Chapter 23
Lucien
The Black Crown summons arrives like a death sentence—black envelope, gold wax seal, delivered by hand. I knew before I even broke the seal who was behind it.
The council chamber feels like a fucking tomb as I stride in, each footstep echoing against marble floors that have witnessed more than a century of Black Crown power plays. I’m fifteen minutes early because punctuality is just another form of dominance—arrive before your enemies can prepare.
My custom Tom Ford suit is a statement in itself: black on black with subtle emerald threading that catches the light when I move.
The Black Crown crest sits proudly on my breast pocket, my family signet ring gleaming on my right hand.
I’m dressed like the heir I am, not the accused they want me to be.
I can smell my father’s bullshit before I even see him.
Vincent sits at the far end of the mahogany table, his face an emotionless mask that doesn’t quite hide the satisfaction in his eyes.
The other twelve council members are already seated, their expressions ranging from distaste to morbid curiosity. Fucking vultures, all of them.
“Lucien,” LaFontaine rises, his voice carrying a particular tone reserved for disappointments. “Thank you for joining us promptly.”
I don’t acknowledge the greeting. Instead, I take my designated seat, directly opposite my father, and cross one ankle over my knee—casual, unconcerned, though my jaw is clenched tight enough to crack teeth.
“The Council of Thirteen has called this emergency session regarding disturbing allegations concerning your Chosen,” Blackwood continues, his ancient hands resting on a leather portfolio.
“It has come to our attention that Seraphina Carvelli may be your half-sister, making your…involvement with her a violation of our most sacred tenets.”
My eyes never leave Vincent’s face as the old man drones on about tradition and moral standards and the integrity of bloodlines. My father stares back, the corner of his mouth twitching with the ghost of a smirk.
“Such an offense, if proven true, would require immediate dissolution of the choosing bond and appropriate sanctions,” Wallace says, his voice grave. “What say you to these allegations?”
The room falls silent, twelve pairs of eyes boring into me while Vincent watches with barely contained triumph. I let the silence stretch until it’s uncomfortable, until several council members shift in their seats.
“May I inquire,” I finally say, my voice controlled, “as to how the Council came to possess this information?”
Wallace glances at his notes. “The matter was brought to our attention by a concerned member who wishes to remain anonymous.”
I bark out a laugh, the sound sharp and humorless. “Anonymous. How fucking convenient.”
“Mind your language, Heir Devereux,” scolds Elder Monroe, his pocket square clutched literally in his bony fingers. “This is a formal proceeding.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the polished table. “Will my father also be brought before this council?”
The question lands like a grenade in the center of the table.
Confusion ripples through the council. Elder Wallace eyebrows shoot up toward his receding hairline, while Monroe looks like he’s about to choke on his own spit. The rest of them exchange glances, clearly caught off guard by my question.
“I don’t understand,” Elder Fairmont finally says, his voice careful. “Why would your father be subject to this inquiry?”
I lean back in my chair, drumming my fingers against the polished wood.
“Well, I assume you heard these allegations from him.” I gesture toward Vincent with a dismissive flick of my wrist. “So you have a high-ranking member who cheated on his wife with another society member’s wife, bringing embarrassment to four society families. Or am I wrong?”
The room falls so silent I can hear the ancient grandfather clock ticking in the corner. My father’s face loses several shades of color, and I can practically see his brain working overtime to recalibrate.
Elder Fairmont clears his throat. “I believe there’s been some misunderstanding, Heir Devereux.
The allegation isn’t that your father had an affair.
Rather, we have documentation suggesting your mother, Lady Celeste, engaged in relations with Elliott Carvelli during a period when your parents were briefly apart. ”
What the actual fuck?
I keep my face carefully blank even as my mind races. This is a plot twist I didn’t see coming. My mother and Carvelli? I almost laugh at the absurdity.
“Is that so?” I ask, my voice dangerously soft. “And where exactly is this documentation?”
Elder Monroe slides a folder across the table. I flip it open to find medical records, dates, and a handwritten letter I instantly recognize as my mother’s elegant script. The dates align perfectly with Seraphina’s birth.
“According to these records,” Fairmont continues, “Lady Celeste became pregnant during this...indiscretion. She apparently told Vincent the baby didn’t survive, when in fact she gave the child to Mariella Carvelli, who couldn’t have any more children of her own.”
I stare at the documents, trying to process this absolute horseshit. My mother, who barely tolerated the man at society functions, supposedly fucked him and then secretly gave away their love child? It’s so fucking ridiculous I almost respect the audacity of the lie.
“This is quite the tale,” I say, looking directly at my father. “Especially considering my mother despised Elliott Carvelli. She called him ‘the walking embodiment of syphilis’ if I recall correctly.”
Vincent doesn’t flinch. “Hatred and passion often occupy the same space, Lucien. You should understand that better than most.”
I can feel the rage building in my chest, but I keep it locked down tight.
“So let me understand this correctly. You’re suggesting my mother—who couldn’t even be in the same room as Elliott without making her disgust known—secretly fucked him, got pregnant, faked a miscarriage, and then handed the baby over to his wife?
All while maintaining her position in society and never once showing any interest in the child she supposedly gave away? ”
“The heart is complicated,” Elder Monroe offers sagely, like he’s dispensing wisdom instead of swallowing my father’s bullshit.
“And yet, these medical records,” Vincent says smoothly, “tell a different story than your assumptions about your mother’s feelings.”
I flip through the documents again, noting the perfect consistency, the right letterheads, the appropriate dates. They’re impressive forgeries, I’ll give him that. Probably cost a small fortune to create.
“You know what’s even more impressive than these forgeries?” I tap the folder with one finger, keeping my voice casual. “The absolute balls it takes to drag my mother’s name through the mud with this pathetic attempt to cover your own ass.”
I stand slowly, buttoning my jacket as I rise. The movement is unhurried, controlled—everything I’m not feeling inside. The rage is molten, threatening to burn through my carefully constructed facade.
“My mother,” I say, each word precise as a knife stroke, “who has stood by your side for thirty years. Who has swallowed every humiliation and every fucking insult you’ve thrown her way.
And this is how you repay her loyalty? By fabricating evidence that she’s an adulterer who abandoned her own child? ”
Vincent’s face remains impassive, but I catch the slight tightening around his eyes. He didn’t expect me to defend her so vehemently.
“The evidence speaks for itself,” he says, his voice steady.
I laugh, the sound echoing off the marble walls. “Does it? Let’s talk about evidence then.” I turn to address the council. “Weeks ago, I had DNA tests performed on both myself and Seraphina Carvelli.”
A murmur ripples through the room. Elder Fairmont’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.
“The results were quite illuminating,” I continue, pulling a folded paper from my inner pocket.
“Not only are we not siblings or half-siblings, but we share absolutely no familial DNA markers whatsoever.” I toss the results onto the table.
“Which means either these tests are wrong, or every document in that folder is.”
“DNA tests can be falsified,” Vincent counters smoothly.
“So can medical records,” I snap back. “The difference is, I had these tests done at three separate facilities, two without any connection to Black Crown. Can you say the same about your evidence?”
The council members exchange glances, their certainty visibly wavering.
“But even more damning than the DNA results,” I continue, my voice dropping lower, “is the question no one seems to be asking: Qui en profite? Who benefits from this lie?”
I walk slowly around the table, feeling the weight of thirteen pairs of eyes following my movement.
“Not my mother, who would lose everything if this were true. Not Seraphina, who was raised believing she was a Carvelli. Not the Carvellis themselves, who would face humiliation and scandal. They’re already on the outskirts, they can’t afford that. ”
“My father is attempting to manipulate this council because he’s pissed that I chose a woman he told me I couldn’t.
One he truly believed to by his daughter.
” I straighten up, buttoning my jacket in one smooth motion.
“The question isn’t whether Seraphina is my sister because that’s already been proven false.
The question is why Vincent Devereux is so desperate to destroy my Chosen bond that he’d forge medical records and slander my mother’s reputation. ”
Monroe sputters, “These are serious accusations—“
“Yes, against my mother. Occam’s razor, Elder Monroe,” I cut him off.
“The simplest explanation is usually the correct one. Which is more likely: that my mother had a secret affair with a man she openly despised, hid a pregnancy, faked child loss, and gave away her baby without anyone noticing...or that my father is lying to manipulate this council because he’s lost control of me? ”
The council shifts uncomfortably, and I can see the exact moment when the tide turns. Elder Fairmont’s eyes narrow at Vincent, no longer looking at me as the problem. Several others are exchanging glances, their allegiance visibly wavering.
“We will need to conduct our own independent tests,” he finally says, clearing his throat. “This matter is far too serious to be decided on contradictory evidence.”
I smile, a cold, calculated expression that doesn’t reach my eyes. “By all means. Test whatever you like. Just make sure you keep the process far away from him.” I tilt my head toward my father. “We wouldn’t want anything else to sully the reputation of this council.”
Vincent’s jaw tightens, a vein pulsing in his forehead. He knows he’s lost them—for now at least.
I straighten to my full height, placing both hands flat on the table as I lean forward. The room falls silent as I lock eyes with each council member in turn.
“Potestas in sanguine. Honor in sacrificio. Immortalitas in legato,” I recite, my voice resonating through the chamber. Power in blood. Honor in sacrifice. Immortality in legacy. The ancient words echo off the marble walls, reminding them who I am—who we all are.
“This council has stood for centuries on those principles,” I continue, my voice dropping to a dangerous register. “Are you really prepared to let one man’s wounded pride undermine everything we represent?”
Elder Monroe shifts uncomfortably. “Perhaps we’ve been...hasty in our judgment.”
“Hasty?” I laugh, the sound sharp as broken glass. “You’ve called me here on fabricated evidence, attempted to dissolve my Chosen bond, and slandered my mother’s name based on nothing but my father’s word.”
I straighten up, adjusting my cufflinks with deliberate precision. “My Chosen will remain my Chosen. The bond stands. And when I take my place as head of this council, I will remember every single person who stood against me today.”
The threat hangs in the air, crystal clear without being explicit. Several of the older members pale visibly.
“No action will be taken regarding your Chosen bond.”
“See that it doesn’t.” I turn to leave, then pause, looking back over my shoulder at my father.
“Oh, and Vincent? If you ever attempt to use my mother as a pawn in your games again, I will personally ensure that every dirty secret you’ve buried comes to light.
Many of them affect people in this very room, don’t they?
Don’t play checkers with a chess master, father. ”