Behind Closed Doors

The great doors of the council chamber loomed ahead, but Lucian’s stride slowed. His hand lifted, halting Ishani with a single gesture.

“Not yet,” he murmured. His voice was calm, but the weight behind it pressed down like steel.

Confused, Ishani blinked. “Is something wrong?”

Lucian turned, silver eyes sharp. “Plenty. But one thing at a time.”

He scanned the empty hallway, then pulled open a side door, guiding her into a smaller chamber lit only by a single candelabra. The door shut behind them, sealing them in shadows.

The sudden intimacy of the room made her chest tighten.

“Why bring me here?” she asked, trying to steady her voice.

Lucian stepped closer, his presence suffocating, his height forcing her to tilt her chin upward. “Because the woman standing beside me today is not the woman I married yesterday. The Seraphina I know would have clawed her way into that council room with venom dripping from her tongue. You…” His gaze lingered on her face, searching. “…You hesitate. You play a different role.”

Her pulse raced. He notices everything. He’s testing me again.

Ishani’s lips trembled, but she forced calm into her words. “Maybe I realized that arrogance destroys more than it protects.”

Lucian’s eyes narrowed, his hand bracing against the wall beside her head. He leaned in, close enough for his breath to fan across her cheek.

“Don’t mistake me for a fool, wife,” he whispered. “A serpent doesn’t shed its fangs overnight. So tell me—what are you plotting?”

The heat of his nearness sent her heart into a frenzy. His question was a blade, sharp and demanding, but his proximity… his proximity was fire.

She met his gaze, swallowing the lump in her throat. “What if I said… I’m not plotting anything? What if I simply don’t want to die?”

For the briefest second, his eyes flickered—confusion? Doubt? Or perhaps something softer, buried deep.

But it vanished as quickly as it came. His lips curved into a dangerous smirk. “Then you’ll need to prove it.”

Her brows furrowed. “Prove it… how?”

Without warning, his hand caught her wrist. Not painfully—just firm enough to send shockwaves up her arm. He guided her hand to his chest, pressing her palm against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath his uniform.

“By surviving here,” he said quietly, eyes locked on hers. “By standing beside me, not against me. Do that… and perhaps I’ll let you keep breathing.”

Her breath hitched. She could feel the warmth of his body beneath her palm, the strong, steady beat of his heart. For a man so cold, so terrifying, he was still undeniably human.

Her lips parted, words spilling out before she could stop them. “I don’t want to be your enemy, Lucian.”

It was the first time she had spoken his name aloud. It tasted strange on her tongue—dangerous, forbidden.

His silver eyes darkened. His hand tightened slightly on her wrist, his body leaning closer until there was barely an inch of space between them.

“You tread dangerous ground,” he murmured. “Speaking as if we are equals.”

Ishani’s chest rose and fell rapidly, her nerves on fire. But she didn’t pull back. “Maybe… that’s the only way I can survive.”

The air between them crackled, thick with unspoken tension. For a moment, Lucian’s gaze dropped to her lips, lingering there. The silence was deafening, suffocating, intoxicating.

Then—he pulled away abruptly, releasing her wrist as if the touch burned.

“Enough,” he said sharply, turning his back to her. His voice was tight, colder than before, as though cutting off something he refused to acknowledge. “Compose yourself. When we step into that chamber, you will not falter.”

Ishani stood frozen, her hand still tingling from his touch, her heart thundering in her chest.

Had he almost…? No. It was impossible. This was the man destined to kill Seraphina. He couldn’t feel anything but disdain.

And yet, the memory of his heartbeat under her palm lingered, searing into her like fire.

When Lucian finally opened the side door again, his expression was once more carved from ice, unreadable. But as he offered his arm for her to take—an obligatory gesture for appearances—his silver eyes flickered, just once, toward her trembling hand before hardening again.

Ishani hesitated, then slid her hand into the crook of his arm. His uniform was cold to the touch, but beneath it, the heat of his body was undeniable.

Her lips curved into a faint smile she didn’t dare show him directly. If this is survival… it’s more dangerous than I ever imagined.

Together, they walked toward the council chamber. The doors loomed closer, the murmurs of nobles echoing beyond.

But Ishani’s thoughts weren’t on politics anymore.

They were on the Duke’s heartbeat—steady, unyielding—against her palm.

And the terrifying realization that she wanted to feel it again.

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