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As Prince Lucian emerged from his bath, the steam swirling around him as he loosely wrapped a towel around his waist.

His personal maid, always dutiful and attentive, couldn’t help but steal glances at his sculpted physique.

His skin gleamed with the sheen of oils, highlighting the defined muscles that spoke of his strength and discipline.

She guided him into the royal guest suite, where the room’s opulence mirrored his status — rich tapestries adorned the walls, and a grand four-poster bed stood proudly at the center.

Lucian took a seat by the bed as the maid draped a luxurious robe over his shoulders.

The deep blue garment, embroidered with gold, hung loosely around him, revealing much of his powerful frame.

He didn’t bother with the formalities of dressing fully — his mind was elsewhere.

As Lucian glanced around, he noticed Isabella, asleep on the bed. She was curled up, her body hidden beneath the soft, silk sheets, her face peaceful and undisturbed.

For a moment, Lucian’s mind wandered, his gaze lingering, but he quickly pushed away any impure thoughts, thinking of his aunt Eloise.

He knew he needed to stay focused. He had a purpose today — to gain Eloise’s approval and ensure she would allow him to accompany her on the upcoming ’mission’ to Darkhart Dukedom.

Though Lucian was not particularly interested in politics, he knew he had to keep up appearances.

He was going to see his aunt Eloise — a woman of great influence who, according to the head maid, had captivated even the Emperor.

For Lucian, it wasn’t just about power plays or alliances; he was only curious about the woman who seemed to hold sway over the Emperor.

As Lucian approached the palace gates, the whispers about his heritage echoed in his ears, sharper than ever.

With his heightened senses, he could pick up every hushed word, every sneer about his lineage.

It was no secret that he was the son of a concubine, a stain that many at court viewed as a mark against him.

Yet, despite his origins, Lucian had clawed his way to the official title of Prince — a rare feat for someone of his birth.

The murmurs weren’t just idle gossip; they were like spies, eyes constantly watching, tongues ready to weave tales to undermine him.

But Lucian did not care. Let them watch, let them whisper.

He had no use for their approval or their schemes.

They were nothing more than insignificant gnats buzzing at the edges of his vision, irrelevant to him.

His steps remained steady and unbothered, his expression indifferent as he walked towards the palace gate with the poise of someone who knew his worth, regardless of what others thought.

This status, though often challenged by others, gave him a unique position within the palace, one that he wielded with quiet confidence.

The palace gates slowly opened, revealing Lucian’s chariot, a beautifully crafted vehicle adorned with royal insignias and pulled by a team of magnificent horses.

His guards stood at attention, their disciplined postures reflecting their ’loyalty’.

Lucian nodded at them briefly, his thoughts already on his meeting with Eloise.

He stepped into the chariot, settling into the fine leather seats, and watched as the city began to unfold around him.

The chariot moved smoothly through the bustling streets of the capital, passing vibrant market stalls and crowds of people engaged in the rhythm of daily life.

As the chariot rolled into the main thoroughfare, commoners quickly moved aside, making way for the royal vehicle.

Some bowed in respect, while others simply stepped back, their eyes averted.

Among the crowd, a few eyes widened as they recognized Lucian’s unique chariot — its ornate design and distinctive crest impossible to miss.

"That’s Prince Lucian’s chariot," one man whispered to his companion, nodding towards the carriage with a sneer.

"The concubine’s son? Can you believe he’s still calling himself a prince?" another scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain and mockery.

"Yeah, despite the disgrace. I heard he has no shame, flaunting himself in brothels as if he’s untouchable," a burly man chimed in, his voice laced with a cruel smirk.

"Imagine that — our ’Prince’ sinking that low."

"You think he’s got his eye on the Throne?" someone else jeered, the idea sparking a round of quiet chuckles.

"Keep your voice down... wouldn’t want the prince to hear," another warned, though his mocking grin betrayed the thrill of speaking against Lucian.

The derisive whispers spread quickly, rippling through the crowd as curious onlookers craned their necks to glimpse the prince.

But Lucian, with his piercing senses, heard it all — every insult, every snide remark.

Yet, he paid them no mind.

To him, their mocking voices were nothing more than meaningless noise, unworthy of his attention.

The faces of the commoners, their bows, and murmurs of recognition were all just part of the backdrop to him.

He was accustomed to such attention, the mix of reverence and gossip that followed his every move.

Lucian’s thoughts were fully focused on the upcoming meeting, curious about what Eloise might say or do.

As the chariot continued its journey, Lucian glanced at the vibrant city outside.

Vendors called out from their stalls, children played in the narrow alleyways, and nobles in fine clothing moved between shops.

To Lucian, the scene was routine, and he watched it pass with disinterest.

His mind was set on Eloise, and the rumors that had surrounded her.

The day felt charged with anticipation, and he couldn’t help but wonder what he might discover in her company.

...

In the midst of the bustling streets, a figure moved with quiet precision, tracking the chariot from a distance.

He wore a dark cloak that allowed him to blend seamlessly into the shadows, moving with the grace of someone well-versed in remaining unseen.

Tall and muscular, the man’s movements were fluid and purposeful, his eyes never leaving Lucian’s chariot.

The unknown man’s hands rested near the hilts of daggers strapped to his belt, each blade etched with some weird symbols.

He kept a careful distance, always within sight of Lucian’s chariot but never close enough to draw attention.

His presence was like a shadow, a silent figure who moved among the city’s throng unnoticed, watching with unrelenting focus.

...

Lucian, absorbed in his own thoughts, remained blissfully unaware of the eyes that followed him.

He was too preoccupied with the prospect of his meeting with Eloise to notice the quiet threat lurking behind.

The chariot continued through the city, eventually winding into a quieter district where the buildings grew taller and the streets narrowed.

Lucian’s impatience grew sharper as they neared their destination, his thoughts consumed by aunt Eloise — the woman who had s*x even with her own brother — the Emperor himself.

According to the head maid, Eloise had become Emperor’s obsession, her influence stretching from the Emperor’s bed to the heart of his decisions.

Lucian couldn’t help but lick his lips, wondering what kind of pleasure she could offer him and how it might surpass even the Emperor’s most indulgent fantasies.

When the chariot finally stopped outside the stately building , Lucian stepped out, adjusting his robe with casual ease.

He approached the entrance, flanked by guards who moved with practiced precision.

The building was grand and imposing, its exterior clad in white marble with tall columns that stretched toward the sky.

Intricate carvings adorned the facade, depicting scenes of royal triumph, each detail meticulously crafted to showcase the wealth and power of its occupants. Golden accents gleamed in the sunlight, reflecting the grandeur of the capital’s elite.

Lucian ascended the wide marble steps, his footsteps echoing against the polished stone.

As he entered the building, he was greeted by a lavish interior that spoke of luxury and opulence.

The floors were covered in rich, red carpets that muffled the sound of his steps, and the walls were lined with elegant tapestries depicting the histories of the realm.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, their lights casting a warm glow that bathed the room in an amber hue.

Ornate vases filled with fresh flowers added splashes of color, their fragrance mingling with the subtle scent of incense that wafted through the air.

Lucian’s eyes moved over the grand hall, taking in the marble statues that lined the walls — figures of past rulers, heroes, and strange beasts, each one rendered in exquisite detail.

The space was designed to impress and intimidate, a clear display of wealth and status that left little doubt about the power of those who resided within.

As Lucian continued down the corridor, servants hurried past, their heads bowed in deference, while guards stood at attention, their eyes sharp and alert.

He reached a set of ornate double doors, each one carved with a delicate lattice of vines and flowers.

A pair of servants pulled them open, revealing a spacious sitting room beyond.

The room was richly furnished with plush sofas, silk cushions, and a grand fireplace that crackled with a gentle fire.

A large window on the far side of the room allowed sunlight to stream in, casting patterns of light and shadow across the floor.

Just as Lucian stepped into the room, a surprised voice broke the silence — a soft, feminine exclamation filled with playful delight.

"My, my, if it isn’t my favorite Prince…"

Lucian turned, a slow smile spreading across his face as he met the gaze of the woman he had been so eager to see.

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