SONG RECOMMENDATIONS: LET THE WORLD BURN by chris grey (slow+ reverb).
Lucinda's face was nestled at the crook of his neck, her warm, slow breaths against his skin the only indication she was still alive. Silas muscles were tense and taut, his shoulders not relaxed. He told himself it was because of the danger ahead—not the woman in his arms—that his body reacted this way. Theodore was at his side, clutching his pants as he matched his pace.
Silas cast a gaze at Theodore, worry flickering in his eyes as they turned the corner. When they approached the house, he had noticed the roaring flames from one of the windows in their wing. His heart had skipped a beat, and he had urged his stallion forward at neck-breaking speed.
He followed one of the entrances he'd discovered during his ventures that day lucinda signed the contract. He raced toward the wing on fire, navigating hallways and rounding corners. The distinct sound of metal clashing drew him, and as he took a sharp turn, he encountered a path intersecting with the dark hall.
Flames had lit up the walls, engulfing curtains and anything flammable. He had rushed toward the source of the clashing metal sounds just as they suddenly ceased, but a grim twist to his lips marked that their path would soon be swallowed by flames if they didn't move quickly.
_ _ _
Before they could reach the end of the hallway, the unmistakable wave of heat hit them, followed by the wall of flames blocking their path. A light gasp escaped Theodore, and Silas had to fight the tremor in his hand as Theodore squeezed his fingers in uncertainty.
Silas lowered himself and Lucinda to the floor, his steely gaze still fixed on the path ahead. Theodore was sniffing now, tears welling in his eyes as he stared helplessly at the obstacle before them.
Silas turned to the boy, his expression softening as he brought his hand to the child's hair, ruffling it.
"Look at me, Theo."
Theodore sniffed and did as he was told, his tiny petal-shaped lips trembling. Silas forced a smile onto his face.
"It's going to be okay." He continued weaving his hand through Theodore's hair in a calming motion. "Theo, do you trust me?"
His throat tightened. He had no right to ask for the child's trust. No one should trust him. Yet the boy sniffled and rapidly nodded, wiping his tears with the back of his bloodied hand.
An involuntary smile tugged at Silas's lips before he could stop himself. The child trusted him?
"Look at me, Theodore." He held the boy's face steady, his gaze unwavering. "Papa's not going to let anything happen to you. I promise. Can you do something for me—for your mama?"
Theodore nodded again.
"Good. That's my brave boy." Silas rubbed his gloved hand over the boy's tear-streaked cheeks with surprising gentleness.
"You're our soldier, lovely child," he murmured, stealing a glance at Lucinda. He couldn't remember when he had last been this soft—or if he ever had. Was he reassuring the child, or did he need this comfort as much as Theodore?
He retrieved a handkerchief from his coat, dabbed at Theodore's cheeks, and pressed it into the boy's palm. The heat was intensifying. They didn't have much time. A loud crash echoed somewhere, and Silas winced involuntarily.
"I'll tell you what you're going to do for Papa, okay? You're going to hold this to your nose as hard as you can. Papa will pick you up. Just hold on tight, okay? Don't let go."
Theodore nodded quickly, already pressing the cloth to his nose.
In a swift motion, Silas pulled off his coat. He wrapped one arm tightly around Lucinda and pulled her to his side, careful with the knife. Her head flopped weakly against his shoulder. He opened the coat and covered half of it over Lucinda.
Turning to Theodore, he opened his other arm. The boy walked into it, and Silas wrapped the remaining half of the coat around him. Clutching them both tightly, he rose to his feet, balancing them with precision. Theodore's arms clung tighter around his neck, and he buried his face in the crook of Silas's neck.
Facing the flames once more, Silas closed his eyes and muttered under his breath for his ears alone:
"May thy weakness become thy strength when trials arise."
He exhaled slowly, opened his eyes, and stepped forward, his gaze steely and determined. A strength he never knew surged through him—the strength of someone carrying something more precious than their fears or themselves.
Let the world burn for all he cared.
And then he raced through the flames.
- - -
As silas ran with Lucinda and Theodore, the unwanted memories came flooding back.
Tears. Screams. Intense heat licking at his skin. Uneven heartbeats and the stench of grief and hopelessness filled the air. Eyes—those eyes—watched him, judged him, hated him… feared him.
Flames from curtains fell at his feet as he ran past them. The stench of burning flesh assaulted his nose. His vision was red: flames, black scorches. He couldn't distinguish between reality and memory anymore, but he ran forward—escape was forward. Smoke filled his lungs, cool tears streaked his heated skin.
Hallway after hallway. Feeble legs. Heavy heart. Stairs. He had to go faster. Move faster.
Something. No, someone. There had to be someone.
A chorus of gasps filled the air. His head whipped around. The scent of death. The metallic tang of blood. Dead bodies surrounded him.
A woman in a maid's uniform stood, horrified, staring at him and the carnage around her. Whispers. Stifled screams. Horrified, glazed eyes.
His knees buckled, and he fell to the pool of blood at his feet.
"A… monster," the maid screamed.
"My masterpiece."
Flashes of a black cloak. In a blur, Silas drew his sword, the sharp tip glinting against sweat-slicked skin.
In the moonlit room, dead bodies littered the ground around the family of three. Silas's black trousers were soaked in blood. Lucinda's gasping maids stood shock-stricken in a corner. Silas's hand was outstretched, gripping his bloodied sword. At the other end of the blade, a black-cloaked figure stood, the tip of the sword pressed against their neck.
The cloaked figure took a step closer, the blade piercing and drawing a few drops of blood.
Against the darkness of the hood, a voice spoke.
"I never thought I'd live to see the day you would be on your knees before me."
The cloaked figure's lips slowly stretched into an amused grin. Red-painted lips against dark skin flashed brilliant white teeth.
The figure pulled back the cloak and rested a hand against a curvy hip. A halo of black curls framed her petite face. The sword in her grip dripped with blood.
"Miss me, Viscount?" the dark-skinned woman said, her topez eyes gleaming with mirth.
"Morena," Silas whispered, just as the front door banged open and Frederick marched in with armed guards.
"My lord," Frederick said, at Silas's side in an instant, his hand resting on Silas's shoulder. For a moment, Silas noticed a flicker of worry in Frederick's gaze, and his brows furrowed.
Silas pushed the thought aside. "The fire—it must be put out." Grim understanding dawned on Frederick's face as he turned to the guards and began giving instructions.
"Should I, my lord?" Only then did Silas notice Frederick gesturing to the mother and son in his arms.
"Right…" Silas nodded, placing Theodore into Frederick's arms. Theodore fell limply against him, his lids half-closed, his body too weak from exhaustion. He mumbled, "Papa," distressed at being separated. Silas quickly rested a hand on Theodore's head and whispered in his ear.
"Hush now, child. You're safe." Only then did Theodore's body fully slump forward, giving in to the physical and mental exhaustion.
In the moments that followed, Silas was ushered into a carriage, Lucinda still unconscious in his arms. Theodore, in Frederick's arms, sat opposite him.
As the carriage rolled away, Silas's lifeless eyes met Frederick's.
"The sole surviving assassin is bundled up in the other carriage with Morena," Frederick began his report. "I've sent word to the estate to prepare the rooms. They'll be awaiting our arrival."
Frederick's gaze fell on Lucinda. In the moonlight streaming through the carriage window, her pale, purple-veined skin was stark against her equally purple lips. Even her closed eyelids were marred with dark, purple blotches like bruises.
"My lord, is that…?" Frederick trailed off, his brows furrowing deeply.
"Yes, it's the effect of that poison," Silas replied, his tone flat. The carriage jolted over a bump, and Silas's gaze darted to Theodore, who winced in his sleep. Frederick quickly caught onto Silas's unusual worry for the child and unconsciously held the small body tighter.
"I want every physician ready when we reach the estate," Silas declared coldly.
Federick informed a guard beside his window and they raced ahead with the message.
"And the people who caused this?" Frederick dared to ask.
Silas looked out the window, his gaze hard. "They can wait. They're sitting ducks waiting to be slaughtered."
Frederick silently shifted his gaze between Lucinda and the sleeping child. Did they know what they had awakened? The sleeping dragon was out for blood. Just what power did these two hold over his master?