Welcome War

Welcome War
LUCIEN POV.

“Gwynne,” I said.

He looked up from where he’d been teasing Malric with a stolen dagger. He straightened immediately, which was rare for him. He only played the fool when it served to hide how sharp he truly was.

We walked from the vault together, past Dorian swearing allegiance to no one but wine, Saelene flicking imaginary dust from her coat, and Azren already halfway into the walls like some vengeful ghost. The doors closed behind us with a finality that clung to the ribs.

“Tell me everything that happened while I was gone,” I said.

Gwynne fell into step beside me. “Same old, same old: screaming, fighting, smooching. Honestly, Lucien, you should start your own dramatic opera.”

I exhaled through my nose. “Gwynne.”

“She kissed me first,” he added innocently. “You can’t blame me for being magnetic.”

“You’re a menace,” I muttered.

He grinned. “But I amuse you.”

Unfortunately, he did. Always had. Gwynne made war feel like a game and heartbreak sound like poetry. His irreverence grated against the old stones of my soul—and yet, I found myself clinging to it like a torch in the dark.

I hated how much I needed him.

He knew it, too.

“She’s not going to forgive me,” I said quietly, as we turned toward the war chamber.

“No,” he agreed, after a beat. “But you’re not doing this for forgiveness, are you?”

I wasn’t.

I was doing it for the girl who stood in a ballroom of monsters with her chin held high and murder in her eyes. The girl who had once tried to kill me and made it almost poetic. The girl whose rage felt like church bells and thunder and every storm I’d ever welcomed.

Arabella.

My hunter. My ruin. My salvation.

I loved her in a way that made no sense at all—like the taste of sun after centuries in the dark. And I would drown this castle in blood before I let her be taken.

“She needs to stay underground,” I said. “Fortify the vault. If the Everleighs come through the lower passage, we’ll funnel them into the stone choke.”

Gwynne nodded. “And what if she escapes to try to fight?”

“She will,” I said. “She always does.”

“She’s like you,” he said, not unkindly. “But less brooding. More stabbing.”

I sighed. “She’s like neither of us. That’s why she terrifies me.”

We reached the war map, where the castle’s shape sprawled like a bloodstain across the table. Torches flickered. Shadow wavered.

“I’m taking the east gate,” I said. “If they breach it, they’ll try to take the throne room first. They’ll want to humiliate us.”

“I’ll cover the scriptorium,” Gwynne said. “That’s where they’ll go next. She’ll be safest with Fionn—for now.”

I nodded. “If I don’t return—”

“You will.”

“But if I don’t,” I said again, forcing him to meet my eyes, “protect her.”

He didn’t joke this time.

“You know I will.”

And he would. For all his laughter, Gwynne had never let me down. He knew how to turn chaos into choreography and pain into a performance. He kept me steady when all I wanted was to burn.

He made this wretched eternity feel like less of a curse.

And still, I loved her more.

I left the chamber and stepped into the dark with murder in my heart and her name carved into every beat of it.

Let them come.

Let them all come.

I would show them why the world still feared the House of Arceneaux.

The castle was a creature of many moods, and tonight she stirred in her sleep, restless and snarling. I passed beneath archways carved with forgotten languages, torches guttering in their sconces as if they too feared what approached. My boots echoed sharply against stone as I descended toward the east wing, where the first breach would come.

Gwynne had peeled off toward the scriptorium, cloak flicking like spilled ink. He’d winked before vanishing—a casual gesture, but it tightened something in my chest. We didn’t say good luck. That sounded too much like goodbye.

The east gate loomed ahead, thick with iron and old blood. I could smell them beyond it—the Everleighs. I’d never liked that name. It sounded too clean for what they were.

A house of murderers masquerading as noblemen. They'd once ruled with fire and fear, until they’d burned too bright, too fast, and were forced into shadow. Now they returned like all ugly things do: hungry, bitter, and crawling through the dark.

I rested a hand on the cold stone of the wall, anchoring myself. The last time I’d stood here, Arabella had been trying to kill me. The time before that—she’d been in my bed, pressed against silk and moonlight and the wreck of my composure.

I closed my eyes.

Her scent was still on my skin.

I could taste her fury in the back of my throat, bitter as ash and just as sacred. She would never love easily. And gods, I would never want her to.

She had called me a monster.

She wasn’t wrong.

The door beside me creaked open.

Azren emerged, shadowed and tall, his silver blade gleaming like frost. “They’re setting up at the ravine,” he murmured. “A full battalion. At least one familiar warlock.”

“How long?”

“Minutes. If that.”

I nodded. “Malric is reinforcing the east parapets?”

“He’s already sunk his fangs into the stone. The bastard’s half a gargoyle when he’s angry.”

“Good.”

Azren watched me a moment longer. “You look... raw.”

“I am.”

I gave him a withering look, then drew my sword from its sheath with a hiss. It sang with ancient metal and memory. My fingers curled around the hilt like a prayer I hadn’t said in centuries.

“Lucien,” Azren said, voice low, “you know if they take her, they’ll use her. Her blood. Her name. Her grief. She’s more valuable to them alive than dead.”

“They won’t take her.”

“And if they do?”

“They’ll pray for death.”

He let out a low, humorless whistle. “You’ve fallen hard.”

“No,” I said. “I’ve fallen exactly as I should. Finally.”

With that, the horns blared from the watchtowers, deep and guttural, echoing like the cry of some dying beast. The Everleighs were here.

Azren stepped into the dark beside me, silent and ready.

I looked to the sky, to the heavy clouds curdling above the turrets, and whispered her name once under my breath.

Arabella.

Then I turned to the gate, raised my sword, and welcomed war.