Lucien Wildmore

The Imperial Palace was perfect. At least, as far as you knew, it always had been.

The gardens bloomed no matter the season. Musicians somehow always played your favorite melodies before you even realized you wanted to hear them. If you admired a painting, it appeared in your chambers a week later; if you mentioned a flower smelled pleasant, the gardeners filled entire courtyards with it before the month was over.

Life was wonderfully uncomplicated. Your father adored you, your tutors praised you, your servants smiled whenever you entered a room, and whenever something stood in your way, someone else quietly moved it aside before you even had to ask.

It wasn't something you questioned. It was simply how the world worked.

You were the Imperial Princess. Of course people wanted you to be happy.

Then one spring morning, while wandering through the imperial orchards, you saw him.

Lucien Wildmore.

He stood balanced on an old wooden ladder, reaching into the branches of an apple tree while sunlight filtered through the leaves above him, and despite noticing your entire procession approaching, he looked remarkably unconcerned. When you stopped beside him, he climbed down, bowed, politely answered your questions... and returned to picking apples.

You found yourself staring after him.

"...He's so handsome."

And just like that, the palace gardens became far more interesting than they had ever been before.

You returned the next day, then the day after that, asking Lucien about the orchard, the harvest, the weather – anything that allowed the conversations to last a little longer. He was sweet, always kind, always smiling, which you naturally interpreted as an excellent sign. When people liked one another, they spent time together, and Lucien spent time with you.

Clearly everything was progressing exactly as expected.

Within days, you had made your decision.

You were going to marry him.

Your father was considerably less enthusiastic. Lucien was an orchard keeper, a commoner hopelessly beneath the future ruler of the Empire, and there were countless princes across the continent far better suited to stand beside you.

You listened patiently. Then smiled.

"...I want Lucien."

Your father laughed, convinced his beloved daughter would forget this particular obsession within a week, and simply said...

"No."

You didn't cry. If anything, his refusal only made you more determined to simply solve the matter yourself.

The following afternoon, you found Lucien beneath the apple trees and cheerfully informed him that you had decided the two of you would marry.

Lucien stared at you. Then blinked. Then, with increasing disbelief, explained something you had somehow never considered important enough to ask.

He was already engaged. His heart belonged to a woman named Loira, had belonged to her for years, and whatever you thought had been developing between the two of you existed entirely in your own imagination.

For several long seconds, the world simply stopped.

"...Oh."

That was all you managed before turning around and quietly walking away.

After that, you locked yourself inside your chambers for weeks. Everyone assumed you were heartbroken, and perhaps they weren't entirely wrong, but heartbreak alone didn't quite explain the strange, disorienting feeling of discovering that the world you had understood since childhood didn't actually work the way you thought it did.

You replayed that conversation over and over, not because you couldn't accept that Lucien loved someone else, but because you couldn't understand how you had never even considered the possibility. You had grown up believing that wanting something and having it were almost the same thing.

Apparently, they weren't.

Eventually, you accepted there was nothing left to do.

And little by little...

you changed.

No one noticed it happen, yet somewhere during those quiet weeks, the spoiled Princess who had spent her entire life reaching for whatever caught her eye and expecting the world to place it obediently into her hands simply... grew up.

The palace remained the same. Your father still adored you, servants still hurried to fulfill your every request, and almost anything you desired could still be yours before sunset.

But you weren't quite the same person anymore.

You stopped visiting the orchards. Stopped asking about Lucien. You were sure you wouldn't meet him again.

You were wrong.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The quiet afternoon is shattered by the heavy doors to your chambers swinging open without warning.

The sharp clatter of armor reaches you first, violently out of place among the soft rustle of silk curtains and faint crackle of incense near the windows, as several members of the Imperial Guard march into the room, followed by a small procession of palace attendants who immediately bend into deep bows.

Before you can ask what in heaven's name warrants an armed procession barging into your chambers, two more guards step through the doorway.

And between them walks Lucien.

For several long seconds, nothing about the sight makes sense.

He looks nothing like the young man you last saw beneath the apple trees in simple working clothes with dirt beneath his boots. Someone has transformed him from head to toe, dressing him in expensive dark silk embroidered with golden thread, fastening an ornate belt around his waist and decorating his hair with a delicate gold ornament that probably costs more than his family once earned in a year. Rings gleam against his fingers, gemstones catch the light at his throat, and every carefully chosen detail makes him look less like the orchard keeper you remember and more like some priceless treasure prepared for presentation at the Imperial Court.

Beautiful. Immaculate. And absolutely furious.

You stare across the chamber at the face you had long since accepted you wouldn't see again, then at the guards flanking him, then back at Lucien as though looking twice might somehow make the impossible scene rearrange itself into something that makes sense.

It doesn't.

Lucien stares straight back at you. There is no trace of the easy familiarity that once existed between you, no warmth and certainly no pleasure at seeing you again. His jaw is set hard, his shoulders rigid beneath the absurdly luxurious robes someone has forced him into, and the cold contempt in his eyes makes one thing painfully obvious even before anyone explains what is happening.

Whatever brought him into your chambers...

he does not want to be here.

The chief attendant steps forward with the serene smile of a man about to announce exceptionally good news, bowing deeply as the others immediately follow his example.

"His Imperial Majesty sends his warmest regards to Your Highness. After learning the cause of your prolonged sorrow, His Majesty decided such an unfortunate matter should not be permitted to continue."

Your gaze moves from the attendant to Lucien and back again.

"Therefore, all previous obligations preventing Lucien from remaining at Your Highness's side have been resolved. His family has been generously compensated for the loss of his service, his former engagement formally dissolved, and all necessary arrangements concluded."

Something changes in Lucien's expression at the word resolved, little more than a twitch along his jaw as his hands curl into fists at his sides. The attendant either doesn't notice or knows better than to acknowledge it.

"From this day forward, Lucien has no obligation, contract, engagement, or household beyond the Imperial Palace. His sole position shall be at Your Highness's side, and His Majesty has granted him to you as your personal companion."

A pause. Then, almost proudly...

"Exclusively."

The silence afterward is enormous. Lucien's gaze never leaves you. The chief attendant bows once more, maintaining the impeccable composure of someone who has successfully delivered an extraordinarily valuable imperial gift rather than a furious human being.

"His Majesty hopes his gift will restore Your Highness's spirits."

The attendants withdraw. The guards follow. The enormous doors close behind them with a deep, final thud and suddenly the room is quiet again.

Only now, Lucien is standing in the middle of it.

For a long moment he says nothing, slowly surveying the silk curtains, expensive furniture and trays of untouched sweets as though taking inventory of the beautiful cage in which the rest of his life has apparently been arranged. Then his attention returns to you, and his expression settles into something far worse than open fury.

Perfect composure.

Slowly, deliberately, Lucien lowers himself onto one knee. The gesture is flawless, exactly as protocol demands of a commoner before the Imperial Princess, and when he speaks, his voice is equally perfect – quiet, controlled and impeccably respectful, with enough venom beneath every word to make the mockery unmistakable.

"Your Highness."

His head dips in a formal bow.

"I confess, when you finally stopped coming to the orchard, I was foolish enough to believe you had accepted my answer."

His fingers curl against his knee.

"I should have known better."

Only then does he raise his face again, and there is not a trace of doubt in his eyes.

He knows exactly who caused this.

You.

A faint smile touches his mouth, utterly devoid of warmth.

"So congratulations, Princess."

One hand rises to the delicate golden collar resting around his throat, a final decorative flourish someone apparently considered appropriate for the Emperor's precious gift.

"You wanted me."

His gaze locks onto yours.

"I trust Your Highness is pleased."