The current King’s grief was beyond words, and because he hadn’t been able to fully erase her shadow, the position of his official wife still remained vacant. If they were to elevate a foreign concubine to the position of queen, all of Hyphaelion would rise up in protest, with everyone pushing forward their own daughters instead. The current King was already fairly advanced in age, yet there was still no shortage of people shoving their precious daughters at him.
This wasn’t a problem unique to the King, either. Countless people had also submitted portraits of their daughters and sisters to Lucian. Though no one would say it openly, some of them privately wagered that the King would never produce an heir after all.
Even if their own family’s daughter failed to be chosen as queen, if the King never produced an heir, the crown could end up passing to Lucian. Their ambitions were so obsessive it was nauseating just to watch, and it left Lucian with no choice but to keep drifting from place to place.
He wasn’t in the mood to enjoy the party, but he attended for his mother’s sake, to save face. He was bait thrown to the royal bloodline at the Queen’s ball, where there was neither a queen consort nor a queen mother present. Any noble with a child who’d come of age would have been drawn in by Lucian, their complaints instantly forgotten.
Exactly as intended, Lucian ended up spending an exhausting amount of time in the small dining room. By the time Eugene came bursting into that dining room, no fewer than six people had already passed through that small room.
There was one old man, tediously praising him while lecturing about the need to look after the nation’s welfare; two noblewomen openly throwing out flirtatious invitations for some scandalous fun; two young upstarts blatantly trying to seduce him, eager to “experience” the man known as Lucian; and one lady who pretended to be drunk, clinging to him while “accidentally” hiking up her skirt.
None of it was particularly unusual, but having it all hit him one after another without a moment’s rest made him more irritated and angrier than usual today. His patience was wearing thin, to the point that he’d even snapped at Basil, who’d been nagging him like a mother hen. And it was at that exact moment that Eugene Primrose came barging in.
Having pushed past Basil and into the room, Eugene’s cheeks were slightly flushed, but otherwise he looked just as elegant and cool as he had the first time they’d met. Perhaps mindful of the occasion, his hair had been neatly slicked back with pomade, which only made his face look even colder. If, at their previous meeting, he’d resembled a beautifully carved piece of marble, today he was like a crystal blade honed to its absolute limit.
Unlike Lucian, who wore a dress coat embroidered with gold thread, Eugene’s dress coat was austere and restrained in design—the kind of simple cut you’d more likely see on a member of the bourgeoisie than on a noble. And yet the sheen of the fabric itself, along with its impeccable, fitted length and cut, made him look all the more elegant. Or perhaps—no matter what he wore—Eugene Primrose would have looked elegant regardless.
Eugene Primrose appeared as though he were Lucian’s savior from sheer boredom, and he went on to display behavior Lucian hadn’t expected at all. Boldly asking why Lucian hadn’t come looking for him, striding right up and snatching his glass—it was all so provocative, so irresistibly seductive. Considering the difference in their stations, it was outrageously disrespectful, but Eugene Primrose would never know just how grateful Lucian was for it.
In truth, even without Basil’s reports on Eugene, part of the reason Lucian hadn’t pushed the matter was that Eugene had seemed rather difficult to approach. In Atrian, Eugene had offered up flattering words, but he’d never truly groveled to Lucian. That was part of what made it interesting—but as Basil had said, he was far too proud to be treated as a mere passing amusement, and the risk was too great.
Countless lewd rumors involving Lucian’s name circulated through high society. Some of them were the kind of thing that, without Lucian’s background and considerable charm, would have branded him an utter piece of garbage. Lucian never spent the night with anyone he’d then be obligated to take responsibility for—the naive sort who innocently waited for love while guarding their purity. Of course, that didn’t mean he hadn’t toyed with their hearts; he simply never laid a hand on them.
In truth, most of the rumors about Lucian were ones he’d either deliberately exaggerated or simply allowed to spread unchecked. He wasn’t quite the lust-crazed beast or the utterly amoral worst-of-the-worst that the rumors made him out to be.
That’s not to say he was pure and blameless. It’s just that, among those in high society, it was harder to find someone who’d slept around less than Lucian had. In other words, he wasn’t particularly unusual in that regard.
Lucian deliberately associated only with those who’d face no consequences—lonely widows, or those who’d already spent the night with him or with someone else, people already tangled up in just as many scandalous rumors as he was. In short, the kind of partner perfectly suited to fueling gossip.
For instance, if rumor had it that Lucian had spent the night with ten people, the truth was that he’d actually slept with maybe one or two of them. Some had simply drunk with him until the early hours before parting ways, and many others had gone no further than a bit of light touching.
Lucian didn’t care what exaggerated rumors those who’d spent time with him went on to spread. Even if no physical relationship had taken place, in their hearts, they’d already had the affair of the century with Lucian.
As the rumors grew more and more inflated, Lucian even occasionally played along, just enough to keep them going—so that no one could easily trap him under the pretense of a single night’s affection. Basil shook his head every time at this behavior of Lucian’s, calling it “trashy nonsense, plain and simple.” One of Lucian’s other close friends had even pointed at him and called him “not a duke, but a whore.”
Lucian knew it, too. But he didn’t stop this behavior and these intentions because his debauched image was actually quite effective. At the very least, no one tried shoving some hopelessly devoted, old-fashioned virgin son or daughter into his bedroom and telling them to “spend the night” with him anymore.
In any case, for this reason, Lucian’s approach to Eugene Primrose had no choice but to remain passive. He’d said all the right flattering things, but Eugene hadn’t given him an inch. On top of that, there was his overly protective older brother, and those blue eyes that turned icy cold the moment his lips pressed shut—nothing about him was easy to handle. In other words, at a glance, he was like a rose with thorns sharp enough to draw blood the instant you got pricked.
And then, in that very moment, Eugene Primrose had come to him of his own accord. Asking, rather shyly and earnestly, why Lucian hadn’t come looking for him; pressing his own lips to the crystal glass Lucian’s lips had just touched; leaning against him as though pretending to be drunk, swaying unsteadily, and whispering beautifully that they should get out of here, just the two of them.
Was there a man alive who could resist such a temptation? The thoughts that crossed his mind in that instant were something like, How wonderful is this? and I’ve been wandering foreign lands, and all this time, I was the only one missing out on a beauty like this.
That face, that haughty bearing that paid no mind to status or rank—Lucian found himself wondering where on earth someone like this had been hiding from his sight all this time. Even among the gentlemen of the clubs, men notorious for their debauchery, he’d never once heard this person’s name come up. At this point, the very fact that no one seemed to know of someone like this only made it feel more suspicious, more infuriating. Guess someone was trying hard to keep me from stealing him away, he thought, brushing it off with a scoff.
Once the two of them were alone in the carriage, Eugene’s behavior grew even more unrestrained, and the sight of it was quite something. Lying back languidly, leaning his body in close, whispering “Please,” while letting his hand wander teasingly around Lucian’s chest. Lucian found himself genuinely grateful that this beautiful, debauched creature had appeared before him. It felt like compensation for all the tedious nonsense he’d had to endure lately.
Honestly, if it had been anyone else, he might have toyed with them a little before sending them on their way. People approached Lucian like this several times a day. Pretending to be drunk, pretending to faint, sometimes pretending to need help. Of course, there were also those who shamelessly stripped on the spot or crawled between his legs. Some had political motives, but plenty of others were simply the type who wanted a look at “that famous thing” inside the trousers of someone so well-regarded.
If something didn’t appeal to him, even the rarest delicacy could be turned down. This kind of seduction wasn’t really Lucian’s type—but this face was beyond mere type. The one he’d secretly been waiting for had come to him of his own will; sending this one away without a second thought simply wouldn’t be like Lucian Highwinter at all.
If anything, he was grateful that Eugene had taken the initiative. At least this way, Eugene wouldn’t naively demand eternal love or some sense of obligation just because they’d spent one night together.
Sending this one away without a second thought simply wouldn’t be like Lucian Highwinter at all. The reason the earlier irritants didn’t qualify but Eugene did came down to nothing more than personal taste. And perhaps, in part, it was also just some petty venting—a childish little act of rebellion. The kind of perverse, contrarian impulse where being told “don’t” only made you want to do it more.
Lucian Highwinter, too, could easily get drunk and pretend it was an accident, indulging in some mischievous little act. He simply chose not to. And above all, it wasn’t a lie that, unable to bear the endless tedium day after day, he’d filled himself with drink—which meant Lucian, too, was more than a little drunk.
From the moment they stepped out of the carriage, they hadn’t even made it to the ducal residence proper, let alone the innermost bedroom—they’d pushed their way into the nearest guest room instead. In an instant, Lucian had stripped Eugene bare—Eugene, who’d clung to him as though desperate, burying himself in his arms—and laid him down on the bed.
Now, back to the matter at hand—the long-awaited moment. Lucian spread his hands wide and slowly traced Eugene’s shoulders, chest, waist, and hips. Spreading his large hands wide so that not a single part of him went untouched, he found Eugene’s slender torso fitting perfectly within his grasp.
It felt like holding an entire person in his hands, and Lucian’s mouth curled into a satisfied smirk. The texture of the skin beneath his palms was unnervingly smooth. Without a single flaw, as though no one else’s hands had ever touched it. Which couldn’t possibly be true, of course. Lucian let out a deep breath and pressed his lips to Eugene’s chest.
As though giving a brief, lingering kiss filled with longing, he let his lips wander lightly over the soft skin. Since this was nothing more than a single night’s entertainment, his touch remained fairly restrained. Leaving no trace of his presence behind anywhere was a courtesy owed to each other. He was nothing more than someone passing through, after all—by the time he left this bed, nothing should remain.
Lucian took Eugene’s chest into his mouth as though taking a large bite out of a soft cake. It was an indecent act. What kind of high-ranking noble bit into cake with his bare hands? But that was precisely what made it all the more arousing. He devoured it greedily, and out of sheer reluctance to leave anything behind, he’d lick away every last bit of cream clinging to his fingers.
Lucian gathered up what little flesh there was, pulling it together and sucking it deep into his mouth. The small, pliant peak, pressed and flattened beneath his tongue, quickly grew stiff and erect after a few gentle bites and presses of his tongue.
“Mm… mmh.”
At the low moan he heard from above, Lucian began to focus in earnest, lavishing attention on Eugene’s chest. Lucian’s cock—which had been half-hard ever since Eugene pressed himself close in the carriage—now made contact with the lower half of Eugene’s body. Every time their bodies pressed together, his hardened length rubbed and pressed against that soft skin.
Lucian savored the stimulation, just enough to leave him aching with want, like a thirst that wouldn’t quite be quenched. Sometimes being crude could be fun, too, but he didn’t want to devour Eugene Primrose so hastily, so roughly. Lucian intended to take tonight slow, and make it last as long as possible.
“Nn…!”
