Then Lucian made eye contact with Eugene and said something, smiling.
The noise of the ballroom still seemed to linger in his ears, buzzing and indistinct, so Eugene couldn’t quite make out the words, but he simply nodded. It was something like a socially trained reflex. Smile prettily and agree. After all, no one spits on a smiling face.
Before he could even register that the scenery behind Lucian was dark and narrow, unlike the splendor of the royal palace, his body jolted and shook.
Are we really leaving the palace?
Eugene let out a breath of relief. He was away from the noise now, and alone with Lucian Highwinter.
This is exactly the opportunity for business — but unfortunately, the words wouldn’t come out properly. Eugene suddenly thought of the drawing folded neatly away in his breast pocket. It was the result he and Aldrin had worked on together the whole time while waiting for Lucian.
It really did turn out so well that maybe he’ll recognize its worth the moment he sees it, without even needing an explanation.
His limbs wouldn’t move the way he wanted, swaying limply, but he wiggled his hands, trying to pull out the drawing tucked against his chest.
He managed to get his hand into his breast pocket, but pulling out the folded paper proved elusive. It was nothing much of an action, yet it exhausted him completely, and Eugene paused to catch his breath with his hand still resting on his chest.
His rapid heartbeat traveled through his palm. The warmth in his chest was such that he wondered if he had a fever. It was the same temperature as when, in the depths of winter, you tuck your cold hands under your arms pretending to fold them.
It was also similar to the feeling of getting into a taxi right on the verge of passing out, after deciding to fully experience being an extrovert and having a blast in the city’s downtown. Beside him was a companion heading the same direction, looking out for him. Of course, even in the midst of his daze, that companion was excessively handsome, which drew out a helpless laugh.
Since I’m laughing, I guess I dodged death’s door. But sorting through what he’d just felt, it was clear — he was drunk.
Eugene Primrose, turns out you’re a lightweight. Even Ivan hadn’t had wine with meals, so there hadn’t been a chance to find this out until now.
He was clearly sitting upright, yet the world rocked and swayed. He felt no urge to go home, no worry about Ivan being left alone. His brain, marinated alternately in panic and alcohol, had given up on rational thought.
“This isn’t really your style, but somehow it suits you, Eugene. I think I might like it.”
When did I close my eyes? Eugene’s eyes flew open at the voice right by his ear. For a moment he wondered what was being said, but he soon let out an “ah” of realization.
Ah, he must be talking about the fashion illustration for this world that Aldrin and I made together.
But Lucian’s reaction was more lukewarm than expected, and Eugene, frustrated, pleaded while patting his own chest. His words still wouldn’t come out right.
“Look at it… properly, and then say something.”
“Then go ahead — show me properly.”
That’s strange, he thought. His hand was still warm with body heat, he hadn’t even taken it out of his breast pocket yet — was Lucian Highwinter really looking at it properly?
He’s said to be fickle. He’d acted as though he’d invite Eugene right away, only to leave him waiting for months with not even a hint of an apology. Eugene meant to say firmly, “Look properly, sir” — but different words came out instead.
“…What… is this?”
His right hand, which had clearly been in his breast pocket, had slipped out on its own and ended up somewhere else entirely. He’d definitely been awake, yet it felt as if time had skipped forward all at once. But it was just as warm wherever his hand was now, so Eugene didn’t pull it back, quietly savoring the warmth. Instead, he pressed further in, into somewhere hot and soft.
“You seemed rather innocent, Eugene Primrose. It’s a little funny now, but it’s cute, so go ahead — do as you like.”
What on earth is this man talking about? Eugene thought he should hurry and come to his senses, show the sketch properly, talk things through, win him over to his side — but even as he thought this, he chased after the sense of relief that came from the warmth covering not just his hand but his entire body.
The sensation against his hand was good. The weight and warmth wrapping around his body brought him a sense of security. It felt like grabbing onto a sturdy lifeline that would never snap, standing on a swaying bridge. The weather had the full feel of spring, but it wasn’t hot or stifling. Rather, that warmth felt good, and Eugene burrowed in even deeper. The feel of someone else’s skin against his fingertips was unfamiliar yet so soft that Eugene let out a sigh without even realizing it.
***
Lucian pulled off his shirt and tossed it onto the floor.
If I sleep in late tomorrow, Basil will surely come to wake me and have something to say about it — but did that seem like something he’d care about? Tomorrow morning’s scolding from Basil wouldn’t be about just one silk shirt anyway. If anything, the clothes scattered on the floor might get overshadowed by a bigger problem and slip by unnoticed. And here, the “bigger problem” referred to the beauty lying half-undressed on the bed.
Eugene Primrose.
Lucian looked at Eugene, who lay arrogantly on the bed in the nude. Who was the duke here, and who was the nobody — the third son of some earl’s family? With his hair disheveled, lying half-naked on the bed, Eugene looked, if anything, like the prince of some nation. And Lucian felt like some lowly man with nothing but his body, about to have a one-night fling with him.
Even though this was clearly Lucian’s mansion, Lucian’s bed, looking at Eugene’s cool expression gave him that feeling regardless. Lucian let out a hollow laugh at his own thought.
Even as the now-naked Lucian slowly approached, Eugene kept his expression blank throughout, blinking slowly. Unexpectedly aggressive one moment, then feigning innocence the next, and now acting with the composure of someone quite experienced.
Which act am I supposed to play along with? Normally, indulging in this kind of frivolous game wasn’t Lucian’s taste. On top of that, the teasing, drawn-out hesitation was infuriating — irritation would flare up, only to melt away the moment Eugene smiled prettily and tilted his head with a “yes.” It was a face that could dissolve anger just by looking at it. Lucian found watching Eugene’s face quite entertaining, and he felt his interest rising.
Enjoying the way Eugene’s gaze stared steadily down at him, Lucian climbed onto the bed. Slow and light as he crawled up, Lucian looked like a leopard enjoying the hunt. As he planted his arms on the bed, the body that looked like a sculpture — from his shoulders to the dense, fine muscles beneath his ribs and down his back — rippled like a wave.
If there had been an artist devoted to beauty present, they might have collapsed in ecstasy at the sight before them now. Lucian unraveled the tightly tied knot of Eugene’s trousers, thread by thread. The whole process was so leisurely and unhurried that the artist would have collapsed a second time, this time from frustration.
Eugene’s once-pale cheeks were now flushed a rosy color, like spring flowers blooming in a garden. His long neck, flawless as marble, his hollowed collarbones, and below that, his flat chest with small red drops scattered across it — it was a sight that satisfied after a long while. No, it was the most appealing sight Lucian had encountered since he’d begun this reckless indulgence.
He looked far too slender, almost frail enough to topple over — but now that he was actually undressed, certain parts of him came into view that were rather manly and firm after all. Taking in the sight of Eugene, Lucian felt a renewed surge of love for humanity. How beautiful humans can be! Every single part of Eugene Primrose could be called a near-perfect shape. Even down below.
“Ha. This is excessive.”
Slipping down past his trousers and underwear was something as beautiful as Eugene’s face itself. He’d never stared so directly and bluntly at another man’s, well, thing before in his life, but it was the kind of shape that made one want to touch it and take it into one’s mouth the moment one saw it. Even he found it absurd, and Lucian clicked his tongue, letting out a hollow laugh.
It was too much. Far too much. Lucian recalled Eugene, jaw set, asking why he hadn’t called for him in the dining hall. He’d answered shamelessly, as if he’d just now remembered — but how could anyone forget a beauty like this?
He’d already known that Basil — who, given a single morning, could rattle off everything about who Eugene Primrose had been involved with, his entire history and inclinations — had been putting off his report for some reason.
Even amid the crowd surrounding him at the ball, Lucian had spotted Eugene. He’d noticed him glance over to confirm Lucian’s arrival, then tilt his head and step away with his older brother as if utterly weary of it all. And yet the reason Lucian, against his usual nature, hadn’t pulled Eugene in right away was that the surrounding circumstances really hadn’t allowed it. Of course, the fact that the surname attached to Eugene’s name was “Primrose” — just as Basil had warned — also played a part.
Unlike how he’d acted right after parting in Atrian, as though he’d bring Eugene in the very next day, Lucian hadn’t even been able to stay at the ducal residence for several days. This was because the Queen Mother, who still called him “Prince” when they were alone, had clung to him relentlessly.
Holding onto her youngest son, returned after so long, she’d even threatened that if he left Hyphaelion again this time, she’d refuse to eat. In the end, to soothe his mother, Lucian had stayed at the royal palace for several days.
Just from those few days at the palace — how many people he’d met, how worn down he’d been — Lucian had even snapped at Basil for simply knocking on the door. As he left the palace, in stark contrast to the surge of love for humanity he’d just felt, he’d shuddered, thinking, “If this is humanity, I’m disgusted by it.”
He understood his mother’s worry well enough. It was largely because, every time the social season ended, he’d up and leave. Whether it was a one-night connection or something else, if there had ever been someone he’d actually grown attached to — would this year be different? — whenever the Queen Mother grew watchful with that hope, Lucian, as if to dash her expectations, would make up one excuse or another and leave.
She wished that her cherished late-born son would settle into a comfortable home and stay by her side, but in truth, Lucian could do neither of those things.
It was ironic that the very reason he couldn’t do so was the King and Queen Mother’s favoritism toward him. And it was quite a distant prospect that Lucian would ever grant his mother’s wish.
The current King, Lucian’s older brother, had overcome numerous power struggles to place someone promised to him since childhood on the throne as Queen. The two had grown up together in the royal palace, and the late Queen had been a perfect match for the role of Queen, without a single flaw except for her frail health. Though their union had been arranged through a transaction weighing mutual benefit, the two had been friends and true lovers who genuinely loved each other.
However, there was one major problem between them — they couldn’t conceive a child. Love was good. But for a king and queen of a nation, sacrifice was necessary. The Queen’s body was too frail for childbirth. And the foreign-born consort that the King — who had been reluctant to take a concubine — had been forced to take in had shown no news either, so the inability to produce an heir wasn’t a problem belonging to the Queen alone.
Lucian knew well how much the Queen had suffered, how desperately she had wished for a child. When the King’s seed had finally, barely taken root in her womb, she had wept endless, heavy tears like a waterfall, as if washing away all her past sorrows. The Queen had told the still-wandering Lucian that everything would be fine now — but tragically, she was laid to rest in a stone coffin before the child ever saw the light of day.
