Chapter 114: The Last Day
The piano was old, its wood dark with age, its keys yellowed ivory. It sat in the corner of a small sitting room that Elizabeth had claimed as her own—a quiet space filled with sheet music and forgotten tea cups and the soft light of afternoon.
Lucas sat on the bench, his fingers hovering over the keys. He had been there for ten minutes, trying to remember the song she had played for him in the garden. He could hear it in his head. He could not make his hands follow.
Behind him, Elizabeth laughed.
"That's horrible," she said.
Lucas pressed a key. The note hung in the air, wrong and lonely. "I'm trying."
"You're torturing the piano."
He turned to look at her. She sat on a cushioned chair near the window, her legs tucked beneath her, a book open in her lap that she had not touched in the past ten minutes. Her pink hair fell across her shoulders, catching the light. Her smile was wide, unguarded.
"You play the violin," he said. "Not the piano."
"I know what music sounds like."
He pressed another key. This one was closer to the melody, but still wrong. Elizabeth winced dramatically.
"Please," she said. "For the sake of the instrument."
Lucas lifted his hands from the keys. "You're very critical."
"Someone has to be." She set her book aside, rising from the chair. She crossed to the piano, standing beside him, looking down at the keys. "You're pressing too hard. Music isn't force. It's—" She reached down, her fingers brushing against his. "Gentle."
She guided his hand to a key, pressing lightly. The note rang out, soft and clear.
"That," she said.
Lucas looked at her hand on his, then at her face. She was close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her pink eyes, the curve of her lips, the way her breath caught when he didn't look.
"Better," he said.
She smiled, pulling her hand back. "A little."
She moved to the window, looking out at the garden below. The afternoon light painted her in gold and shadow. Lucas watched her.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
"You can."
She was quiet for a moment. Then: "Kaya."
Lucas's hands stilled on the keys. "What about her?"
Elizabeth turned to face him. Her expression was careful, controlled, but her eyes—her pink, knowing eyes—held something sharper. "The way she looks at you. The way she talks to you. You're dating her, aren't you?"
Lucas said nothing.
Elizabeth's jaw tightened. "I'm not blind, Lucas. I've seen the way she watches you. The way she was beside you when you woke up. The way she—" She stopped. Took a breath. "You're dating her."
He didn't deny it.
Elizabeth laughed, a short, sharp sound. "So that's it. You have a fiancée. You have Kaya. And then there's me." She crossed her arms, looking away. "Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? A princess sharing—"
She stopped herself.
Lucas waited.
She turned back to him, her eyes bright. "I'm already sharing you with Nora. I accepted that. I told you I would wait. I told you I understood." Her voice cracked. "But now there's Kaya too? How many of us are there going to be?"
Lucas rose from the piano. He crossed to her, stopping a step away.
"Elizabeth—"
"I don't want to share you," she said, her voice quieter now. "I want you to be mine. Only mine." She looked up at him, her pink eyes wet. "Is that so wrong?"
Lucas looked at her. At the girl who had played violin for him in the garden. Who had walked with him through the city streets. Who had promised to wait, even when she didn't know what she was waiting for.
He reached out, his hand cupping her face. Her skin was warm beneath his fingers.
"Right now," he said, "I'm yours."
She opened her mouth to argue.
He kissed her.
It was not soft. It was not tentative. It was the kind of kiss that ended arguments, that left no room for questions, that said everything he could not put into words. Her hands came up to his chest, not pushing, just feeling the beat of his heart beneath her palms. His fingers threaded into her hair, pulling her closer.
When they finally broke apart, her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted, her eyes closed.
"That's not fair," she whispered.
He rested his forehead against hers. "It's my last day."
She opened her eyes. They were bright, wet, but she was smiling.
"Don't remind me."
He kissed her again, softer this time, a promise more than anything else. When he pulled back, she was laughing, a soft, breathless sound.
"Fine," she said. "No more talking about other girls."
"Good."
She took his hand, pulling him toward the door. "Then make it Worth well."
Lucas let her lead him out of the room, down the corridor, toward the garden where the afternoon light was fading into evening. Her hand was warm in his, her steps light, her laughter echoing off the stone walls.
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Lucas: "Right now, I'm yours."
Elizabeth: melts
Me, reading and writing this: Sir, that is not an answer to "how many more women are we adding to this collection?" 💀
Let's vote: On a scale of 1 to 10, how mad should Elizabeth actually be right now? (1 = "fair enough," 10 = "throw him out the window")
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