Lucas’ POV
My best friend slept with my girlfriend. I tried not to think about it. Avoid it at its best. That didn’t last.
I poured alcohol into the glass in front of me. Day drinking. Beautiful. And I was back to it.
I didn’t like Fiona, not romantically. She didn’t either, and her being with whoever she wanted wasn’t the issue.
But Romeo? That was a step too far.
Don’t trust anyone.
She was back again.
Everyone can and will betray you. Just be the first to betray them.
My mother’s voice gnawed at the back of my skull.
I refilled the empty glass. Would she still have said the same if she wasn’t killed?
I kept people at arm’s length, close but not too close. I imagined the worst, expected the worst, because I knew it would always find its way of happening.
Variables: loyalty, leverage, who betrays who.
Romeo and I grew up together. He knew me like no one else. He’d been there from when I couldn’t walk or talk up until I turned into this, whatever twisted version of me that existed.
Letting that feel like something was my mistake.
I let myself go.
Sometimes he understood me more than myself, looked at me and I knew he saw past all the bullshit, saw me.
But in the end, he was nothing more than a prince. Not a friend, and not mine. A prince like no other. As he should have been from the very beginning.
It had been over a week since I’d been to the academy. Dark days where I did nothing but stare at the roof and drink.
It was meant to be a one day thing, but figured I’d take more time. All I needed to bounce back was a reset, so I ignored everything.
My phone buzzed. Message after message. I hadn’t replied any. I barely did, but people decided to pester me more when I was especially not in the mood.
I leaned back, my head pressing against the couch, hands climbing to my face. Thumbs at the ears, middle fingers nearly touching in the center of my forehead, a quiet anchor for the storm in my skull.
The drink wasn’t cutting it. I needed something more, something grounding.
And that could either be my mother’s bridge or father’s mansion. The bridge could calm me. The mansion would remind me who I was meant to be.
It had been about a year since I’d been to either. I let the wind choose.
The wind took me on a jolly good walk to the mansion. I blinked and I was at the gates. The air was as peaceful as it had always been.
The metal panel slid open with a soft whir, and a camera lens rotated toward me.
“Identify yourself,” a woman’s voice crackled from the camera, crisp and cautious.
It was someone new. There was no permanence here, except him.
“His son,” I answered simply. Not my name. Not his. Just that.
There was a pause, then the gates groaned open. No questions. No hesitation. His son was enough.
I walked the long stretch of stone toward the house, flanked by guards in uniform. Their rifles gleamed under the floodlights.
I hadn’t even bothered to freshen up before going. I looked like some drunk who’d wandered off the street and stumbled into the wrong world. Maybe I had.
The front door was ajar. And I might’ve begun to rethink my choices. Still, I stepped inside, the silence of the mansion pressing against me. The door shut softly behind my back.
Then I saw it, a thin strip of light glowing under the study door. He was still awake. The sight of it made my pulse thud in my throat, the alcohol haze evaporating.
I braced myself then, for the greeting I knew too well, a fist to the gut, or a backhand to the face.
“Lucas.” His voice came from the darkness behind me.
“Yes, father.” My throat was dry, my voice automatic.
“That’s how you greet your father after your fun year of rebellion?”
I turned. I came here myself, knowing exactly what was coming.
He closed the distance between us in slow, deliberate steps. His hand came down heavy on my shoulder, fingers digging in, measuring me like he always did, like he was checking whether I’d finally grown strong enough to break.
“I see you’re back now,” he said. His eyes swept over me, nostrils flaring slightly. He could probably still smell the alcohol clinging to my clothes.
I wasn’t back. Not really. But I didn’t bother correcting him.
“Yes, father.” Simple words.
His grip tightened anyway.
“You’re nineteen now. Old enough to act like a man, but still playing the fool.” His voice carried a slow, cold cadence.
“You shouldn’t be indulging in anything I’m hearing about from Renald.”
Renald. The head of the academy. I could only guess what lies or worse, truths he had told my father.
“You’re my only son.” His fingers clamped harder on my shoulder, bone-deep now.
“So act like it. You’re not going to make things harder for me. Or for yourself.”
His words carried more weight than his hand. There was something buried in them, regret, bitterness, maybe even shame.
“Underground black market.” His fist rammed into my gut. The air left me in a single ragged noise. I doubled over, hand bracing against his arm, teeth grinding.
“Threatening princes.” The backhand caught my mouth before I could straighten. A sharp crack. Warm copper filled my mouth, thick and metallic.
“Narcotics and weapons.” His knuckles slammed across my jaw.
I counted each blow like a clock, the rhythm of his fists ticking out the seconds of my silence. One. Two. Three. The only time he and I ever kept in sync.
My head snapped sideways, stars exploding behind my eyelids. Pain shot up my temples. My legs gave way entirely.
“And that’s just the beginning of what you’ve done.” A boot crashed into my ribs. Fire lanced through me, stealing every breath. I curled instinctively, dragging one arm across my stomach, but another strike flattened me further, forcing a groan I barely recognized as human.
“I put you in the academy thinking you’d learn a thing or two.” His boot pressed me flat against the marble, immovable, as if the floor itself had become a trap.
“Grow up.” Another strike cracked across my thigh. My leg spasmed beneath me.
“But you’ve only gotten worse.” I didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Not because I lacked strength, but because I needed this. Every blow, every press, was a ritual.
“You were better when you were seeing Dr. Robert.” My chest constricted, every breath rattling.
I could hear my heart thundering in my ears, head shaking, every beat echoing the rhythm of his fists.
My fingers dug into the floor, trying to anchor myself. My stomach churned, bitter with blood and bile. I felt every bone, every muscle, every nerve flare with pain, and yet I remained silent.
This was how my father and I bonded, his fists, my silence.
Then, finally, darkness took me. The world blurred into black, punctuated by the occasional spark of pain, a last reminder that I was still alive.
I woke with the metallic taste of blood coating my tongue, gums raw, teeth tender. I rolled onto my side and forced myself upright.
Box breathing. Slow in, slow out. In and out. In. Out. Years of practice let my body reclaim itself, finding steadiness in the midst of chaos. My body responded, muscle by muscle, as I let the rhythm reclaim me.
I went to the bathroom that was meant to be mine, turned on the showers that were meant to be mine. Got out of my clothes that reeked of alcohol and blood, then let the water wash over me.
Pain licked every nerve of my body, but it was tolerable, I was back to myself.
I dressed carefully, selecting one of the academy’s attire from the wardrobe that was meant to be mine. I fastened every button, and straightened every crease.
I looked nothing like last week, nothing like the drunk version of myself. That Lucas was gone. This Lucas was alive. Ready.
And as I stood before the mirror, bruised, battered, but intact, I reminded myself of the goal. Finland. Nothing else mattered. Not Fiona, not Romeo, not the chaos of the past week. Only what came next. And if I had to shed the last of what was human, I would.
I left my father’s mansion, again. It was not the first time I felt like being knocked back into myself. But a year away from him had me learning how I acted with myself again.
My life had been on pause for far too long. I had plans to get to, goals to achieve, a standard to keep up with.
And to do all that, I needed to address where my slip up started. It was two a.m. when I got to my father’s home, I left at six.
The walk from there to the academy wasn’t long. They were both in Finland’s center. A few minutes and I was there.
I stepped through the academy gates. The air was as sterile as ever.
I went to find Fiona, except she found me first in the hallway.
“Lucas,” she called.
“Hey… Phi… Fi?” Inside joke. I may have begun to understand Romeo’s humor.
She took me by my arm to a different room.
“About what ha—” she stopped mid-word. “Did you drink?”
“No, don’t worry about that.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“I need an explanation, Fiona.”
“He didn’t want to tell you.”
“And since when did you follow illogical ideas?” I could say Romeo was an idiot at times, but Fiona wasn’t like that.
“I wanted him to tell you himself. He said he would.”
“I see,” I said. “I’m not upset.”
“You’re not?”
“I did use a week to think it through. I have things I need to work out.”
“Are you going to talk to him?”
“Oh no. That’s what I’m working out.”
I bid her farewell. I didn’t have anything more to say.
And I also didn’t necessarily have any other plan for the day. But when I saw the notice board, a smile crept up my face.
Joint A activities.
Things started setting themselves up. The academy was divided in two, the As and Bs. The As held royalty and representatives. Bs were nobility.
Nicholas was known for always participating in Judo. Guess I didn’t get used to taking hits for nothing.
ns216.73.216.141da2
and then Add to home screen.