Chapter 4 Her Reasons, His War

Her lips were fire.

His, hunger.

And when they met-it wasn't sweet.

It was punishment.

Lucien's hand slid up her back, gripping her nape with just enough force to remind her that he wasn't that boy she left behind. He was the king now.

But gods-her mouth still tasted like the poison he craved.

Isolde tried to pull away. Tried.

But his hand tangled in her hair, and his voice, dark and guttural, whispered against her mouth, "No more running."

Her breath shuddered. "Lucien... we can't-"

He cut her off with another kiss, slower this time. Possessive. Dangerous. A storm that didn't pass, but waited to destroy.

"I don't care," he growled against her lips. "I've dreamed of this. Hated myself for it. Wanted to rip the memory of you out of my mind."

Her fingers dug into his shoulders, nails sharp, biting into skin.

"And yet..." he leaned down, brushing his lips against her throat, "here you are. In my chambers. Wearing silk. Smelling like sin."

Isolde gasped when he lifted her onto the table, the rum bottle tipping and crashing to the floor beside them. Neither flinched.

"You're not a boy anymore," she whispered.

Lucien's mouth curled against her collarbone. "No. And you're not untouchable anymore."

His hands roamed, his lips claimed, and for a moment-it felt like the world stopped. Like the sea itself held its breath.

But even in passion, the ghosts watched.

The Keep whispered.

And far below, something ancient stirred in the waves... listening.

The fire still crackled in the hearth.

But the heat between them had shifted.

Lucien stood with his back to her, chest heaving, shirt still discarded, fingers clenched at his sides like he was ready to break something-or someone.

Isolde sat on the edge of the table, robe half-open, hair a mess of silver-black waves, lips red from sin.

But her eyes... her eyes were cold again.

Lucien didn't turn around when he said, "So that's it? You use me like a weapon and then pretend it never happened?"

Isolde straightened her robe, slowly. Like she needed control back.

"You're angry," she said calmly.

"No," he hissed. "I'm alive. For the first time in years. And it scares you."

He spun, face dark.

"You didn't come here to talk, Isolde. You came to see if I was still yours."

She flinched.

"You've always wanted power," he growled. "Even over me."

She stood now too. Bare feet against stone. Chin raised.

"And what do you want, Lucien?" she snapped. "Revenge? A crown? Or me on my knees calling you king?"

His jaw clenched.

He closed the distance between them in one step, gripping her wrist-not hard, not soft, just real.

"I want the truth."

Silence.

Then, quietly-she said, "Your father wasn't killed in his sleep."

Lucien froze.

"What?"

"He was cursed."

Her voice cracked.

"And the curse... started with you."

Cliffhanger-

Lucien stared at her, breath caught in his throat.

Everything.

The word echoed like a curse, heavier than any truth before it.

"What do you mean everything?" he whispered, stepping closer, his shadow swallowing hers.

Isolde didn't flinch. Didn't blink.

"I was the price, Lucien."

A silence fell, sudden and brutal.

"The sea took your mother," she said quietly. "But it didn't take her soul. It demanded something more... something living."

Lucien's heartbeat roared in his ears.

"And they gave you?" His voice cracked.

She smiled bitterly. "No. I gave myself."

Lightning flashed outside the window. A thunderclap rattled the Keep.

Lucien turned toward the sound-just for a moment.

And when he looked back-

Isolde was gone.

The door still closed. The window still latched.

But her medallion lay on the floor.

Dripping.

With seawater.