Niana had survived, mostly thanks to Lucien's unflinching presence, but her nerves still twitched whenever a shadow fell too long across the walls or a carriage rattled down the cobblestone driveway. She had spent the days in an awkward mix of training with Lucien, reading up on political structures, and trying not to think too hard about how her decisions had rewritten parts of the story she once wrote.
Now, she sat at her polished desk, the sunlight highlighting the strands of her black hair, and finally gave in. She needed answers—about someone who had been, perhaps, too persistent in showing up around her these past few days.
"Lucien," she called, her tone deliberately casual, though her foot tapped anxiously beneath the desk. "I need a word. About… someone."
The butler appeared almost immediately, his movement smooth as liquid, expression composed. Even after a week, there was no hint of fatigue in his eyes, no looseness in the posture he always maintained. Golden hair perfectly framing that unreadable, sharp face.
"You summoned me, Mistress?" he asked, voice calm, but with that subtle undertone that made Niana simultaneously grateful and terrified.
She exhaled, flopping into the chair. "I—okay, this is weird, but… do you know anything about Eryan? Eryan—someone who keeps following me around?"
Lucien's eyes flicked briefly to her, neutral but attentive. "Eryan?"
"Yes!" Niana waved her hands dramatically. "He's everywhere. I can't—he just appears! And he keeps grinning at me like I stole his last dessert or something! I mean, who even grins like that at someone they just met… or did I meet him before? Because now I feel like I'm losing chapters here."
Lucien remained silent for a beat, then leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice. "He returned from studying abroad recently. His title is—well, he holds a noble status in the court, minor but influential. He has… personal reasons for seeking your company."
Niana froze. Personal reasons? Her mind raced, trying to piece together what that could mean. In the original story, Eryan had been a childhood friend—possessive, yandere-level obsessive even—but she had written that he never got the chance to interact with her in person until much later.
"Wait," she said slowly, leaning forward, voice low. "So you're saying… he's here for me?"
Lucien's expression didn't change, but the faintest tension threaded his posture. "That is my understanding, Mistress. He has shown particular… attentiveness toward you, unusually persistent."
Niana groaned, slumping back in her chair. "Unusually persistent? That is literally an understatement. I've had people practically stage interventions just to tell me I have to stop running into him everywhere. I mean, does he even sleep?!"
Lucien's lips twitched—he was always careful not to let any emotion slip, but there was a ghost of a smile. "It would appear he prioritizes your proximity."
She threw up her hands. "That's terrifying, Lucien. Absolutely terrifying. And creepy. And somehow flattering. But mostly terrifying."
He inclined his head slightly, studying her with that calm, meticulous gaze that made her feel simultaneously safe and scrutinized. "If you require, I can observe his movements. Ensure that he remains… within bounds."
Niana perked up instantly. "Yes! Do that! I… I mean, politely. Watch him politely. You know, don't kill him or anything. He hasn't done anything wrong yet, I think. Probably."
Lucien's eyes narrowed fractionally, though nothing else betrayed his thoughts. "Understood, Mistress. I will maintain discretion."
Niana exhaled, leaning back, hands resting on her cheeks. "Good. I just… I don't know why this is so stressful. It's just Eryan. The childhood guy. But now that he's back… I swear I feel like my story is collapsing around me again."
Lucien finally took a step back, his hands folded. "Stories, Mistress, can be very dangerous things when they intersect with reality. Be cautious of those who know you too well—or too little."
Niana blinked at him. "That's… ominous. Thanks, Lucien. Really."
---
The west garden of the Valeris Manor was quiet in the late afternoon.
Roses in full bloom climbed along the ivory trellises, their scent heavy in the warm air. The fountain murmured softly in the center of the courtyard, a steady rhythm beneath the rustle of trimmed hedges and distant footsteps of servants carrying out their duties.
Niana stood near the stone pathway, lifting the hem of her gown slightly to avoid the damp grass. Her expression was thoughtful, but not distant. Focused.
Lucien stood half a step behind her.
As always.
"Is this the updated ledger from the southern estate?" she asked, extending her hand without looking.
"Yes, Your Grace," Lucien replied smoothly, placing the bound book into her gloved fingers. "The harvest projections were lower than expected. However, I have already written to the overseer."
She skimmed a page, brow knitting faintly.
"And the wine shipment?"
"Delayed two days. I have adjusted the reception schedule accordingly."
"Mm."
A pause.
The kind that wasn't awkward — simply familiar.
Lucien noticed the way her shoulders relaxed slightly. The way she exhaled, quiet but real. He'd served her long enough to recognize when she was carrying too much and when she allowed herself these small pockets of calm.
"You have not rested properly this week, Your Grace," he said gently. Not scolding. Simply stating fact.
Niana shot him a sideways look. "If I rest every time someone tells me to, the duchy will collapse."
"On the contrary," Lucien replied evenly, "the duchy would simply function more efficiently."
She narrowed her eyes at him.
He did not blink.
"…Are you implying I am inefficient?"
"I would never dare."
She stared at him for three seconds longer before letting out a soft scoff. "You absolutely would."
There it was again — that faint smile tugging at her lips. Not the political one. The real one.
From the shaded corridor that connected the main manor to the west wing, Eryan watched.
He had not announced his arrival.
He often didn't.
Officially, he had every right to visit. The heir of the Vale territory, recently returned from years of study abroad, and an old acquaintance of the duchess.
Unofficially, he came far more often than etiquette required.
His gaze settled on Lucien.
The butler stood at the perfect distance — close enough to assist, far enough to maintain propriety. His posture was flawless. His voice steady. His presence constant.
Constant.
Eryan's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
Niana shifted slightly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she leaned closer to the ledger.
Lucien adjusted the page for her without needing to be asked.
Seamless.
Intimate.
Familiar.
Eryan felt something unpleasant coil beneath his ribs.
They were not touching.
They were not laughing loudly.
There was nothing inappropriate.
And yet.
The way she looked at him when she asked a question.
The way Lucien answered before she even finished speaking.
The way silence between them did not need to be filled.
Eryan's fingers curled slowly against the stone pillar beside him.
He had crossed oceans.
Spent years building influence.
Returned earlier than planned.
All for her.
And she—
She was standing in the garden, smiling softly at a man who addressed her as "Your Grace."
Lucien sensed it first.
The shift.
He lifted his gaze — not abruptly, but naturally — and met Eryan's eyes across the courtyard.
The recognition was immediate.
Lucien inclined his head politely.
Eryan did not return the gesture.
Niana followed Lucien's line of sight.
Her expression brightened.
"Eryan?"
She didn't hesitate.
She didn't calculate.
She simply looked… pleased.
And that should have satisfied him.
It didn't.
Because the warmth she directed at him now was the same warmth she had just given Lucien.
Equal.
Shared.
Unacceptable.
Eryan descended the steps slowly, measured, composed.
"Niana," he greeted, voice smooth as ever. "I did not mean to interrupt."
"You didn't," she said easily. "We were just reviewing estate reports. Are you here about the trade agreement?"
"Partly."
His eyes flickered briefly to Lucien.
"Though I see you are well attended."
Lucien did not react.
"I am always well attended," Niana replied lightly, missing the undercurrent entirely. "Lucien would probably appear even if I sneezed wrong."
Lucien bowed slightly. "It would depend on the severity of the sneeze, Your Grace."
She laughed.
Eryan smiled.
It did not reach his eyes.
"I see," he said softly.
And in that moment, as the fountain continued its gentle rhythm and the roses swayed in the warm air, something sharp settled behind his calm expression.
He would not lose.
Not to a servant.
Not to familiarity.
Not to years of quiet proximity.
If Lucien thought distance equaled loyalty—
Eryan would simply stand closer.
And if standing closer was not enough—
He would remove the distance entirely.