**Chapter 17: Blood and Reconciliation**
Lucien adjusted the collar of his deep navy tunic, smoothing down the fine fabric before stepping out into the grand, torch-lit corridor of the Valerian estate.
His footsteps echoed softly against the marble floor as he approached the private dining hall. Usually, meals in the duchy were formal, distant affairs held at a massive table where family members sat miles apart in icy silence.
But tonight, as he pushed open the heavy mahogany doors, he found a far more intimate setting.
A small, round table sat near the crackling fireplace, laden with steam-emitting dishes, rich broths, and roasted meats—all of Lucien’s favorite childhood meals.
Sitting across from his seat was Duchess Isolde Valerian.
Even in the soft firelight, her regal grace was striking, yet her silver-streaked hair and the subtle lines beneath her eyes betrayed an immense, unspoken exhaustion. When Lucien walked in, her hands trembled slightly over her linen napkin.
"Lucien..." she murmured, her voice laced with hesitation. "You came."
"Mother," Lucien replied neutrally, taking his seat across from her.
An awkward stillness settled between them. The head maid, Martha, silently poured wine into two crystal goblets before bowing and exiting, closing the double doors to leave the mother and son in complete privacy.
Lucien looked down at the fragrant spread. ‘She cooked all of this herself?’ He recognized the specific herbs in the stew—the exact dish she used to make for him years ago, back before the rumors, before his descent into indolence, and before the suffocating rift tore their family apart.
Looking at her tired eyes, a wave of forgotten nostalgia struck Lucien like a physical blow.
In the memories of his past self, he remembered a time when he would run through the gardens and throw his arms around her. He remembered the comforting warmth of her back when she carried him after he fell, the gentle scent of lavender, and the unconditional safety he felt in her arms.
Over the years of cold glares, harsh expectations, and mutual resentment, he had buried those memories deep within his chest.
He had convinced himself he didn't care. But standing on the precipice of a dangerous future, staring at the woman who gave him life, Lucien realized the painful truth: ‘he missed her.’He didn't want to lose this bond forever. He didn't want to be a stranger in his own home anymore.
"Is the food... not to your liking?" Isolde asked, her voice cracking slightly, breaking the silence.
Lucien picked up his spoon and took a sip of the warm broth. The familiar flavor bloomed on his tongue. He swallowed quietly and looked up. "It’s wonderful, Mother. Exactly how I remember it."
Tears instantly welled up in Isolde’s eyes. She set her fork down, unable to maintain her stoic facade any longer.
"Lucien... I owe you an apology," she said, her voice shaking with raw emotion. "For years, I let my frustration, my fear of the court's rumors, and my own pride blind me. I turned a cold shoulder to you when you needed a mother's guidance the most. I watched you fall into darkness, and instead of pulling you out, I stepped back."
She reached across the small table, her slender, trembling hands resting palms-up, waiting for his permission.
"Seeing you push yourself so relentlessly this past month... hearing how hard you are training every morning with Sir Brandon... it broke my heart to realize how badly I failed you. I was ashamed. Can you ever forgive me, my son?"
Lucien looked at her outstretched hands. The cold defensive walls he had built around his heart melted away.
He reached out and wrapped his fingers around hers, offering a firm, reassuring warmth.
"Mother... I wasn't blameless either," Lucien said softly, a genuine, gentle smile gracing his face. "I acted foolishly and hid behind bad habits instead of facing my troubles. But that's in the past now. I'm not that helpless boy anymore... and I don't want us to be strangers."
Isolde let out a ragged breath, tears spilling down her cheeks—not of grief, but of profound relief. She stood up, stepped around the table, and pulled Lucien into a tight, fierce embrace.
Lucien wrapped his broad arms around her shoulders, breathing in the soft lavender scent he had missed for so long. The lingering warmth of his mother's back, the safety he thought he had lost forever, was finally back within his reach.
"I won't let anyone hurt you again, Lucien," Isolde whispered into his hair, her tone hardening with newfound resolve. "Not Victor, not the nobles, no one."
"I know, Mother," Lucien replied softly, pulling back with bright, confident blue eyes. "And I won't let them tear us apart again, either. I'm going to win that duel."
For the first time in many years, laughter and warm conversation filled the private dining hall late into the night. The shattered bond between the Duchess and her son was finally forged anew—unbroken, stronger, and ready for the storms to come.