Most of all, he longed for her to meet his gaze, to see what he had carried for her in the depths of his soul through all those long, dark years.
Jean was here, mere steps away from him, yet he missed her. The distance between them wasn't measured in feet but in the barrier of her stillness, the fragility of her current state.
Lucius leaned back, his eyes never leaving her face. Sleep was a foreign concept to him now—he had slept through decades of isolation, buried in the void. What was a single night to him when he had already lost so much time?
The silence of the room was deafening, broken only by the faint sound of her breathing. It was shallow but steady, a small comfort amidst the storm of emotions raging within him.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, the dark strands falling into his eyes before he pushed them back. "You should be awake, Jean," he whispered, his voice low and rough, as if the words themselves hurt to say.
He stood and moved to her bedside, kneeling down so his face was level with hers.
His hand hovered over hers for a moment before he finally allowed himself the indulgence of touching her.
His fingers brushed against her cool skin, and a shiver ran through him—not from fear, but from the overwhelming need to protect her, to hold her and never let go.
"You saved me," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I was nothing, Jean. Just a memory, a fragment of something that once mattered. But you… you gave me life again."
His jaw tightened as he fought back the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "I don't deserve you," he admitted, his red eyes shimmering in the dim light.
"But I will earn you, every day, every moment, until the end of time. I swear it."
He stayed there, kneeling beside her, his hand gently holding hers. He could wait—he would wait—no matter how long it took.
Because when she woke, she would be his, and he would thank her for the life she had returned to him.
For now, he was content to keep his vigil, the dark room a sanctuary for his unspoken vows.
And though Jean lay still, Lucius filled the space with his presence, his love, and his unyielding devotion, ensuring she was never truly alone.
!!!
Salviana stirred awake, the soft afternoon sunlight filtering through the curtains and casting a warm glow over the chambers. The room was quiet, save for the faint rustling of leaves outside the window.
She blinked slowly, her body still heavy with the exhaustion of the previous night, but her mind quickly cleared when she realized Alaric wasn't beside her.
Her brows furrowed as she sat up, scanning the room for any sign of him.
The bed was already made on his side, his armor and cloak absent from their usual spot near the door.
Before she could think to call out for him, the door creaked open, and a pair of maids entered with warm smiles.
"Good afternoon, my lady," one of them greeted, carrying a silver tray with a light meal and tea. "His Grace has been up for hours and instructed us to let you rest. Shall we help you prepare for the day?"
"Where is Alaric?" Salviana asked, her voice still tinged with sleep.
The maids exchanged a brief glance. "He left shortly after dawn, my lady. But before he departed, he turned away two princesses who came to see you this morning."
Salviana frowned deeply, surprised by the news. "Princesses? Who were they? And why did he turn them away?"
The maid bowed her head. "We were not told their names, my lady, only that they insisted on meeting with you. His Grace said it was not the right time."
Though the explanation left her with more questions than answers, Salviana decided not to dwell on it.
Whatever it was, Alaric would tell her in his own time—or she would press him for answers later. For now, another matter weighed heavier on her heart.
"Never mind that," she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "Prepare my clothes for the day, and ready a basket of fruits. I want to take something to Jean."
"Of course, my lady," one maid replied, curtsying before hurrying off to fulfill the request.
While the other maid began assisting her with her morning routine, Salviana's thoughts lingered on Jean and her condition.
The memory of Jean's pale, fragile form lying motionless haunted her. Despite the chaos of the night before, she had promised herself to visit her today, to ensure she was cared for and to bring her a touch of comfort.
After washing and dressing in a soft, flowing gown of emerald green—a color that brought warmth to her complexion—Salviana settled at the dining table for a light lunch.
The maids served her delicately roasted meat, fresh bread, and a bowl of stew, but she ate quickly, her mind already on the basket she intended to deliver.
When the meal was done, the maids presented her with the basket, brimming with an array of vibrant fruits—golden apples, crimson pomegranates, and clusters of sweet grapes. Salviana inspected the contents, ensuring it was generous and appealing.
"Perfect," she said with a small smile. "Bring this to the carriage. I'll take it myself."
"My lady, wouldn't you prefer one of us to deliver it?" a maid asked hesitantly.
"No," Salviana said firmly but kindly. "Jean is my friend, and I need to see her."
With the basket in hand, Salviana descended the grand staircase, her steps light but purposeful.
She passed through the castle's stone halls, catching glimpses of the bustling servants and knights stationed along the way.
As she reached the carriage waiting in the courtyard, she felt a pang of determination swell within her.
Whatever trials lay ahead, Salviana resolved to be present for Jean and to face whatever awaited her in the chambers of the wounded girl.