Chapter Five

Ever since he’d caught Captain Hart teaching me the sword, Lucian came to the Rose Pavilion every single day without fail.

He never bothered with a greeting. First he would stalk through every room, frowning, searching. Once he was satisfied there were no suspicious men about, he would swagger over and claim the chair I liked best.

Then he would look down his nose at me with those cool eyes and say, stone-faced:

“I was only passing by on an inspection. Don’t read anything into it. Don’t think I came here for you.”

I said “Mm” and nodded.

Then I had the maids bring in the meal I’d prepared especially for him.

“You’ve been working so hard, Brother, and you’ve lost so much weight. You need to eat more and build your strength back up.”

Lucian surveyed the table laden with all his favorites—roast leg of lamb, creamy mushroom soup, an apple pie fresh from the oven—and the plate I’d piled as high as a small mountain.

He couldn’t keep the corners of his mouth down.

She thinks she can win me over through my stomach?

“What a vulgar little ploy.”

“You still haven’t given up on me, have you!”

Halfway through the meal, his face suddenly turned cold again.

“Don’t think one dinner is going to move me. There can never be anything between us. Understand?”

“I understand,” I said.

Only then did Lucian’s expression improve.

After several months of this, I had fattened Lucian up considerably. There was even a little fullness in his face.

But peace never lasted long, and soon trouble came again.

Lucian owed his throne in large part to the faction of Marshal Caro, who commanded the northern border.

And the Queen’s seat remained empty, which set off all kinds of undercurrents at court.

Every great house was scheming to get a daughter into the palace.

The boldest of them all was Marshal Caro.

His second daughter, Celia, was beautiful and brilliant, the most dazzling young lady of the capital’s social season.

The Marshal had his heart set on Celia marrying into the palace and becoming queen.

But Lucian was always evasive and turned down his proposals again and again.

The Marshal was furious, and he turned to darker methods.

He bribed a palace servant to slip an aphrodisiac—bought on the eastern black market—into Lucian’s supper, and timed Celia’s arrival at the palace to match.

He’d worked it all out: once the deed was done, Lucian would have to marry her whether he wanted to or not.

What Marshal Caro hadn’t counted on was that Lucian was stubborn as a mule.

When the drug took hold, he clenched his teeth and sat in an ice-cold bath for over an hour, and he didn’t let a single woman in.

Celia had barely raised her hand to knock on the door of the royal bedchamber before the guards “escorted” her out.

“By His Majesty’s order, no one is to approach the bedchamber!”

She stumbled and fell on the stone steps, her lovely face frozen in shock. She’d never imagined she’d be treated like this.

Everyone she’d brought with her was detained as well.

She was the Marshal’s daughter, after all. When had she ever suffered such humiliation?

She spat a few furious words, flung her skirts around, and stormed off without looking back.

I don’t know how much time passed.

Bertram, who was pacing back and forth outside the King’s bedchamber, spotted me at once.

He hurried over.

“Your Highness, thank heaven you’re here!”

“Please, you must talk some sense into His Majesty! The physician says it’s a powerful aphrodisiac from the East. If it isn’t… relieved… in time, it could kill him!”

I frowned, my face darkening.

“Who would dare?”

Bertram shook his head.

He had his suspicions, but he didn’t dare say them out loud.

So I asked a different question. “How do you cure it?”

The old man’s face went crimson. “…The physician says there is no antidote. The only cure is… is for a woman to keep His Majesty company.”

I looked at him coldly, clearly displeased.

“There are so many women in the palace. Why have you been dragging your feet instead of finding him one?”

Bertram dropped to his knees with a thud, his face crumpling.

“…Your Highness, it isn’t that I haven’t tried! His Majesty won’t have any of them! Every one we send in, the guards throw right back out!”

He wiped his eyes and glanced toward the bedchamber.

“His Majesty has been in that bath for two hours now. The water is ice-cold enough to cut to the bone. Not even a man made of iron could bear it.”

I said nothing more. I pushed the door open and walked straight in.

When I found Lucian in the bath,

his lips were white, his hair a wild tangle,

and he was barely breathing.

I hauled him out of the water. The cold of him hit my chest like a blow; it was like holding a block of ice.

I wrapped him in blankets and patted his cheek. “Brother?”

He clutched the blankets and moaned, clearly no longer conscious.

His icy body slowly began to warm, and then to burn, flushed an unnatural red all over.

I could just make out my name on his lips.

“…Nina, it hurts. It hurts so much…”

I hovered beside him, frantic, and bent close. “Where does it hurt, Brother? Tell me how to help you.”

He was drenched in sweat. He kicked the blankets away and dragged me into his arms.

“…Don’t go. Nina, don’t go…”

I had never experienced anything like it.

The candles flickered all night long.

I don’t remember clearly what happened after that.

I only remember that near dawn, I fell asleep exhausted in his arms, held so tightly I couldn’t move.