Ch. 44 - Who dared to touch you?!

Ch. 44 - Who dared to touch you?!
Elena's footsteps echoed softly in the grand hallway leading to Lucian's private room. Two soldiers walked beside her, while Michelle followed silently behind.

One of the guards opened the door slowly. Elena stepped inside, and the familiar scent of old wood mixed with expensive perfume greeted her.

The large room felt familiar, like she knew every corner of it.

She looked around. Empty. Where was Lucian?

She stood in the middle of the room for a moment. Then, boredom started to creep in. She walked toward the corner of the room, looking at the wall that separated it from the study. She didn’t want to go there—it reminded her of the time Lucian had gotten angry with her.

Then her eyes fell on a dark hallway in the far corner. She knew she shouldn’t be wandering, but it looked like the hallway led out of the room. Maybe it could be a way out if Lucian ever tried to kill her in this place.

Elena walked slowly toward the hallway and was surprised to find another room at the end of it. Her eyes widened as she looked around.

The room looked like an antique storage area, filled with various well-maintained furniture. The walls were decorated with golden carvings, and thick carpets covered the marble floor. On the right side of the room hung a large portrait that immediately caught her attention.

Elena froze. Inside the grand frame was the face of a handsome man. Dark brown hair, sharp eyes, and royal clothes with the Gaulle emblem on his chest.

Who was he? For a moment, Elena was captivated. The man looked like Lucian.

“King Louis,” Lucian said softly from behind her.

Elena jumped, startled. She turned around slowly and found Lucian standing just a few steps away. She quickly bowed her head in fear, sure he was angry with her.

But Lucian was also looking at the painting.

Elena gasped. She looked at him closely. Lucian was wearing a black formal gown with silver details on the collar and sleeves. Without his mask, his handsome face was clearly visible. His sharp eyes were calmer than usual tonight.

"He is my father, King Louis," Lucian said, moving closer to the painting. His gaze softened as he looked at it. "A king loved by his people. A father I deeply respected. He was firm and fair. If your father hadn’t been such a bastard, he would have made Gaulle prosperous and peaceful."

Elena lowered her head, guilt slowly rising in her chest. Lucian’s words felt sincere, not just polite formality. And she knew—no matter how she thought about justice or revenge—the truth remained: her father, King Wilhelm, had killed King Louis.

“There’s nothing you need to regret,” Lucian said suddenly, as if he could read her mind.

Elena looked up and stared at him. He stood calmly, his gaze cold but controlled. There was no rage like before. His expression was completely different, making her feel like he had a thousand personalities.

“Wilhelm didn’t just destroy my family—he destroyed my entire people. You know what he did. You also know I’ll never forget it.”

Elena swallowed hard. “I know,” she said softly.

Lucian looked at her for a moment, then his eyes moved to her appearance. The dark red dress fit her perfectly, leaving much of her skin exposed. His gaze darkened for a moment, then he turned and motioned for her to follow him back to the main room. He walked to a small table in the corner.

There, lying on the table, were black and silver masks.

“I called you here to tell you something.” Lucian picked up one of the masks and turned it in his hands. “Tonight’s masquerade is not just an ordinary party. There are honored guests you must serve.”

Elena stood still, an uneasy feeling rising inside her.

Lucian placed the mask back on the table and looked at her seriously. “You already know the four kings from the first trial will be there again.”

Elena nodded slowly. The memory of that night was still clear in her mind—the rough hands, the mocking voices, and the fear that haunted her every second.

But Lucian wasn’t done.

“This time, there’s an additional honored guest,” he said, stepping closer, his voice calm but sharp. “Prince Damien of Nubile.”

Elena held her breath. Before she could respond, Lucian continued, “And tonight, you must serve them.”

Elena froze. Her body stiffened. Her mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. Lucian’s words echoed in her head, cutting deep into her chest.

Serve.

She knew exactly what that word meant in this palace. It wasn’t just about offering drinks or dancing. It wasn’t just about standing there and looking pretty.

Her eyes locked onto Lucian’s, searching for some hint of doubt or sympathy. But all she saw was resolve and cold control. She couldn’t tell what he was really thinking. Did he enjoy watching her suffer, or did he feel guilty at all?

Lucian’s face gave nothing away.

Michelle stood quietly in the corner of the room, her eyes on the floor. No one dared to question the decision. Not even Elena knew what she could say.

The memories were still raw. Back then, Lucian had arrived just in time to stop them. He had pulled her away from those filthy hands, leaving her shaking and terrified. That fear still lingered in her body, even now.

The images returned clearly. The harsh grip on her wrist, the foul whispers in her ear, and the disgusting laughter of old men who thought they could do anything they wanted. She could still feel how close she had been to becoming their toy that night—if Lucian hadn’t stepped in.

Realizing her eyes were blank, Elena looked away quickly. Lucian noticed, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“In any case, prepare yourself. Expect the worst. I won’t be able to help you this time,” Lucian said flatly, though his tone held a hint of concern he rarely showed. His eyes moved to the bracelet on Elena’s wrist and relaxed slightly, seeing she was still wearing it.

His gaze lingered on her face again, captivated yet serious. Then he frowned, noticing the faint bruise on her cheek.

“What’s this?” Lucian gently lifted her chin, his fingers cold. He didn’t need to be an expert to recognize it was a mark from a hit. Who dared to lay a hand on her?

“Who touched your face like this?” he asked, his voice sharp.

Elena hesitated. The memory of Razan, his actions, and the threats he made haunted her. She couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“The slave captain from the mine… Razan, Master,” Elena said softly but clearly. “He… tried to rape me before I came here.”

Lucian’s expression darkened instantly. His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. His tall, strong frame suddenly gave off a dangerous, ice-cold energy.

“He doesn’t know you belong to me?” Lucian stepped closer, his voice deeper.

Elena didn’t know what scared her more—Lucian calling her a slave or the memory of Razan’s assault. But seeing Lucian’s anger gave her a small sense of comfort—at least he cared enough to be angry.

She told him everything.

Lucian was silent for a few seconds. Then he turned toward his nearby guard. “Riven.”

Riven didn’t need further orders. He nodded and left the room instantly.

Lucian stood still, his shoulders tense. He looked back at Elena. His eyes were softer now, almost showing guilt.

“You’re my slave. You must tell me if anyone dares touch you without my permission.”

Elena nodded. “Yes, Master.”



The basement of Gaulle’s palace was always cold and damp. That night, in one of the stone chambers echoing with dripping water, Razan knelt with his hands tied behind his back. His face was swollen and bruised, his breathing shallow. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.

Lucian stood in front of him, still wearing his formal clothes, though the mask was gone. His eyes were sharp, his face calm, but the fury was clear. Beside him, Riven stood silently, gripping Razan’s shoulder hard enough to make him wince in pain.

“You know what your mistake was?” Riven said. “You touched His Majesty’s slave. You must be tired of living.”

Razan gritted his teeth, wincing in pain. “He… he’s just a slave. He’s lying! I didn’t do anything to him. Please, Your Majesty, have mercy!”

A hard whip from Riven silenced him. Razan screamed as the pain hit him like fire.

“One touch was enough to seal your fate,” Lucian said coldly. “And yet you dared.”

Razan collapsed, still begging, blood dripping from his lips.

Lucian glanced at Riven. “Torture him. Make sure he regrets every touch.”

Riven nodded. He gave the order to the guards, who quickly prepared Razan for punishment.

Razan groaned and trembled with each lash. Lucian stood nearby, unmoved. A
fter several minutes, as blood pooled beneath Razan and his cries weakened, Lucian turned and left the chamber without a word.