Chapter 21

“Ugh!”

Kosha’s back struck the wall hard enough to drive the breath from his lungs. Lucien loomed over him, leaving scarcely a hand’s breadth between their bodies.

The journey from the main tower to the West Wing had been steeped in icy tension, but that had at least been tolerable. The real trouble began after Lucien dismissed most of his followers. Behaving as though he had restrained himself throughout the entire walk, the prince seized Kosha by the nape and dragged him into the office without a second thought. Unable to match the violent pace, Kosha stumbled after him like a rag doll being hauled by its collar.

Gray-blue eyes bored relentlessly into him. Kosha had always admired Lucien’s height, but from this close, the man’s sheer presence became terrifying. Thoroughly intimidated, the mage trembled and avoided the piercing gaze.

Mailot had followed them inside along with an unfamiliar knight, both of whom now stood nearby in helpless silence.

“Your Highness, about that…” Kosha forced his lips apart.

“Did you do it?” Lucien demanded at the same moment.

Ignoring the stumbling formality, he pressed closer.

“That thing just now. Did you do it?”

Bastian had remained on the ground for quite some time after the stone struck him, throwing the entire courtyard into chaos. Fortunately, he had not been seriously injured. Once he surged to his feet, he ordered his men to kill the crow, hurled abuse at Lucien, and stormed away, claiming that misfortune followed the prince like a plague.

“Uh…” Kosha offered no immediate answer.

The hand pinning his shoulder to the wall tightened sharply. Pain stung his skin, prompting him to shake his head frantically. The slightest pressure was enough to make his confession spill out.

“No. No, I mean, I did think about it. I am sorry. I did think it.”

“Speak clearly. What did you think?”

“That I hoped he would be struck in the head with a stone,” Kosha mumbled evasively.

Lucien frowned and leaned closer, as though doubting his own ears. “What?”

“I thought he deserved to be hit in the head with a stone, but I did not know it would actually happen!” Kosha rushed through the explanation in a single breath. “I do not know why the bird did that. I cannot make animals obey me. A mage capable of communicating with animals is very, very rare.”

Cracks began to form in the frozen tension filling the room. Mailot and the unnamed knight exchanged peculiar glances.

“Why did you suddenly wish for him to be struck in the head with a stone?” Lucien asked, his tone noticeably less overbearing.

Still unable to meet his eyes, Kosha answered with absolute honesty. “Because he was being so rude.”

“To whom? Me?”

“Yes. He grabbed your collar and cursed at you, so I only thought it to myself. I will never think anything like that again. Nothing like this has ever happened before. I know it is difficult to believe, but I truly do not understand why it happened.”

What a rude man. I hope a stone falls on his head.

That was all he had grumbled to himself. When the projectile actually fell, the shock had nearly stopped his heart. He tried to calm his pounding chest while radiating as much sincerity as he could muster.

“I see.”

Perhaps the honesty reached Lucien. The hand pinning Kosha’s shoulder gradually loosened before falling away.

“Well, there is no particular need to swear that you will never think it again.”

Kosha blinked in confusion.

Stepping back, Lucien allowed the mage to lift his head. Their gazes met once more, and beneath the prince’s solemn expression, Kosha could have sworn that a strange glint of amusement shimmered in his gray-blue eyes.

“So,” Lucien continued, resuming his soft, unfailingly polite tone, “how did you say you got there in the first place?”

The interrogation that followed progressed slowly and stretched on for quite some time, though the tension never fully dissipated. With the office crowded by retainers, every gaze rested squarely upon Kosha. He hated becoming the center of attention, knowing that misfortune inevitably followed whenever too many eyes turned his way.

Lucien proved kind enough to offer him a wooden armchair. Sitting with his back to the others and facing only the prince, Kosha felt the knot in his stomach ease slightly. He answered every question with the utmost sincerity, even though he knew his explanations sounded utterly absurd.

“So you are saying that you touched the locked door, and it simply opened?” Lucien asked while sitting on the edge of the table opposite the chair.

“Yes.”

“But you did nothing to unlock it?”

“Yes.”

“And after you stepped into the corridor, you found the guard asleep. You shook him, but he would not wake, so you went to find Mailot yourself. Is that what you expect me to understand?”

“Yes.”

Kosha’s replies grew progressively slower, his voice dwindling to a whisper.

Lucien watched him with unwavering attention.

How can he lie so smoothly without even wetting his lips?

Under that penetrating stare, Kosha squirmed, looking less like a seated guest and more like a prisoner trapped inside a cramped cell.

The prince narrowed his eyes. The young man appeared utterly scatterbrained, yet the shape of his head was unexpectedly pleasing. Lucien’s gaze traveled over the curve of the delicate nose and down to the slightly parted lips. Even trimmed, the unruly curls framing his face lent him an oddly perverse and disreputable allure.

It baffled Lucien that he had not recognized him immediately in the courtyard. To think he had made such a mistake. With those damp emerald eyes and that expression of guileless ignorance, how many men could resist becoming lost in his gaze? Kosha could likely ensnare some gullible, hot-tempered soldier without making the slightest deliberate effort.

The guard must have brought him food at regular intervals, meaning the two of them would have encountered one another repeatedly. If the man possessed functioning eyes, he could not have failed to notice that face.

What had they said to one another? What had Kosha offered in exchange for being allowed out?

The image of the narrow, austere servant’s chamber surfaced in Lucien’s mind, containing nothing but a chair and a bed. With that expression of perfect ignorance, what on earth had he done?

Stop.

Lucien swept the useless thoughts from his mind without allowing his serene expression to change. He had far too much work ahead of him to waste time on idle speculation. Whatever the truth might be, one thing remained certain.

The young man was spewing nonsensical lies.

“Do you honestly expect me to believe that?” Lucien asked, keeping his voice gentle.

Kosha shuddered. “Well…”

“Hmm?”

“No. Nothing.”

The docile surrender amused Lucien, but he suppressed his laughter. This was no game.

“You admit that it makes no sense, yet you still expect me to believe it?”

“It is strange, yes, but it is the truth. Everything I have told Your Highness is true.”

“How about this, then? Let me tell you what I think.”

Losing patience with the flimsy excuses, Lucien rose slowly, circled the chair, and stopped behind the mage. He rested one hand upon the wooden backrest.

Although not a single finger touched him, Kosha felt as though both his shoulders had been seized. He did not dare turn around.

“You used that magic of yours to put the guard to sleep, unlock the door, and escape.”

Kosha fell silent.

“What do you think? It is simpler, easier to understand, and even plausible.”

“That… that might be, but…” Kosha bit his lip and shook his head. “I possess no such ability.”

A short, derisive laugh sounded from above him. “Ah. Ability.”

Feeling the weight of Lucien’s presence settle beside him, Kosha stared straight ahead. The prince leaned close, keeping his hand anchored to the chair.

“You possess no such ability, yet you throw stones at people’s heads?”

Kosha blinked as a foolish realization washed across his face.

Oh. Is that so?

Lucien decided not to wait for the necessary mental exertion to finish. He had established his goal for this ridiculous interrogation from the very beginning. Acting on unilateral whims rarely produced disastrous results for him, and even when they did, he managed well enough. He ignored the anxious glances of the retainers watching from beyond the mage’s shoulder.

“It is all right,” Lucien murmured, softening his tone with conspicuous deliberation. “Unlocking a sealed door, laying hands upon another person, I am not here to scold you for such things. On the contrary, I find them rather impressive.”

Returning to the edge of the table, Lucien leaned forward until their eyes were nearly level. He watched a faint flush spread across the mage’s pale cheeks.

“As you know, mages are exceedingly rare these days.”

“I… yes. That is true.”

“I do not know precisely what magic is, nor do I understand its limitations. I am ignorant of such matters, and so are they.”

“Ah.” Kosha parted his lips, clearly preparing to explain.

Lucien had no interest whatsoever in hearing a tedious lecture on magical principles.

“So I was considering whether you might be useful in other ways.”

Why employ the young man only to brew antidotes? Setting aside the tangled resentment clouding his judgment, Kosha remained a genuine mage. Suspicious and clumsy, perhaps, but docile.

“The royal court is a suffocating place. As you witnessed earlier, my brother does not care for me. Nor is he the only one. Think carefully. How do you suppose I came to swallow that strange drug in the first place?”

The very person who had brewed the substance began to fidget, turning his face away.

No, you do not.

Lucien caught Kosha by the jaw and held his face completely still until their eyes locked.

“In that case, um, I…” Kosha faltered, his voice drifting helplessly. “I could perhaps be of service. I will do whatever you ask, Your Highness.”

Lucien’s smile blossomed, soft and indulgent. “Only something trivial.”

Glancing toward the corner of the table, the prince reached out and slid a silver cup, still half-filled with water, toward the mage.

“For instance, take this water.”

Kosha stared at it.

“Would it be possible for you to pour it over that man’s head?” Lucien pointed past Kosha’s shoulder.

Caught entirely by surprise, Kosha turned and met the eyes of the unfamiliar knight.

“Sir Gosrick?”

“Yes. Sir Gosrick,” Lucien confirmed smoothly.

Apparently, the two had already exchanged names.

“Of course, Sir Gosrick is a loyal subject, so I am certain he will understand. Would you not agree?”

Gosrick parted his lips, his expression making his dread abundantly clear. After a moment, he shut his mouth with the quiet resignation of a man who understood that protest would accomplish nothing. Kosha darted an anxious glance around the room before settling his gaze upon the silver cup.

Lucien watched in silence, affording him generous patience.

He is a valuable mage, after all.

Kosha blinked rapidly. Fixing fierce concentration upon the liquid, he analyzed the fixed position, the constant volume, and the distance between the two spaces. He swallowed hard.

Do not use magic anymore.

The remembered warning echoed within him with painful clarity. His tongue darted nervously over his dry lips.

It is better not to be a mage anymore.

To perform the act, he needed to calculate the power flowing through his body, the path it must pierce, the necessary extent, and the exact amount. His fingertips spasmed.

“I… if I cannot do it, what will happen?” Kosha whispered, his constricted voice sounding as though it belonged to someone else.

He glanced cautiously at the man seated opposite him. Lucien maintained the immaculate smile of a painted saint, masking whatever thoughts swirled behind his gray-blue eyes.

“Nothing in particular will happen,” Lucien replied after a moment. “I would merely be a little disappointed.”

Anxiety coiled tightly within Kosha’s chest, constricting his breathing and setting his entire body trembling.

Disappointment.

Was his life not already riddled with it? Living up to expectations had never suited him.

“Can you not do it?” Lucien asked.

Deciding to let the matter rest, he reached out to move the cup aside.

“Wait.”

Kosha lunged forward, his body moving before reason could restrain the panic. Desperate to grasp an opportunity that might never appear again, his thin, bony hand closed over the cup from above.

A strange contraction instantly pressed against both their palms.

Lucien watched it unfold in real time. Where the silver cup had rested, an absolute void remained. No light existed within it, nor any air. For one terrifying fraction of a second, the void threatened to drag everything nearby into its depths.

Then space crumpled.

Light and air flooded back into the emptiness, and Kosha’s hand dropped, smacking against Lucien’s upturned palm.

Clang!

A clear metallic note rang through the office.

Lucien recoiled and lifted his head. The silver cup had materialized above Gosrick, striking the knight squarely upon the head before tumbling across the stone floor. Water spilled from its mouth and spread in a gleaming sheet while the retainers hurriedly scrambled backward.

Ten paces.

Space had folded, allowing the cup to cross the distance without leaving the faintest trace of movement.

Lucien became acutely aware of the cool, damp hand trembling against his palm.

“Ah.”

The low sound escaped him before he could stop it.

Panting as though he had sprinted a mile, Kosha startled and tried to pull away. Lucien’s fingers tightened reflexively. The wrist beneath his grip felt like little more than bone, fitting perfectly between his index and middle fingers. Curling his hand around it, Lucien rubbed his thumb over the prominent joint. The strength drained from Kosha’s twitching arm with almost insulting ease.

He was far too easy to subdue.

Lucien examined the mage with growing fascination.

“Truly, you are even better than I expected.”

For once, the prince meant every single word.

***