Chapter 32

What if my mind has been perfectly sound all along?

Kosha swallowed hard as the unsettling possibility took root. What if I never mistook someone else for Lucien? What if it wasn’t some drug-induced delusion? What if none of it was imaginary? What if… I actually kissed him?

The sheer weight of the memory stole his breath. Merely allowing himself to consider it had him casting nervous glances around the empty room, half expecting an eavesdropper to emerge from the shadows. Yet the sensation lingering in his mind was far from unpleasant. In truth, it was deeply intoxicating.

His heart fluttering with newfound lightness, Kosha rummaged through the overflowing fruit basket Lucien had sent him. He selected a pristine, perfectly round apple from among the citrus and grapes, turning it idly in his hand to judge its weight before tightening his grip.

The apple warped beneath his fingers. Its glossy surface rippled strangely, then crumpled like parchment beneath the concentrated surge of his power. The vibrant skin dulled, the flesh shriveled, and the entire fruit collapsed into a pinprick of black emptiness.

A dull thud sounded from the far side of the room an instant later. The same apple rolled lazily across the floorboards.

Such phenomena no longer startled him. Magic surged through his veins like a river bursting through a fractured dam. Only days ago, he had resigned himself to a life stripped of power, convinced he was no longer a mage, yet that despair already felt immeasurably distant.

Where had all this mana been hiding? Why had it returned so suddenly?

The questions flickered through his euphoric haze as blood coursed fiercely through his once-paralyzed limbs, only to dissolve just as quickly.

Too restless to remain idle, Kosha sprawled across the bed and fixed his gaze on the abandoned fruit in the corner. He crooked a single finger in a subtle summons. The apple shivered as though suddenly infused with life, then rolled obediently toward him.

Shaping the magic felt as natural as drawing breath. Thrilled by the effortless control, Kosha snatched the fruit as it reached the edge of the mattress.

Can I place it back in the basket properly this time?

He narrowed his focus and squeezed his hand until the apple’s outline began to blur.

The heavy wooden door swung open without warning.

“Mage.”

The calm voice shattered Kosha’s concentration. His aim veered wildly off course just as the immaculately groomed young knight stepped across the threshold. The air directly above the man’s head rippled, and an apple materialized out of nothing.

Kosha gasped, without even enough time to shout a warning.

Eydric’s armored hand shot upward with terrifying reflexes and caught the falling fruit a hair’s breadth from his skull. He inspected the apple in his palm before his stoic expression settled back into its customary composure, though one corner of his mouth twitched as if he were suppressing a smile.

“My deepest apologies.” Heat flooded Kosha’s face. “I was careless.”

“No, not at all.” Eydric stepped fully into the room and gently returned the apple to the woven basket. “I should have knocked.”

The knight turned his attention back to the flustered mage. “His Highness has concluded his duties for the day and requests your presence whenever you are ready.”

Kosha had spent the entire day waiting in agony for those exact words. He required no preparation. Scrambling to his feet, he hurriedly straightened his clothes, barely able to contain his excitement.

Since their second kiss, Lucien had altered the schedule of his treatment sessions. What had once been a brief interlude after lunch now took place at dusk and often continued long after the castle had fallen quiet. The venue had changed as well. They had abandoned the formal office in favor of the absolute privacy of the prince’s inner chambers.

The inner chamber was a deeply personal sanctuary connected directly to Lucien’s sleeping quarters. Rumor claimed that even his closest confidants risked exile if they trespassed without explicit permission. The mere thought of setting foot inside had initially terrified Kosha. He doubted a lowly commoner like him had any right to enter such a sanctum.

Lucien had summoned him personally, yet the lingering fear of committing some unforgivable breach of etiquette continued to haunt him.

What if I entertain impure thoughts in his private chambers?

He was, after all, a mage plagued by carnal temptation.

“You appear much healthier lately,” Eydric remarked.

The unexpected attempt at conversation caught Kosha off guard as they made their way through the darkening stone corridors, passing servants who hurried from lamp to lamp to kindle the evening flames. The taciturn knight, rigidly upright even while walking, rarely initiated idle chatter.

“Thank you.” Kosha offered him a conventional, polite smile. “It is entirely thanks to your diligent care.”

Eydric averted his gaze. An uncharacteristic awkwardness stiffened his broad shoulders, and he quietly cleared his throat before continuing. “Is the treatment progressing smoothly?”

“Oh, yes. I suppose it is.”

Kosha nodded and broke into a light jog to keep pace when Eydric’s strides inexplicably lengthened. The vague, noncommittal lie pricked his conscience. Strictly speaking, medical treatment had been the furthest thing from their minds during the most recent sessions.

“That is fortunate.”

Eydric allowed the subject to die, much to Kosha’s profound relief.

They soon arrived at the heavy oak doors guarding Lucien’s private sanctuary. Lacking authorization to proceed any farther, Eydric took up his customary post in the adjoining reception room and bowed with impeccable formality.

“Should you require anything, please step outside. I will remain stationed here.”

The knight possessed an unwavering, quiet loyalty that never demanded recognition. Kosha marveled at Lucien’s immense good fortune in commanding such steadfast devotion. His heart swelling with quiet reverence, Kosha returned the shallow bow and slipped through the doorway into the intimate space beyond.

A blazing crimson sunset hovered above the jagged mountain peaks, pouring through the west-facing windows and bathing the chamber in deep, fiery hues. Lucien stood beside a dark mahogany chest of drawers, his eyes moving over a thick document.

Although his official schedule had ended hours ago, the prince remained buried beneath administrative burdens. He had not even bothered to unbuckle the heavy sword strapped to his waist.

The chamber’s stark modesty never failed to surprise Kosha. Furnished only with dark wooden necessities, it lacked the opulent extravagance and glittering artifacts that decorated Lucien’s public office. The austere surroundings reflected the prince’s true nature with startling accuracy.

Freed from formal obligations, Lucien favored simple garments and carried a sword entirely devoid of ornamental jewels. The public worshipped an impeccably dressed vision of flawless refinement, but Kosha harbored a secret, intoxicating thrill. He alone had been granted access to this hidden, unvarnished reality.

Reluctant to interrupt, Kosha lingered near the doorway.

Lucien sensed his presence at once. He discarded the parchment atop the chest, raised his gaze, and extended a welcoming hand with effortless grace.

A faint electric tremor passed through Kosha as he crossed the room. The instant he stepped within reach, Lucien’s broad hand cupped his cheek and tilted his jaw upward. Their lips met before their eyes could properly align.

It was a brief, gentle press that ended before Kosha could fully lean into the warmth.

They had shared moments of profound desperation, losing all sense of time as their tongues intertwined in long, languid exploration. Recently, however, Lucien had begun favoring these fleeting, featherlight touches. Kosha had attempted to count them, reaching nine before the sheer number blurred together into a dizzying haze.

Yet their brevity never diminished their impact. Every delicate parting sent a violent shiver racing down his spine and left his heart hammering relentlessly against his ribs.

Lucien noticed the involuntary tremor and released a low, rumbling chuckle. “Did you behave yourself today?”

Kosha nodded with diligent obedience.

The prince leaned closer, lowering his voice to a velvety, intimate murmur. “And your assignment? Have you kept up with your practice?”

Looking every bit like an eager child starved for validation, Kosha nodded even more enthusiastically.

Lucien retrieved a heavy, leather-bound book from a nearby shelf and held it out. Kosha accepted the tome, mentally cataloguing its exact weight, dimensions, and spatial boundaries before balancing it flat across his palm. Then he closed his eyes.

The air around his fingers shimmered. A split second later, the heavy book vanished from his hand and materialized neatly atop the distant mahogany desk. His magical precision had sharpened considerably, reducing the chaotic spatial distortions that usually accompanied teleportation.

Lucien crossed to the desk, lifted the transported book, and flipped through its crisp pages to inspect them for elemental damage. Not a single crease marred the paper.

“You are developing remarkable proficiency.”

Kosha swallowed hard as a dark blush crept over the tips of his ears at the genuine praise.

Lucien cast a knowing glance over his shoulder. “You see? Astounding things happen when you actually apply yourself.”

Their secret curriculum had begun immediately after their second kiss. Having thoroughly short-circuited Kosha’s inexperienced mind with an act far too intense for a naive country boy to process, Lucien had smoothly adopted an expression of mild concern.

“Come to think of it,” Lucien had murmured that day, his thumb lightly tracing Kosha’s flushed jaw. “You mentioned needing proper grimoires for your studies. Our situation is complicated. The Izeland royal family officially purged such texts after declaring them relics of a dangerous, bygone era. We must also consider the fragile political truce with the Gaecrux mages.”

Kosha had stared at him with complete vacuity.

Lucien had tilted his head, studying the blank reaction. “You understand the political dilemma, do you not?”

Naturally, Kosha had understood absolutely nothing. Lucien’s overwhelming proximity, combined with the paralyzing anticipation that another kiss might descend at any moment, had wiped his mind clean. Rendered entirely mute, he had simply nodded and pretended to agree with political nuances he could not begin to comprehend.

“Then again,” Lucien had continued, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “I am confiding this only because it is just the two of us.”

The prince had allowed a seductive weight to settle over the phrase.

“The royal family hardly incinerated every last scroll. The King undeniably retains a personal mage within his inner circle.”

Lucien had drawn out the revelation with agonizing slowness.

“Accessing those hidden archives would invite unwanted scrutiny. The royal court thrives on treachery, and my current standing remains precarious. Escorting you into the vaults is a logistical impossibility.”

Kosha had nodded vigorously. The soft, intimate cadence of Lucien’s voice had woven a hypnotic spell around him.

“Therefore, we require a little covert preparation.”

The prince’s fingers had continued their mesmerizing rhythm against his skin.

“Preparation?” Kosha had echoed in a daze.

Had Lucien calmly asked permission to harvest his vital organs at that exact moment, Kosha would have eagerly handed him the surgical knife.

The instant Lucien explicitly suggested that he channel his volatile magic, however, cold reality had shattered the romantic stupor.

“That is highly dangerous,” Kosha had protested as panic rose in his chest. “I cannot perform complex casting.”

He had launched into a frantic catalogue of technical limitations, utterly convinced of his own inadequacy.

Lucien had met his panic with an impenetrable wall of calm. “We hardly expect divine perfection on the first attempt.”

“It is literally impossible. My mana capacity is severely fractured. I lack the foundational strength to sustain a stable current.”

“I hear your concerns,” Lucien had replied with maddening, saintly patience. “You understand the arcane arts infinitely better than I do, but you are condemning the endeavor without making a single practical attempt.”

“I possess basic self-awareness. One does not need to leap from a cliff to verify the existence of gravity.”

Reaching for an impossible goal had seemed like the height of foolishness.

Lucien had merely smiled, a predator patiently cornering its prey. “Grant me one attempt. If the magic fails, the subject will never be raised again.”

The prince had traced the rigid tension in Kosha’s shoulders, his touch disarmingly gentle.

“We begin with something microscopically small. One incremental step at a time. I will anchor you throughout the process. Once you master this, the hidden grimoires become yours, and our shared burdens will lighten considerably. Is it not tragic to surrender before even drawing your sword?”