Luren returned earlier than expected after visiting his family. Kellen had urged him
to leave quickly, Seravelle was no longer safe. Rumors of King Velgarith's
spies roaming the city had grown more frequent. They were looking for him.
He wore a cloak, the hood pulled low to conceal his face.
"Prince Luren, we've arrived," Rolen said from the opposite seat.
"Just call me Luren. I'm not a prince," he replied quietly.
Rolen didn't argue, he knew the truth better than anyone. After all, he had been the
one to investigate Luren's family history. It was hardly a secret anymore, enough people already knew.
As they stepped down from the carriage, another arrived just behind them.
"Good to see you both," Keith said, hopping off, his expression bright and relaxed. He
looked as if he'd come from a spa, not a tense journey.
"Hello, Keith," Luren greeted politely. Rolen merely nodded in acknowledgment.
"Has His Grace come out of the annex?" Keith asked as they entered the mansion, turning to Butler Lenon.
Lenon only shook his head silently.
It had already been three days.
Luren went straight to his room, the air inside heavy with silence.
That night, sleep eluded him. He tossed and turned in his bed, unable to calm the unease in his chest. Finally, needing air, he slipped out. But instead of walking toward the garden, his feet carried him somewhere else, toward the annex.
His heart pounded when he saw the door of the room where Craige was staying. The hallway was eerily still, bathed in moonlight and silence. He stepped closer, almost
without realizing it, and leaned against the door.
Then, a sound, soft at first, the unmistakable. A moan.
Luren's breath caught in his throat.
He gasped, hand flying to his mouth as heat rushed to his face. The quiet around him only
made it worse, every cry, every breath, every muffled voice from inside seemed louder, more vivid.
He stood frozen, torn between shame and something far more dangerous. Something he didn't want to name.
"ahh.. ahhh.."Your Grace... please, slower… go easy on us..." a sweet woman's voice echoed in Luren's ears.
His fists clenched in anger.
He wanted to barge into the room rip the door open, pull the Duke away, but he had no
right. Why am I feeling this way?
His eyes widened.
A sudden, terrifying realization struck him like lightning.
He liked the Duke.
But… I'm a man!
His breath caught in his throat. Panic flooded his chest as he turned and ran…ran from
the annex, from the voice, from the truth…back to the safety of his room.
He collapsed onto the bed, trembling.
How? Why? he thought in a daze.
Did I really like him? But I thought I admired him like a brother…
His heart pounded painfully in his chest.
No... it can't be. I must be confused. I have to be confused... right?
Inside the annex room, the Duke finally felt the heat of his rut subside. His chest rose
and fell in a steady rhythm as he glanced around at the women, some asleep on
the bed, others sprawled on the sofa, their breaths soft and even. But his thoughts were far from peaceful. He closed his eyes, shame and confusion crashing over him like a wave.
How could he?
How could he think of Luren, his smile, his tearful eyes, the soft sound of his voice, while entangled with someone else?
A bitter chuckle escaped his lips.
"I must be going mad," he muttered.
"Why am I thinking about that boy? The one I swore to protect… the one I called my brother?"
His hands trembled slightly as he reached for the glass of water and the vial of
contraceptive medicine on the bedside table. He drank quickly, even though the
women had already taken theirs. He had to be sure. He couldn't take chances.
As he set the glass down, a small smile played at the corners of his lips, uninvited,
unshakable.
"Don't get them pregnant," Luren had said, with that mix of innocence and blunt honesty
that always caught him off guard.
His heart ached.
"I miss him…" Craige admitted to himself, the words a whisper in the quiet room.
Without another thought, he stood and headed to the bathroom. His body still burned, but not from desire, this was something deeper.
He needed a cold shower.
He needed to forget… or perhaps, to finally understand.
Keith was pacing back and forth inside the Duke's office, clearly agitated.
"Stop it, Keith. My head hurts," Luren muttered, rubbing his temple while scanning the pile of documents in front of him. He hadn't had proper sleep in days, and the
fatigue was catching up.
Rolen sat quietly in the corner, absentmindedly flipping a dagger between his fingers. He was a man of few words and fewer expressions.
"The Midnight Ball is tomorrow," Keith said, breaking the silence. "The Duke hasn't
left the annex in days. He still needs to be fitted for his clothes and you, too."
Luren sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping.
All three of them turned their heads when the office door suddenly swung open.
"Finally! Your Grace," Keith exclaimed, his voice a mixture of relief and urgency.
Craige stepped inside, eyes scanning the room until they landed on Luren. Their gazes
met for a moment, but Luren was the first to look away, his heart skipping in discomfort. He had been trying to avoid Craige ever since realizing his feelings.
"Your Grace, the tailor will arrive in an hour. You both need to be fitted," Keith
reminded.
"I understand," Craige replied calmly. "Leave us and let the women leave safely and pay them generously."
Rolen stood and exited quietly, Keith following behind, though still puzzled about why they had been asked to leave.
Luren looked at the Duke, suspicion flickering in his eyes. Why did he want to be
alone with him?
"You're back," Luren said coldly, not meeting his eyes.
Craige raised a brow. He didn't expect this chilly reception not from someone who had
once cried when he left for the annex.
"Hey… are you still upset?" Craige asked with a teasing smile as he moved closer,
casually sitting on Luren's desk.
Luren's heartbeat quickened at the closeness. His lips twitched slightly before he forced a smile.
"Did you enjoy your little… debauchery?" he asked, mockingly playful but unable to hide
the hurt in his voice.
Craige laughed and gently tousled Luren's hair, just like he used to.
"I missed you, kiddo," he said softly, voice full of warmth.
Luren's heart fluttered. He knew Craige didn't mean it the same way he did but it still
meant everything to hear it.
"Same here…" he replied shyly, eyes flickering to Craige's face.
"Why don't you give me a hug?" Craige grinned, arms open wide.
Luren didn't hesitate. He stepped into the Duke's embrace, craving the warmth and
safety, even if it wasn't love…not yet.
They held each other tenderly, a silence wrapping around them that neither dared to
break. Luren's heart raced, butterflies stirred in his stomach. For a moment, it felt perfect.
Craige, however, sat frozen in the moment, a flicker of confusion in his chest. Why did
this feel… different?
A sudden knock on the door made them jump apart.
"Your Grace, the modest is here," Keith called from outside.
They quickly moved away from each other, the air between them now thick with
unspoken thoughts. Both flushed, both stunned.
The modest showed them a different design of clothes for the ball. They both chose a navy blue outfit embroidered with silver thread.
The navy blue ball attire was dignified and striking, crafted from rich velvet that
caught the light with every movement. Fine silver thread formed elegant
patterns of stars and swirling lines along the cuffs, collar, and hem, symbolizing calm strength and hidden depth. The outfit featured a high-collared, tailored tunic paired with slim, formal trousers, and a long,
flowing overcoat lined with silk. The silver embroidery shimmered like moonlight on water subtle yet captivating perfect for a night of quiet power and silent emotion.