Bound by Shadows and Flames

The night in Draven’s palace carried a strange stillness — the kind that made the air feel too thick, as if the shadows themselves were listening.

Kaida should have been in her chamber, behind locked doors, but the confinement gnawed at her. She had lived one lifetime as a caged bird; in this one, she would roam where she pleased, even if it meant walking directly into the lion’s den.

She slipped into the moonlit garden, trailing her fingers along the marble railing. The scent of white lilies lingered, almost sweet enough to hide the tension twisting inside her. Somewhere beyond the palace walls, the city murmured with unrest. She could feel it.

“You wander too much for a bride under guard.”

The low, smooth voice made her stop. Lucien stepped from the shadows, the lamplight catching in his dark hair, the crisp white of his shirt open at the throat. His presence filled the space between them as easily as the night air.

She arched a brow. “You think I’m running away?”

“I think,” he said, closing the distance by two deliberate steps, “that something out there is hunting you. And I’m not in the mood to let it succeed.”

Before Kaida could retort, the hedges behind her stirred. Her instincts screamed, but the warning came too late. A blade flashed — and Lucien’s arm was suddenly around her waist, pulling her flush against him as the weapon sliced through empty air where she had been standing.

The hooded figure moved like a shadow, silent and precise. Lucien pivoted, placing himself between her and the danger, his dagger already drawn. Steel rang against steel as he parried, his body blocking her view.

Kaida’s heart pounded — not in fear, but in some electric, maddening mix of adrenaline and awareness. She could run, but running would make her weak in his eyes. Not again. Not in this life.

Her gaze darted to a hanging lantern, and without hesitation, she seized it. Swinging hard, she shattered the glass against the attacker’s arm. Sparks flew, and the figure hissed, retreating a step.

Lucien glanced over his shoulder. For the briefest moment, approval — sharp and undeniable — flickered in his eyes.

“Stay behind me,” he repeated, but this time the command held something almost… protective.

The assassin struck again, fast and brutal. Lucien’s movements were fluid, every counterattack a lethal blend of grace and strength. But when the hooded figure feinted toward Kaida, Lucien’s control snapped — his dagger slashed in a vicious arc that forced the enemy into the shadows.

For several heartbeats, the garden was still again. Only the ragged sound of Kaida’s breathing broke the quiet.

“They’ll come again,” Lucien said at last, sheathing his blade.

“Who?” she demanded.

His jaw tightened. “Not here.”

He took her arm — firm, unyielding — and guided her back toward the palace. She bristled at the touch, but the warmth seeping through his grip was… dangerous. Not because it burned, but because she almost didn’t want him to let go.

---

Inside, the corridors were dim and silent. Lucien didn’t release her until they reached a small, guarded antechamber adjoining his private quarters.

Her eyes narrowed. “This isn’t my room.”

“No,” he said simply. “You’ll stay here tonight.”

“I don’t recall agreeing to that.”

His gaze met hers, steady and dark. “Do you recall the blade at your throat?”

The silence stretched, thick and charged. Kaida hated that he was right. Hated more that she felt… safer here.

Still, she lifted her chin. “If this is some trick to keep me under watch—”

“It’s to keep you alive.”

She should have argued. Instead, she found herself studying the faint scar along his jaw, the way his hair fell loose now that the formality of the evening was gone. He looked less like the cold, untouchable noble and more like a man who could be… dangerous in far too many ways.

“You saved me,” she said quietly.

Lucien’s lips curved — not quite a smile. “Don’t make it sound so sentimental.”

---

Hours later, Kaida lay awake on the couch he had insisted she take, the sound of his quiet movements in the adjoining room teasing her ears. Every now and then, she caught the low murmur of his voice — speaking to someone beyond the door, giving orders she couldn’t quite make out.

She should have been planning her next move, mapping out which allies to cultivate, which secrets to steal. Instead, she was replaying the way his arm had felt around her, the solid wall of him shielding her from the blade.

Foolish. Dangerous. But unavoidable.

The soft click of a door drew her from her thoughts. Lucien stepped back inside, his hair slightly damp as if from a quick wash, his sleeves rolled to the forearms. The sight was unfair — far too intimate for a man who was supposed to be her enemy.

“You’re awake,” he observed.

“You’re loud,” she countered, though her voice lacked its usual sharp edge.

His eyes glinted, amusement tugging faintly at his mouth. “Try to sleep. Tomorrow, we’ll find out who sent that assassin.”

“And if it was you?” she asked, half expecting him to dodge the accusation.

Lucien’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then I wouldn’t have missed.”

Something in her chest tightened — not fear, but the strange certainty that he meant every word.

---

The next day brought no relief.

Rumors spread through the palace like wildfire — about the midnight attack, about the “special protection” the Duke had given his bride-to-be. Kaida caught the speculative glances, the whispered theories. Every look was a reminder that in this game of survival and vengeance, appearances mattered as much as truth.

Lucien summoned her to his study that afternoon. The room smelled faintly of cedar and parchment, its walls lined with maps and ledgers. He stood by the window, sunlight cutting across his broad shoulders.

“I traced the assassin’s blade,” he said without preamble. “Custom steel. Forged in the Black Docks.”

Kaida’s mind sharpened. “The Black Docks answer to the Morrelli syndicate.”

“Exactly.”

The Morrellis. A criminal family she had once tried — and failed — to expose in her past life. This time, perhaps fate was offering her the chance to finish the job.

Lucien stepped closer, his shadow falling over her. “If the Morrellis want you dead, it means you’ve made enemies worth keeping.”

She tilted her chin. “And if it means they want you dead?”

“Then they’ll learn I’m harder to kill than they think.”

The air between them thickened, charged with unspoken challenges and something else entirely. She should have stepped back. Instead, she held his gaze, feeling the pull like gravity.

---

That night, she found herself in the training hall, unable to sleep. She gripped the hilt of a practice blade, working through familiar movements — not for skill, but for control.

“You’ll break your wrist holding it like that.”

She turned sharply to find Lucien leaning against the doorway, watching her with a gaze that felt far too intimate.

“Are you here to criticize,” she asked, “or to help?”

He stepped forward, taking the blade from her hand before she could react. Standing behind her, he adjusted her grip, his hands warm over hers. His breath brushed her ear as he murmured, “Like this. Feel the balance.”

Her pulse jumped. Every nerve felt alive, aware of the solid heat of him at her back.

“You’re distracting,” she said, hating how her voice softened.

“I’m teaching,” he corrected, though his tone was far too smooth for innocence.

For several moments, they moved in unison — his guidance firm, precise, the scent of him threading through her thoughts. She almost forgot why she had ever hated him. Almost.

When he finally stepped back, the absence was like a sudden chill.

“Better,” he said, handing her the blade. “But you still drop your shoulder when you strike.”

She glared. “And you still talk too much.”

He only smiled — slow, knowing — before walking away.

---

Kaida didn’t sleep at all that night.

Not because of fear. But because, for the first time in her carefully plotted second life, her enemy had begun to feel far too close to the only person she could trust.

And that was more dangerous than any assassin.

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