The Tyrant's Queen

57: fall of a giant

Lucien's hair was a darker blond than usual, damp from a recent bath. He had donned a simple olive green shirt and black pants.

It was likely some time past eleven, and he was standing at the entrance of her tent, one day after imprisoning her in it.

Thalia wet her lips.

Just a minute ago, she'd thought- it was good not seeing him.

Her indigestion would worsen talking to him.

Yet, the moment he walked into her tent, lowering his head awkwardly to fit in through the entrance, one hand on the cane, she could not deny being glad to see him.

Both hands on his cane, Lucien was at the entrance, not fully entering the tent.

Clearing his throat, he spoke, gaze flickering to her hand. His head was lowered, like he was a sinner.

"Does your wrist still hurt?" he asked, softly.

Standing far away from him by her bedside,

Thalia somehow found herself folding her hands behind herself. There was a bruise imprinted on her wrist.

"You offered to make Karl my concubine." Thalia did not flinch at the curtness of her own tone. "But yesterday, you were in a fist-fight with him. In front of your men, sire."

"I will keep my word." His finger fidgeted with the top his cane. "If you'd like to have him, have him."

Honored, sire. Thalia was tempted to remark caustically.

"Tell me about what happened in Aesna, sire. Why Lady Casarine is no longer queen. What happened between you and Karl that you fought so violently."

"Your father, Yhun." Lucien raised his head. He was sober. But there was something strange about his thin smile, the emptiness of his gaze. Where was he looking?

"He is in the dungeons. Healthy and well. But other than him, there is no one against us anymore, in the whole of Aesna. No one. You're safe, Thalia. I can protect you."

"Sire." Thalia's resolve to be angry with him dissipated.

Slowly she walked toward Lucien, muffling her steps. It was like she was walking on thin ice, or through a forest in the dead of night.

One misstep, she'd fall into the abyss, and one loud step, she'd alert the sleeping beast.

Recoiling, Lucien put up his hand, gaze fixated on somewhere behind them.

His face was unnaturally still, like he, too was in the night forest, stifling his breaths, in sight of a beast.

At his gesture, Thalia stopped short.

And only then, did his words start to make sense to her. No, not make sense at all.

No one? No one, except Yhun? Why? How?

"All others...they are mere phantoms. They can't hurt us. I've consulted the best witches and shamans of the country."

"What are you..." A choked cry sprang from Thalia's throat, and she clasped a hand over her mouth.

She had to be mistaken.

"Yuhe, Eiji. Winhita, Casarine. All officials against us. They're just ghosts without any power, Thalia." The stiffened muscles of his face and shoulders visibly slackened.

Just what had Lucien done?

"An all-forgiving saint or a tyrant that kills all your enemies, you name it. I will be what you want me to be."