The book she had chosen was an accident, she hadn't intended to take anything, but her fingers landed on a worn spine half-tucked behind a row of larger volumes. No title on the edge, only a faded red symbol an hourglass with roots instead of sand.
She pulled it free from the aisle, its leather cover was smooth from too much handling, the pages delicate with age. Inside: a story told in clipped, elegant prose. A girl trapped in a glass house. Each tree bore fruit she wasn't allowed to touch and each window showed a world she wasn't allowed to live in.
Aria didn't know why she took it. Only that she did, the hallway outside was quiet again. Her room was as she'd left it sheets newly replaced . The sofa was fluffed and angled invitingly now, as if someone had misunderstood everything about her nesting habits, she curled into the bed without thinking, the book open across her lap.She read for what felt like an hour or longer longer. The girl in the story was starting to consider eating the fruit anyway and Aria respected her for that
A knock broke the stillness.
Sophia entered with her usual quiet grace, hands folded. "Lena" she said gently, "it's time for dinner"
"Dinner?"
"Yes. Mr Lucien is already downstairs."
Aria closed the book but held onto it. "Give me ten minutes."
"Seven," Sophia corrected.
Then she turned and left without another word.
The robe was simple, grey with wide sleeves and a belt that knotted easily.
Sophia had laid out something else, of course another dress that looked like it had been stitched by a diplomatic committee. High necked, stiff-collared, embroidered with what looked like house crests or possibly sea monsters in gold thread.
Aria didn't touch it, Instead, she brushed out her damp hair quickly, knotted it at the nape of her neck, and slid her feet into soft slippers that barely made any sound. She tucked the book under her arm, like a talisman or a weapon, and stepped out into the hallway.
Halfway down, Aria saw him. Lucien sat at one end of a long, very elegant table, posture straight, coat exchanged for a dark shirt with silver piping. His sleeves were rolled again, cuffs unbuttoned like a man who wanted to appear relaxed. She crossed the room without announcement and sat at the opposite end. Placed her book beside a plate.
Lucien glanced at it.
"I wasn't sure if you'd come."
"I wasn't sure if I'd be allowed to stay in bed."
"Touché."
They didn't say anything else as the servers entered three of them, all women, dressed identically in charcoal-grey, faces unreadable. They moved like water, so effortlessly setting dishes before them: braised fish in a citrus glaze, roasted vegetables spiced with herbs Aria couldn't name, and a small bread round that steamed when split.
No one spoke, not even Lucien
When the last plate was placed, the servers bowed in unison and exited without sound.
Leaving her alone with Lucien
The first few minutes passed like a duel neither wanted to start. Aria sliced into the fish delicately, chewing slowly, thoughtfully. The food was exquisite, flavors layered with precision, textures that shifted between soft and crisp lbut she tasted none of it.
Lucien didn't speak either, he ate with methodical grace, wine untouched, elbows never straying too far. His eyes flicked toward her once, just once, when she reached for the bread.
She met his gaze briefly, then tore the roll in half, watching the steam curl up
The silence wasn't uncomfortable, aria just let the quiet stretch. Let it demand something. If he wanted to fill it, he could.
He didn't
When the plates were cleared, a soft clink of silver over porcelain marked the last of the servants' exit. The doors closed behind them, soundless.
Now they were truly alone.
Lucien sat back slightly in his chair, fingers laced over his stomach. "You read?"
She nodded toward the book. "When I'm allowed."
"Did it end well?"
"It didn't end as well as I thought it would "
He tilted his head. "You dislike that?"
"No," she said, dabbing her mouth with the napkin in front of her . "I like when stories leave something unfinished. It makes them harder to lie about."
That earned the ghost of a smile from him something faint and uninterested, but not unkind.
Aria set down the napkin
"Well," she said quietly, "since the guests are gone, and the bed's no longer a performance piece I want my own room."
Lucien blinked once, not really surprised Just absorbing.
"I don't care where it is," she continued, her tone hard . "It doesn't need a view. Just a door I can close that doesn't have people in my business "
He studied her for awhile
"I also want the wardrobe changed," she said. "No more gowns with seventeen fastenings and no pockets. I want pants. Shirts. Maybe boots."
"That all?"
"No." She placed both hands on the table, fingers splayed. "I want to cook my own food. Or at least be allowed in the kitchen. I was a chef. Still am. I don't like being cooked for."
Lucien said nothing, not yet atleast
She held his gaze, her spine straight, chin neither lifted nor bowed.
"I'm not trying to start a war," she added. "I'm just trying to live in something that feels like my home."
Lucien's silence lasted a beat too long.
Then he said, "I'll speak to the steward."
Aria didn't expect agreement, not that easily, she waited for the conditions. The patronizing tone, the inevitable you don't understand how this works lecture. But Lucien just nodded once and said he'd speak to the steward.
She studied him. He wasn't smiling. Not mocking. Just watching her the way one might watch smoke rise from a room they weren't sure was on fire.
"You'll have your own room," he said. "Something on the east wing. It'll be quiet."
"And the clothes?"
"I'll have the tailor come tomorrow." He lifted his wineglass for the first time that evening, swirling but not drinking. "You'll have what you asked for."
"And the kitchen?"
That was the first time something flickered across his face. A shadow of thought, maybe. Or calculation.
"You can cook," he said slowly, "but not alone."
"Why not ?"
Lucien set the glass down. "Because in this house, everything you touch becomes information. And everything you do will be read by someone as either obedience or subversion."
Aria leaned forward, elbows now very much on the table. "So let them read it. I'm not trying to kill anyone."
"I didn't say you were."
He steepled his fingers.
"But imagine, for example," he continued, "that one of the council stewards sees you stirring a pot and assumes you're sending a message. That you're too humble. Or too bold. Or too comfortable. Or worse discontented."
"I am discontented."
"Yes," he said dryly, "but they prefer to assume than to be told or seen"
Aria sat back, folding her arms. "You think I'm trying to make a statement?"
"I think," Lucien said, "you want control over what you can do and I think they'll interpret that as rebellion."
She didn't answer him
Instead, she looked past him, toward the flickering light bulb, the soft play of light over silver. Then back to him.
"You going to stop me?"
Lucien shook his head. "No. I'm only telling you the terms of the game."
"I didn't agree to play any game"
"You did," he said softly. "The moment they brought you here."
"Who is they? I didn't agree to be here"
Lucien looked at her a little longer before telling her.
" I already made arrangements for you to sleep in a separate room, so the room should by now, I'll have Sophia take you there, it's still on my wing though, that's the least I can do people can't know we are sleeping in different rooms Lena."
With that he gets up to leave, when he gets to the door of diner he turns and looks at her one more time
"Good night Lena". With that he steps out.