A DUKE'S CRIMSON SCANDAL

"This will be your room... it always has been." Lucien said as he stood behind Elian in front of the closed chamber door.

Elian stared at the door, memories, both good and bad, flooded into his mind. He refused to ball his fists for it would show that he was angry.

He was going to play the clueless man’s part so well until Lucien realised that the old Elian was dead.

"Why have I been brought to your manor and placed right beside your chamber, Your Grace?" Elian asked softly, turning to face Lucien with an innocent, confused look.

He would give anything to shove Lucien down the stairs and watch his head bleed as he fell, but he couldn’t, not without giving out his secret.

Lucien gulped quietly, his hands twitching to touch Elian, but he didn’t want to scare him away. He held Elian’s gaze with his own raw, vulnerable eyes, silently pleading to the man he knew still lived inside Elian.

"Elian..." he took a tentative step forward, heart clenching tightly.

"Am I in some kind of trouble? Did I do something to offend His Grace? Am I going to get punished?" Elian asked, taking a step back.

"I would slit my own throat before I let any harm come to you, Elian... you’re safe here... I swear it." Lucien murmured in a restrained voice.

He did not realise that bringing this new Elian back would be a constant stab to his chest; each second of looking into those unfamiliar eyes had him breaking all over again.

He wanted to scream, to recall everything that had happened between them, but all he could do was be patient and wait... he could only wait now.

"Safe?" Elian tested the word in his mouth and almost scoffed, but he forced that sweet, calm smile back on his face. "If your aim of bringing me to your chamber is to keep me safe, then you should not have bothered, for I was under no threat at all. In fact, I was safest at home, with Cassian–"

"This is your home!" Lucien snapped, growling hoarsely.

Elian paused, swallowing hard as he took another step away from Lucien, plastering his back to the door.

"Cassian would never shout, never scare me... I want to go back home... please... I do not want to be in a royal chamber. I don’t even know why I am here. I just want to go home... please, Your Grace." He whispered, clenching his fists behind him.

Lucien hadn’t changed.

He could not even pretend to be nice for a day and he was already going back to his forceful ways.

Lucien quickly shook his head, desperation clear in his eyes. "I’m sorry, Elian... I should not have raised my voice at you. I am sorry." He spoke in a surprisingly soft voice.

Elian froze.

Lucien was apologising to him?

He must be dreaming.

"Please, stay." Lucien murmured.

Elian felt his walls about to crumble in front of this soft Lucien, so he quickly turned and faced the door, better to flee than stay and get himself exposed.

"Very well, Your Grace. Have a good night," Elian said and pushed the door open, slipping through in calm steps so he wouldn’t give away his nervousness.

He was trying to shut the door when Lucien gently put his hand between the door, stopping him from closing it.

’No...’ he thought and turned away from the door.

Nostalgia hit him so hard the moment his eyes took in the bedroom.

It was just as he left it, but it had no dust, almost as if someone cleaned it every day.

His door shut gently behind him, followed by the soft click of the lock.

His heart skipped; Lucien was closing in on him.

"I miss you, Elian." Lucien whispered shakily right behind Elian.

Elian shut his eyes tight, dragging sharp air into his lungs. He needed his treacherous body and heart to stop responding to the man who almost killed him.

"Perhaps there is something I am missing, Your Grace..." Elian slightly turned his head to the side, catching Lucien through his side-eye.

"Why do you keep acting like there is some history between us?" he asked softly.

Lucien wanted to go slow, to tell him it was nothing and hope that he regains his memories. But how long was he ready to wait again before he got to hold Elian?

Two months was torture enough. Right now, he had Elian right in front of him; he could not let more time pass them by.

Very slowly, he moved, heart pounding as he did.

Elian stiffened, aware that Lucien was about to hold him. If he moved too quickly or aggressively, he would give himself away. He did not know what to do to get himself out of this sweet temptation.

The moment Lucien’s hands touched his shoulders, he shut his eyes. "Your Grace... perhaps I should go to bed now," he murmured, forcing his voice to be steady.

That touch, warm, steady, gentle.

He had missed Lucien more than he liked to admit. His body was still very much attuned to Lucien’s touch; it was evident in the way he was burning up from that simple shoulder touch.

"Let me hold you for a moment," Lucien whispered and slowly slid his hands down Elian’s arms. "Can I hold you? I need to hold you... please..." Lucien whispered, his voice raw and breaking at the edges.

Elian’s breath hitched. The warmth of Lucien’s gloved hands sliding down his arms was almost unbearable. Every nerve in his body remembered this touch — the way Lucien used to hold him in the cabin, against the door, in the quiet hours when the rest of the world disappeared. His heart raced traitorously, but he forced himself to stay still, to keep playing the part of the confused stranger.

"Your Grace..." he began, voice carefully steady, "I do not understand. You speak as if—"

Lucien’s arms finally wrapped around him from behind, slow and careful, as if afraid Elian might shatter or vanish. He pulled Elian gently back against his chest, burying his face in the long, soft curls that now fell past Elian’s shoulders. A shudder ran through Lucien’s entire body.

"Just... a moment," he murmured against Elian’s hair. "I only need a moment."

Elian’s eyes fluttered shut. His fists remained clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms to ground himself. The scent of clove and familiar warmth surrounded him, flooding his senses with memories he could not afford to acknowledge. His body leaned back the slightest fraction before he caught himself.

Lucien felt it. That tiny, almost imperceptible yield.

His arms tightened, not with force, but with desperate need. One gloved hand came up to rest over Elian’s heart, feeling the rapid beat beneath his palm.

"Your heart is racing," Lucien whispered, almost in wonder. "Even if your mind does not remember... this does."

Elian’s throat tightened. Tears burned at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He swallowed hard and forced a soft, confused laugh that sounded almost natural.

"You are mistaken, Your Grace. I am only... startled. This is all very strange to me."

Lucien did not release him. Instead, he lowered his head further, lips brushing the shell of Elian’s ear as he spoke in a voice thick with emotion.

"Then let me be strange. Let me hold you until the strangeness feels familiar again."

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The locked door stood behind them. The familiar bed waited a few steps away. Outside, the manor continued as if nothing had changed — but inside this room, everything had.

Elian’s carefully constructed walls trembled under the weight of Lucien’s quiet desperation. He could feel the Duke’s heartbeat against his back, fast and unsteady. He could feel the way Lucien’s breath caught every few seconds, as if he were fighting not to break completely.

And worst of all... Elian’s own body was responding.

He slowly raised one hand and placed it over Lucien’s on his chest — not to push him away, but to still the trembling in both of them.

"Your Grace," he said softly, the formal title still a shield between them, "you are holding me as if I might disappear."

Lucien’s voice came out barely above a whisper, rough and unguarded.

"Because you already did once."

The words hung in the quiet chamber, heavy and irreversible.

Elian closed his eyes fully this time, a single tear finally slipping free and trailing down his cheek. He did not wipe it away. He simply stood there, held in the arms of the man he had sworn to forget, while the night settled around them and the game of memory grew more dangerous with every heartbeat.

Neither of them moved for a long time. The question of whether Elian would push him away — or lean in — remained unanswered in the charged silence.