Chapter 10: Solar

The solar was drenched in light, filtered through tall stained-glass windows that painted the stone floor in fractured reds and golds. It looked more like a chapel than a war room—if chapels came with thrones, swords mounted like art, and a king lounging like a curse made flesh.

Lucien sat at the far end, half in shadow, legs crossed, fingers steepled. He didn’t rise when I entered. Didn’t speak, either.

Good. Because I had nothing I wanted to say.

I crossed the room slowly, my steps echoing, corset biting into my ribs. The gown rustled around my legs like a serpent in silk, the necklace heavy as a shackle at my throat. When I stopped several paces from his chair, I didn’t bow. I didn’t offer a greeting. I simply said, “Why am I here?”

Lucien’s gaze cut toward me. The stillness of his body was terrifying—controlled, unreadable. Only his eyes betrayed him. They flicked down to the necklace. The dress. Then back up to my face.

“Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying the attention,” he said, voice like cold wine.

I stayed silent as he stood, slow and deliberate, and descended the small dais like a predator descending from a throne. I braced, chin high, expression flat.

“You’re cold this morning,” he said as he neared, stopping just within reach. “Was I too generous? Or not gentle enough?”

“I made a mistake,” I said, proud of how even my voice came out. “It won’t happen again.”

His jaw twitched. “So you regret it.”

“Yes.”

Something flickered in his eyes—something brittle—but his smile came cruel and practiced.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I regret it too. I should’ve left you in chains.”

I flinched. Just slightly. But he saw it. And he hated himself for it.

The silence coiled, tight and hot beneath the surface, until I finally said, “Why did you summon me?”

Lucien turned his back to me and walked toward the window, clasping his hands behind him. “There’s a feast tonight. A celebration of sorts. The court will be watching you.”

“Watching me?”

He nodded, not looking back. “You’re mine now, Arabella. And the court needs to see that. You’ll sit at my side. You’ll smile when spoken to. You’ll play the part.”

I crossed my arms. “And if I don’t?”

He turned then. Slowly. That familiar cruelty returned to his face like a mask. “Then I’ll remind them—and you—that not everything that bleeds is meant to be loved.”

My breath caught. Not from fear. From fury. Still, I kept my expression smooth. I could be cold too.

“You’re afraid,” I said, stepping closer. “Afraid they’ll see what you let slip.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

I turned before he could wound me further, walking for the door with regal poise, every inch of me wrapped in frost. But just as my hand reached the handle, I felt him behind me.

Close. Too close.

His breath touched the back of my neck a moment before his mouth did—cool lips grazing skin still marked faintly from the night before. Then I felt them: the sharp edges of his fangs, not breaking skin, just brushing. A warning. A memory. A threat wrapped in seduction.

I froze.

“You wear my mark,” he murmured, voice a husk of smoke. “Don’t pretend you don’t feel it still.”

My heart betrayed me with its thrum, loud enough for him to hear. My breath caught, and my hand tightened on the doorknob.

“Is this the part where you try to remind me I belong to you?” I whispered.

“No,” Lucien said, drawing back slowly. “This is the part where I let you walk away before you fall apart.”

I turned slightly, only to find him already at the door, opening it with a slight bow, infuriatingly composed.

I swept past him without a word, but my skin still burned where his mouth had touched it.

The heavy doors shut behind me with a low, echoing thud, leaving my thoughts in a scattered mess of tangled heat and humiliation. I kept walking—because standing still felt too much like surrender—only to nearly crash into someone lounging against the corridor’s archway, arms crossed, expression far too amused.

“Well,” Gwynne said, eyes gleaming like candlelight on wine. “You look like you’ve just been kissed and punished at the same time. Lucien’s special brand of foreplay?”

I glared. “Don’t you have a dungeon to go haunt or something?”

“Oh, I haunt. Just selectively.” He pushed off the wall and fell into step beside me, the scent of cloves and something old but pleasant trailing in his wake. “But I couldn’t possibly miss the chance to escort our newest darling to tonight’s little... blood-and-silk spectacle.”

I blinked at him. “Spectacle?”

“The Feast of Thirst. It’s tradition. Big gowns, glittering fangs, lots of dramatic posturing. Think court politics meets drunken opera, only everyone can smell fear and someone's always seconds from a duel.”

“How lovely,” I said flatly.

Gwynne grinned. “Lucien asked me to make sure you were properly informed. You’re to arrive just after twilight. Full regalia. No weapons, obviously.”

I kept walking. “Obviously.”

He leaned in. “Of course, what you smuggle in your corset is none of my business.”

My silence earned him a wide, wicked grin.

“You’re in for a treat tonight, Bella,” he said, more softly this time. “The court’s hungry—and not just for blood. Keep your wits. And your pulse steady.”

We walked in silence for a moment, the only sounds the hush of our steps on ancient stone and the quiet flutter of torchlight.

Then, he said, “You seem… tired.”

I hesitated. “I’m fine.”

“I won’t press. I just thought you should know someone around here sees it.”

I paused mid-step. Something in his voice—something real—unsettled the armor I’d so carefully worn all morning. My brow furrowed, uncertain, and then his fingers brushed mine.

Just barely. Just enough to notice.

I looked up, ready with a sharp retort, but Gwynne was already watching me with that maddening smile—quieter now, and not quite so smug. “For what it’s worth, Bella… I rather like you better when you’re not trying to kill everyone in the room.”

“I’m not trying to kill everyone,” I muttered.

“Just most,” he said. “It’s endearing.”

I rolled my eyes, but a reluctant smile threatened the corners of my mouth. And gods help me, I didn’t stop him when he lifted my hand to his lips.

The kiss he placed against my knuckles wasn’t mocking or overly dramatic. It was soft. Almost reverent.

And that was far more dangerous.

“You’ll survive tonight,” he murmured. “I’ll be there. Keeping the monsters from getting too close.”

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

He straightened, his smirk returning like armor sliding back into place. “And if you ever want to escape, I know three secret exits, two trapdoors, and one enchanted wine cellar. Your choice.”

Then he looped my arm through his, and without asking, began to walk me toward my chambers like a gentleman from a fairytale I didn’t believe in.

And for a moment—just a flicker—I didn’t mind the company.