangerous game," he murmured.
I smiled. "No. I play to win."
"You said something yesterday," he said after a moment. "About the shrine. About the gemstone's glow."
I sat up, drawing the sheets around me. "Yes. It felt… different. Warm. Alive."
Lucian nodded once, slowly. "That wasn't just light. It was mana."
The word sank into the silence like a stone in water.
Mana. Magic. The invisible pulse of the world that most nobles scoffed at now—too ancient, too unpredictable, too forgotten.
"I didn't know you believed in that," I said.
He turned, expression unreadable. "I don't believe in things. I study them."
There was something in his voice. Not arrogance. Not certainty. Something cooler. Something careful.
I tilted my head. "You've studied magic?"
"I've had… reason to," he replied, walking back to the edge of the bed and sitting beside me. "The land around the Slumbers is old. Before this region was ever part of the Empire, this was one of the last places where wild mana was harvested freely. The shrine you found? It wasn't built for gods. It was built to anchor something."
I felt a chill—not fear, but anticipation.
"You think the gemstone was a conduit?"
Lucian met my gaze, and for once, I saw it—the flicker of something deeper. Not coldness. Not distance. Obsession.
"I think it was waking up," he said. "And if it is… we need to understand what we've disturbed."
My fingers tightened around the sheet.
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, quietly.
He reached out—his knuckles brushing a damp strand of hair from my cheek.
"Because I don't trust anyone else to see it clearly."
There was no heat in his touch. Only gravity.
And for the first time in years, I wondered what Lucian was truly after. Power? Control?
Or was there something else buried beneath the ice?
Love?
"However..." he murmured, reaching close to me, "mana stones only glow to people who have magic. In theory, you are a mage."
He scanned me.
"And the fact that you could touch them with bare hands... makes you a strong one."
He said.
Did something happen while I was reincarnated here?
Whatever it was, I was confirmedthat magic was added to this universe.