Chapter 318: Chapter 318: A long overdue meeting
The city blurred past the tinted windows: glass towers, embassy façades, and the river flashing silver as they crossed the bridge into the imperial district. Lucas sat with one ankle crossed over his knee, hands clasped loosely, and eyes half-lidded as he watched the familiar landmarks go by. He had been to the palace before for preparations and meetings with Sirius and Lucius, but never summoned like this, never ushered in as someone Caelan wanted to speak to directly.
Windstone sat beside him, as still as carved stone. Only the faint shift of his pale-green eyes followed the route, scanning the sidewalks, the rooftops, and the traffic with the quiet diligence of a man who had already catalogued every threat twice.
When the car turned under the arched entrance of the east wing, the driver slowed, and a pair of uniformed guards stepped forward to open the doors. The scent of polished marble and clipped boxwood from the courtyard washed in.
A young man in a tailored navy suit was waiting just beyond the security scanners. His hair was slicked neatly back, his ID badge discreet, and the tiny imperial crest on his lapel was the only sign of rank. "Your Excellency," he said with a shallow bow to Lucas. "If you’ll come with me. His Majesty is expecting you."
Lucas caught the faint tightening at Windstone’s jaw and gave him a small, dry smile. "Looks like you were right on time," he murmured, then stepped out of the car.
The secretary’s gaze flicked politely to Windstone. "Sir, there’s a lounge adjacent to the reception hall prepared for you. You’ll be able to wait there until the meeting concludes."
Windstone’s eyes moved from the young man to Lucas, a silent question. Lucas smoothed his coat and nodded once. "It’s fine. I won’t be long."
Windstone inclined his head, but his voice stayed even. "I’ll be right next door, sir. Call if you need anything."
Lucas gave him the smallest of smiles, a flicker of amusement and reassurance, before following the secretary through a high-ceilinged corridor of pale stone and soft carpets. The light here was different from the manor’s; colder, refracted through layers of frosted glass and gilt. He could feel the hush of it settle over him, the measured weight of an institution older than anyone in the room.
As they approached the double doors at the end of the corridor, Lucas’s hands stayed loose at his sides, but under his ribs his pulse began to climb. He’d met Caelan once, on the day of the wedding, in a blur of vows and flashbulbs. They barely took anything except congratulations and polite exchanges. This would be the first time the Emperor had asked for him alone.
—
The secretary pushed the double doors open with a soft, practiced motion and stepped aside. Lucas crossed the threshold alone.
The private reception hall was smaller than the grand chambers used for state dinners but no less oppressive. Pale oak panels and heavy cream drapes caught the afternoon sun and turned it into muted gold. A low table sat at the center of a sunken seating area, with two armchairs facing each other. Tea service gleamed untouched on a sideboard; the only sound was the tick of a clock somewhere above the door.
Caelan was already there.
He sat in one of the armchairs, relaxed but unmistakably imperial, dark suit immaculate. Brown hair streaked with white at the temples fell in a smooth sweep, the same green eyes that stared back at Lucas from the mirror each morning lifting now to meet his. Older, deeper, heavier, but the same color. The same shape.
Lucas’s stomach tightened. The sight hit harder than he’d prepared for, like a blow just below the ribs. He had told himself he was coming only to rip the bandage off, to walk through the meeting once and be done with it. In another life Caelan had never known him, never acknowledged him, and Lucas had learned to stop hoping. Now the man he had tried to stop imagining was sitting at a low table in a sunlit room, and for a heartbeat Lucas’s carefully built composure wavered.
It wasn’t just the resemblance; it was the setting, the low table, the quiet room, the filtered light, a déjà vu so sharp it made his skin prickle. As if they had already met like this before, as if he’d sat opposite this man not as a sovereign but as something else entirely.
’He’s the Emperor,’ Lucas told himself. ’Nothing more.’ But the words rang hollow against the pulse in his throat.
He drew a slow breath, straightened his shoulders, and forced his expression back into polite neutrality. "Your Majesty," he said, his voice steady despite the weight pressing behind it.
Caelan’s gaze held his for a moment, something unreadable flickering there before it softened. He gestured lightly to the opposite chair, a motion both inviting and calculated. "Lucas," he said, tone warm but edged with curiosity. "It’s time we spoke properly."
Lucas crossed the last few steps, every movement measured, as if walking across thin ice. He lowered himself into the armchair opposite, palms resting lightly on the armrests, and lifted his chin just enough to meet those green eyes head-on.
For a heartbeat the room blurred. In his first life, sitting in places like this had been something he only imagined while lying awake at night in a locked bedroom, wrists still bruised from Christian’s grip. He had built whole stories in his head of a man with his eyes coming to find him, pulling him out, telling him he was more than property, more than a contract. He had thought that if Caelan ever knew about him, really knew, he would come.
But no one had come. He had been sold, used, silenced, and eventually discarded, and the father whose name was whispered like a shield in the Empire’s corridors had never even known his face. Now, in this life, he had the name, the title, and the careful invitations. The attention he had once starved for was suddenly his, and it tasted like ash.
He kept his expression calm, but under the surface his pulse was a slow, heavy drum. This is just a meeting, he told himself again. ’You came to rip the bandage off. You are not here for saving. You are here to be seen, and then you will leave.’
Caelan leaned forward slightly, hands resting loosely on his knees, the movement unthreatening but deliberate. "You’ve grown in a year," he said quietly, almost conversationally, as if he could sense the distance between them. "I’ve watched from afar, but seeing you here..." He trailed off, studying Lucas with an intensity that made the déjà vu spike again.
Lucas let a faint, dry smile curve at the corner of his mouth, not warmth, not forgiveness, just control. "I’ve had a lot of practice," he said evenly and held Caelan’s gaze.