Lucien's hand, resting on the table's edge, stilled. His blind gaze remained steady, though his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Oh yes," Alaric chuckled. "She's a beauty, isn't she? Wouldn't you say?"
A beat of silence hung between them, thick as storm air before a downpour. Then, Lucien spoke — his voice low, deliberate, each word weighted like a sword on the table.
"Be careful what you chase, Alaric. Some things were never meant to be claimed… and some people were never meant to be possessions."
The prince raised a brow, a smirk playing at his lips. "I'm not claiming her, Lucien. I'm… offering her a kingdom."
Lucien tilted his head slightly, the faintest curve of a smile at the corner of his mouth — but it wasn't kind. "You might find, Highness, that offering a crown to a storm only gets you struck by lightning."
Alaric's expression cooled, his gaze sharpening. "Is that a warning?"
