Page 97 of Reign
“Arabella—”
“Arabella wanted closeness,” I interject, because this isn’t just about my wife, but he doesn’t know that yet. “You wanted access. You thought you could have both without consequence because you’ve stood beside me for years and you’ve learned exactly which parts of my life are empty.”
Lucien’s eyes narrow a fraction, and I look at him with quiet interest.
“How long?” I ask again, and this time I let my tone sharpen enough to cut.
Lucien exhales. “Five years.”
The number lands like weight, confirming everything and nothing. Five years is not a mistake; five years is a choice. Five years is a campaign.
I keep my face calm anyway. “Five years of sleeping with my wife.”
“No,” he says quickly. “Not… consistently. Not like that. That part—”
“Was recent,” I say. “I know.”
He looks at me again, warier now. “You’ve been… investigating.”
“I’ve been living,” I correct. “And finally paying attention.”
His jaw flexes. “Then why are we down here?”
Because this is not about sex, cousin, I think.Because I don’t particularly care what my wife does in a bed that was never sacred. Because you didn’t just cross my marriage, you crossed my structure, my trust, and my empire.
I don’t give him any of that yet. Instead, I ask the next question.
“What else?”
Lucien’s expression doesn’t change much, but there’s a faint tightening around his eyes that tells me I’ve found the real door.
“What else?” I repeat.
He laughs once, but it’s thin and wrong. “You’re acting like I’m a traitor.”
I tilt my head. “I found you in my wife’s bed.”
“That isn’t treason.”
“In my world, anything that makes you careless is treason.”
His eyes flash. “So, you’re here because you’re offended.”
I hold his gaze. “No. I’m here because I’m curious whether you’ve been careless in other ways, too.”
Lucien shifts again, shoulders squaring. I recognize the posture. It’s the one he wears when he’s trying to reclaim ground by turning pride into armor.
“You always did assume I existed for your convenience,” he says.
There’s the resentment. Not new, apparently. Only finally loud enough to show its face.
I let the words sit between us. “If you were unhappy in my service, you could have left.”
He scoffs. “And go where?”
“You’re a Vieri. You have resources. Connections. A name.”
“A name attached to you,” he snaps. “A name that only holds weight because I stood at your right hand and played the loyal cousin while you turned into a man no one could approach without permission.”
