A DUKE'S CRIMSON SCANDAL

The morning sun kissed over Elian’s body as he lay sprawled on the bed, his white shirt loosely falling off his shoulders.

He opened his eyes and stared at the roof for a very long time, slowly getting himself accustomed to being back there.

He didn’t know what to make of himself. Should he step out or stay in or report to Lucien’s room as usual?

Why was he back here?

"Ugh..." he groaned and rubbed his eyes as he sat up in bed, his hair cascading over his shoulder to fall over his exposed chest.

He could already feel it was going to be a long day filled with forced smiles and aching hearts.

Last night, Lucien had left his room only when Elian told him that he was terribly sleepy; if not, the man was ready to hold him till dawn.

He suddenly heard a knock on his door and his heart skipped.

Lucien?

He wasn’t ready to face him again; in fact, he would never be ready to face him again, not if he wasn’t ready to reveal the truth.

Quietly, he got out of bed and moved to the door, noiselessly opening it.

"Ms. Beck..." He blinked, smiling politely. "Good morning, ma’am." He greeted.

It’s been so long since he saw the woman; it almost felt strange seeing her again.

"Good morning, Elian. His Grace has asked to know if you want anything special for breakfast." She informed, her face neutral as she stared at him.

Elian furrowed his brows.

What was this now?

What was Lucien really up to? Clearly, the Duke was not yet ready to forfeit the throne and love him, so all this was confusing and even annoying. Lucien needed to stop or Elian would really have to stop faking it and demand he be left alone.

"That is very kind of His Grace. But I am fine with whatever is served. I have no preference." He answered calmly.

Ms. Beck nodded her head. "Very well, then. The food will be served in the dining hall." She said and turned away.

"Thank you," Elian murmured and watched her go down the stairs.

He was about to shut his door when a hand held it, causing his eyes to widen in shock and realisation.

Lucien was standing beside the door all along.

"Y-your Grace..." Elian gasped, blinking up at Lucien’s face.

Lucien stepped through the door, his eyes dark and circled like he barely slept a wink last night.

"Good morning," Lucien murmured as he shut the door behind him, his eyes greedily taking Elian in.

The way those soft, messy curls fell over Elian’s collarbone had him stirring from within. Elian was a walking temptation and he did not know how long he could manage to keep his hands to himself.

"Good morning, Your Grace," Elian bowed his head, looking away from Lucien’s dissecting green eyes.

"Did you sleep well?" Lucien asked, stepping closer until he stood in front of Elian.

Elian nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. You’re very hospitable," he said calmly.

Lucien sighed, glancing around the room. "Will it be too much if I asked you to sleep with me tonight –"

"Yes, Your Grace. That will be considered too much." Elian smiled brightly at him. "Why ever will I share a bed with a duke?" He questioned carefully, his face revealing nothing.

Lucien didn’t reply for a moment, and then he moved, reaching out for Elian’s face but stopping himself.

"You help me sleep, Elian. You know this... tell me you remember –"

"I’m sorry, Your Grace. I have come to understand that you might be mistaking me for a lost lover or something close to that. I am not your lover. I have no recollection of us ever getting together. Trust me, if we did... I would never forget."

Lucien’s eyes darkened at the words, but he did not step back. Instead, he closed the last bit of distance between them until Elian’s back brushed against the wall beside the door.

The morning light spilled across Elian’s exposed collarbone and the loose white shirt that hung dangerously low on one shoulder.

"You would never forget," Lucien repeated softly, almost thoughtfully.

His gloved fingers finally lifted, brushing a long curl away from Elian’s face with careful reverence. "Then why does your pulse jump every time I touch you?"

Elian’s breath caught. He forced himself to hold still, to keep the polite, confused expression on his face even as heat bloomed under his skin.

"I am simply not used to such... proximity, Your Grace," he answered carefully.

Lucien’s lips curved into the faintest, most dangerous smile. He leaned in just enough that his breath warmed the side of Elian’s neck.

"Proximity," he murmured. "Is that what this is?" His fingers trailed lightly down the side of Elian’s throat, stopping just above the rapid beat of his pulse. "Your body remembers me even if your mind refuses to. The way you lean into my touch when you think I’m not watching... the way your breath changes when I stand this close..."

Elian’s fingers curled against the wall behind him. He could feel the heat of Lucien’s body, the familiar scent of clove and clean linen that had once meant safety and ruin in equal measure.

"Your Grace..." he began, voice softer than he intended.

Lucien’s hand slid lower, fingertips grazing the edge of the open collar of Elian’s shirt. "Say my name," he whispered. "Not ’Your Grace.’ Just once. The way you used to when no one else could hear."

Elian’s blue eyes flicked up to meet his. For a single, dangerous second, something raw and familiar flickered behind the carefully constructed amnesia. Then it was gone, replaced by that same gentle, polite distance.

"I do not know what you mean," Elian said quietly.

Lucien’s free hand came up to rest against the wall beside Elian’s head, caging him in without truly trapping him. His green eyes searched Elian’s face with open hunger and something far more vulnerable beneath it.

"Then let me remind you," he breathed. His thumb brushed the corner of Elian’s mouth, slow and deliberate. "Let me show you what your body already knows."

He leaned in until their lips were only a breath apart. The air between them felt charged, heavy with every unsaid word and every memory Elian was fighting to keep buried.

Lucien’s voice dropped to a rough, intimate whisper, so close that Elian could feel the shape of the words against his own mouth.

"May I kiss you, Elian?"

The question hung between them, soft and dangerous. Lucien’s breath brushed against Elian’s lips, so close that the slightest movement would close the distance. His green eyes searched Elian’s face with open hunger and something far more fragile beneath it — hope.

"Please..." Lucien murmured huskily.

Elian’s heart slammed against his ribs. Every part of him that still remembered Lucien screamed to close the gap, to taste the man he had missed for months. But the part of him that had survived by building walls forced him to stay still.

Slowly, carefully, Elian turned his face away.

The rejection was quiet, almost gentle, but it landed like a blade.

Lucien froze. For a long second he remained there, lips still hovering near Elian’s cheek, before he finally exhaled and pulled back just enough to look at him properly. The vulnerability in his expression was raw and unguarded.

"...I see," he murmured, voice low and rough.

Elian kept his gaze fixed on the wall, afraid that looking into Lucien’s eyes would undo him completely. "I do not know you the way you seem to know me, Your Grace," he said softly. "Kissing you would feel... dishonest."

Lucien’s jaw tightened, but he did not get angry. Instead, he lifted one gloved hand and carefully brushed a long curl behind Elian’s ear, the touch lingering longer than necessary.

"Then I will wait," he said quietly. "For as long as it takes."

The words settled heavily in the quiet room. Elian’s throat tightened. He forced himself to step sideways, creating more space between them, and offered the same polite, careful smile he had been wearing since his return.

"That is very kind of you, Your Grace," he replied. "But for now... I would like to bathe and prepare for the day. May I have some privacy?"

Lucien studied him for another long moment, as if memorising every detail of his face. Then he gave a small, restrained nod.

"Of course."

He stepped back toward the door, but paused with his hand on the handle. His voice, when he spoke again, was softer than Elian had heard in a long time.

"I’ll have the servants prepare the bath. And Elian..."

Elian finally looked at him.

Lucien’s eyes held a quiet, stubborn promise.

"This is still your home. Whether you remember it or not."

With that, he left, closing the door gently behind him.

Elian remained standing in the middle of the room long after the sound of Lucien’s footsteps faded. Only when he was certain he was alone did he let his shoulders sag, one hand rising to press against his racing heart.

The morning had only just begun, and already the walls he had built were starting to crack.

The day ahead promised more of the same dangerous game — and Elian was no longer sure how long he could keep pretending.