Chapter 125: A loyal dog
"What happened? What’s wrong?"
Aveloria sniffled. She tried to speak, but her voice cracked. She swallowed and tried again.
"Lucien is leaving," she said. "He’s just... leaving. I don’t understand why. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t stay."
Theron said nothing. He looked at her face, at the tears she kept wiping away.
"I don’t understand him." She whispered, her voice cracking. "The sudden change of attitude. We were good the last time we spoke. I don’t think I can handle this," Aveloria said. "All of it. Marek, the Wanderers, now this. It’s too much. It’s all too much." She sobbed.
"He doesn’t get to do that. We had an agreement to find Marek and stick together. I’ll go talk to him." Theron said, his voice low and rough.
He stood up and straightened. Aveloria reached for his arm to stop him. "Theron don’t. Just let him be."
Theron gently pulled his arm away from her grasp. And without a word, he turned and walked to the door. He paused at the door and looked back at her. The sight of her feeling sad hardened his resolve into something sharp. Then he left.
He walked fast down the hallway. His boots hit the stone floor hard. He did not know what Lucien had said to her. He did not know the details of their conversation. But he had seen her face. He had seen her crying. Whatever had happened, she was hurt. The anger built in his chest as he walked. He tried to push it down. He tried to think clearly. But the image of Aveloria sitting there, crying into her hands, stayed in his mind.
He took the staircase two at a time. He crossed through the great hall and out into the large courtyard. The afternoon sun was still very bright. Servants and guards moved across the open space. Theron scanned the area.
He spotted Lucien near the far side of the courtyard, walking toward the corridor that led to his chambers.
Theron called out to him. "Lucien! Lucien!"
Lucien kept walking. He did not turn around.
Theron called again, louder this time. "Lucien! Stop!"
Lucien continued walking. His pace did not change. Then Theron broke into a run. His boots pounded against the stone. He caught up to Lucien just before he reached the covered walkway. He reached out and grabbed Lucien by the shoulder.
Lucien jerked away from his touch. He turned to face Theron, his expression was completely blank.
"What do you think you’re doing?" Theron’s voice was taut, controlled.
"I’m leaving."
"Why are you really leaving?" Theron demanded. "Why now? At a time like this?"
Lucien looked at him. "I don’t answer to you. And I don’t owe anyone an explanation. I can leave whenever I want."
Theron stepped closer. "You do owe her one. Aveloria is in her chambers crying. She’s worried sick about you leaving. Does that mean nothing to you?"
For a fraction of a second, something flickered in Lucien’s eyes—pain or guilt before he masked it off completely.
Lucien scoffed. "So what? She’s crying. Do I get the heiress a bucket to fill it up with her tears?"
"What? You don’t get her speak to her like that. You don’t get to treat her that way. If you’ve got things to do beyond these walls, then state it to her clearly and don’t run off like a coward."
Lucien’s jaw tightened. "I am not a coward!"
"So why leave? Or are you really scared of the reality of staying in one place?"
"You think this is about being scared? You don’t know anything about the things I do. You don’t know my life. You don’t know what I’ve left, what’s waiting for me!"
"You think I don’t have a life of my own? I left a whole pack of people with thousands of others to be here. I left them to come here, to be with my mate, to help fight the Wanderers—thousands of people, Lucien. You don’t have a pack to leave. You don’t have so much to give up. And you’re still walking away." Theron shot back.
Lucien snorted. "You can stay behind this comfortable castle, with your comfortable king and your comfortable duties! It’s none of my business!"
Theron’s expression flushed with a surge of hot anger.
Lucien continued. "And stop pretending to care. I know what this is really about. I know you’re happy. Marek is gone. Now I’m leaving. Next up, Galen will leave on some royal assignment as the beta. Then you’ll have Aveloria all to yourself. Just like you always wanted."
Theron stared at him. His jaw tightened. "That’s not true. That has never been true."
"Sure, it hasn’t."
"All I’ve ever done is make sure Aveloria is safe. Make sure she’s okay. I’ve accepted that I have to share her with all of you. That’s just how it is. There are bigger things to worry about than who sits where in her heart." Theron said, his voice low.
Lucien said nothing.
"You’re being unreasonable," Theron added.
Something flickered in Lucien’s eyes. His ego felt bruised. Theron realized he had hit something raw.
Lucien’s voice came out cold. "You must be really happy now. You have the king’s favor. That’s why you get to run your mouth. When all you are is a glorified guard in fancy armor, following the king’s orders. A king’s loyal dog."
The insult was meant to wound, and it did. Theron’s whole body went still. He stepped closer to Lucien, bringing them to within inches of each other.
"What did you say?"
Lucien did not back down. "You heard me." He looked up at him in the eye. "You’re nothing but a servant with a sword. You always have been." His words felt like venom.
Theron stepped back a little and turned to leave. He didn’t want to stoop to fighting Lucien cause he had a reputation to uphold. But the insult had cut into his soul too deeply. His wolf growled, urging him not to back down. He had to put Lucien in his place. So he changed his mind.
He turned swiftly, his fist connecting with Lucien’s jaw. It was a solid, painful hit that sent Lucien stumbling back a step, his head snapping to the side. Lucien recovered fast, his own instincts kicking in. He didn’t swing back immediately. Instead, his hand touched his jaw, his eyes wide with shock. When he looked back at Theron, his eyes had changed.
"You don’t get to talk to me like that, you filthy rogue!" Theron snarled, his face twisting with fury.
Lucien swung. Theron saw it coming and ducked. He grabbed the front of his cloak and shoved him hard against the floor. Once again, Lucien was quick to regain his stand. He tried to hit Theron again, but he drove his fist into Lucien’s side, just below the ribs. Lucien grunted and stumbled.
Theron strode towards Lucien again, but this time Lucien dodged him and landed a punch on his lips. They grappled, fists landing, arms grabbing. Theron took a punch to the cheek again. He landed one hit on Lucien’s shoulder. They broke apart, then came together again.
The sounds of the fight, the grunts of effort, and the thud of fists on flesh drew attention. A crowd had gathered. Maids pressed against the walls, their hands over their mouths. Guards stood watching, unsure whether to intervene. Voices murmured, panicked and confused.
Neither of them noticed the audience. Theron was lost in his anger, in need to make Lucien feel some fraction of the pain he had caused. Lucien was lost in his own turmoil, fighting back against him.
Lucien swung again. Theron blocked it and shoved him back. They circled each other, breathing hard.
"You are a damned fool to think I care so much about what you think of me!" Theron growled.
Lucien didn’t answer. He lunged forward. Theron lunged a kick at his stomach.
Galen was on his way to Aveloria’s chambers when he noticed the crowd in the courtyard. He changed direction immediately, pushing through the gathered servants. When he saw the two figures fighting, he broke into a run.
"Move!" he ordered, pushing through the onlookers. He stepped into the open space and reached them. "Stop it! Both of you, stop!"
They didn’t stop. They didn’t even seem to hear him. Theron had Lucien in a headlock; Lucien was driving his elbow back into Theron’s ribs.
Galen grabbed Theron’s arm, trying to pry him loose. "Theron, let him go! This is madness!"
Theron shook him off with a snarl. Lucien used the distraction to twist free, swinging wildly. His fist aimed for Theron’s face, but never connected, cause he dodged it. Galen, still trying to get between them, had moved into the space where Theron had been, directly into the path of the blow.
The punch landed solidly on Galen’s right eye. The pain was immediate and blinding. A high groan tore from his throat before he could stop it.
The crowd gasped, a collective intake of breath.
He stumbled backward and hit the ground hard. His hand went to his face as he lay there on the floor, curled slightly, as he continued to cry out in agony.
The fight stopped. Theron froze. He looked at Galen on the ground, then at Lucien. Lucien stood with his fist still half-clenched, his chest heaving. His eyes were wide with sudden, sickening horror as he saw what he had done.
Theron rushed to Galen’s side, dropping to his knees beside him. "Galen. Galen, let me see." He gently tried to pull Galen’s hands away from his face. The eye was already swelling shut, a deep purple bruise blooming across the socket. Blood welled from the cut on the brow.
Galen made small, pained sounds as his body trembled.
"Get the physician!" Theron barked at the nearest guard. Immediately, other guards moved in to help Galen to his feet.
Lucien stood apart, his breathing still hard. He looked at his own hands, then at Galen and Theron, then at everyone standing around. He spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. His face was masked with conflicted emotions, shock, regret, and a deep exhaustion. He turned and walked away. And no one stopped him.
