Upon arriving at the mansion, Sophia did not allow the world a moment to breathe between the journey and what was inevitable. She led Lusian directly to his chambers, as though even the hallway might contaminate him with doubt if they lingered too long.
The air inside the private wing smelled of mint incense—clean, almost sacred. Golden drapes hung heavily on either side of the windows, filtering the outside light into soft beams that felt more like something from a temple than a human residence. Everything was arranged with a precision that spoke of order… but also control.
Sophia closed the door behind them.
And then, for the first time since their arrival, silence stopped being courtesy and became decision.
They sat.
Lusian sank into an armchair far too large for the tension in his body. Sophia sat opposite him, upright, composed… carrying that calm which was not indifference, but absolute command over everything that could break at any moment.
She did not look at him as a strategist.
She looked at him as a mother.
And in that contrast lay her true danger.
Because Sophia Douglas was not a woman who doubted the world.
She was a woman who would destroy it if it ever touched her son.
—In six days —she said firmly, without raising her voice— at the Temple of Sangus… the god of loyalty and truth… the engagement oath with the Carters will be held.
The words were not an announcement.
They were fate.
The name of the god did not sound like religion, but like an ancient verdict, written long before either of them existed.
Lusian sank deeper into the armchair, as if his body no longer fully belonged to him.
His hands clenched tightly around the armrests.
Too tightly for something pretending to be control.
—Mother… —his voice cracked, betraying him— is it… is it mandatory? All of it… the oath, the blood…? What if I fail?
The tremor was not in his fear.
It was in the idea of not being enough.
Sophia studied him for a moment.
Just one.
Enough for the entire world to feel judged and condemned if necessary.
Then she leaned slightly toward him.
And the severity she carried did not disappear.
It transformed.
—Son… listen to me carefully.
Her voice softened, but did not lose its edge.
—I know this feels overwhelming. I know it weighs on you. But you must not worry.
Lusian swallowed hard. The air wouldn't come properly.
—Breathe —she added, almost in a whisper—. I am here.
And in those two words was something more dangerous than any external threat.
Because they were not comfort.
They were possession of the problem itself.
Lusian lowered his gaze.
—But… if something goes wrong… —his voice broke further— will I… die?
Sophia smiled.
And that smile was not coldness.
It was pure tenderness.
A tenderness so deep it could become violence without changing shape.
She rose and walked toward him.
Slowly.
As though the world had no right to interrupt this moment.
She sat beside him and, with a careful gesture, adjusted his hair the way one would with a child.
—No, son —she said softly—. You won't.
A pause.
—This oath is serious. Sacred before Sangus. Unbreakable.
Her fingers rested gently on him, grounding him to reality.
—But you do not bear its weight.
Lusian looked at her, torn between relief and something he could not yet name.
—Then… who does…?
Sophia did not look away.
—Emily Carter.
The name fell without emotion… but not without meaning.
—She will swear her loyalty before the god. She is the one who binds the contract.
Silence.
The kind of silence that does not ask permission to settle into the mind.
Lusian blinked slowly.
—So… if something goes wrong…
He did not finish.
Sophia did.
—She pays.
There was no cruelty in her tone.
And that was the worst part.
Because it was not spoken as a threat.
It was spoken as a law of the world.
As the way things simply are when order must be preserved.
Lusian froze.
His breathing grew shallow.
—And I… —he whispered— just have to be there.
Sophia nodded.
—Only that.
She took his hand then.
Firm.
Warm.
Far too human for someone who had just described a system where a life could hinge on a ritual.
—Your duty is to accept her —she continued—. To marry her. To give her the place she deserves as a future Duchess of the Douglases.
Her thumb brushed his knuckles gently.
A small gesture.
But absolute.
—Nothing more.
Lusian looked at her, still trembling.
And in that moment, fear began to mix with something else.
Something harder to process.
—I've never seen anything like this… —he murmured—. It's… terrifying.
Sophia looked at him the way only a mother can look at her son when the world begins to show its true face.
And her voice, when she answered, was no longer political, nor ritual, nor cold.
It was intimate.
—I know.
She stroked his cheek with a softness that did not belong to any duchess of the realm.
—But that is what growing up is, Lusian.
A pause.
Her eyes never left his.
—This does not threaten your life.
And then, for the first time, something dark crossed her expression.
Not toward him.
But toward anything that might.
—It is only a test of patience.
A quieter pause.
More dangerous.
—And of control.
Over Emily.
But it was not spoken as judgment.
It was spoken as protection.
As though the entire world stood one step away from becoming an enemy—and she had already decided what she would do to it.
When Sophia left the room, the silence came immediately.
Heavy.
As if the room itself knew something he did not.
The scent of mint incense scratched at his throat. The golden light filtering through the curtains made everything look too clean… too perfect.
Lusian did not sit immediately.
He remained standing.
Still.
Hands tense at his sides.
Sophia had sat as if nothing had changed.
As if this were just another conversation.
—In six days —she said— the oath will be held at the Temple of Sangus.
Six days.
The word sank into him.
Six.
Not months.
Not weeks.
Six days for what, exactly?
He finally sank into the armchair.
Heavy.
Unnatural.
As if his body no longer responded properly.
—Mother… —he began, but his voice failed him— is this mandatory?
Silence.
He swallowed.
—Is the oath real? The blood… too?
Sophia did not seem surprised.
That was worse.
—Yes —she replied calmly—. It is a pact before Sangus. It cannot be broken.
Lusian lowered his gaze.
His pulse was too fast.
—And if something goes wrong?
It was not a political question.
It was a human one.
Sophia looked at him for a moment.
Then smiled.
Soft.
Almost… maternal.
—You are thinking too much.
She leaned slightly toward him.
—Your life is not at risk.
That did not calm him.
It tightened something in his chest instead.
—Then… who…?
Sophia did not hesitate.
—Emily.
Silence.
Lusian did not respond.
Not because he didn't want to.
But because his mind took a second to catch up.
—She will swear loyalty —Sophia continued—. Her soul will answer before Sangus.
Each word was clear.
Precise.
Irrefutable.
—If she fails… she pays.
Something in Lusian's chest clenched.
Hard.
—And I…
—You are safe.
That was the rule.
The real one.
Lusian exhaled slowly.
But it wasn't relief.
It was something else.
—So… I just have to be there.
—Exactly.
Sophia leaned back elegantly.
—Accept the oath. Nothing more.
Nothing more.
Nothing.
More.
Lusian let out a short laugh.
No humor in it.
His hands were still tense.
—That's not… normal.
—It is necessary —Sophia corrected—. Power requires guarantees.
Guarantees.
The word made him sick.
But he did not show it.
Not here.
Not in front of her.
—You will understand with time —she added, standing—. These bonds are not about feelings.
A pause.
—They are about control.
When she left the room, silence returned.
But this time… worse.
Much worse.
Lusian did not move for several seconds.
Then—
He leaned forward.
Buried his face in one hand.
His breath broke… slightly.
Enough to notice.
—Shit…
His fingers trembled.
Not much.
But enough.
Emily.
The image returned on its own.
Her voice.
The way she measured every word.
She wasn't trying to please him.
She was trying to survive.
And now he understood why.
—If she fails… she dies.
Not a guess.
A rule.
He closed his eyes tightly.
—And I… just watch.
That was worse.
Far worse.
And in that realization—
something inside him began to shift.