Emma began untying the intricate laces of Salviana's gown, her hands moving deftly despite the layers of fabric. "It's always so sweet how eager he is to see you after a long day, milady," she remarked, her voice tinged with affection for the royal couple.
Sarah nodded as she gently wiped Salviana's face with a warm cloth, the faint aroma of lavender filling the air. "You're fortunate, milady. Some lords hardly spare their wives a glance, but Prince Alaric… he dotes on you."
Thalia chimed in from the wardrobe. "It's true! And it's clear how much you care for him too, milady. You both set an example for the rest of us."
Salviana chuckled softly, her cheeks warming at their words. "You flatter me. But yes, Alaric has a way of making the world seem a little less daunting."
As the maids worked, they seamlessly transitioned from one task to the next. Emma folded the rain-soaked gown and handed it off to be cleaned, while Thalia pinned Salviana's hair into an elegant twist, leaving soft tendrils to frame her face.
Sarah smoothed a nourishing cream over Salviana's hands, the chill from the rain banished entirely by the time they finished.
The final touch was the gown Thalia had prepared—a deep emerald piece that complemented Salviana's complexion perfectly. Emma fastened the delicate clasps at the back, stepping back to admire their work.
"There," Sarah said with a satisfied smile. "You're ready, milady."
Salviana rose from her seat, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. She looked poised and composed, every detail immaculate. But more than that, she felt ready—to greet Alaric, to share an evening together, and to face whatever challenges tomorrow might bring.
"Thank you," she said sincerely, turning to her maids. "You've done a wonderful job, as always."
The three curtsied, their faces lighting up at her praise.
As Salviana stepped toward the door, her thoughts briefly returned to Jean, she hoped she'd be fine.
Shaking the thought away, she focused instead on the warmth of her chambers and the anticipation of Alaric's return.
Meanwhile,
In Jean's quarters, Lucius sat silently by her bedside, his crimson eyes fixed intently on her. He noticed the subtle flutter of her lashes and the sudden, irregular rhythm of her heartbeat.
His own heart leapt, a rare vulnerability flashing across his face. Leaning forward, he grasped her warm, sweaty hand in his.
"Pumpkin?" he murmured softly, his deep voice trembling with a hint of urgency.
Her eyes snapped open, brown irises meeting his striking oxblood ones.
Jean gasped sharply, her body jolting upright as she yanked her hand away. "Ahhh!" she shrieked, her voice piercing the stillness of the room.
Lucius winced slightly, raising a hand. "Stop shouting. You don't have the strength for theatrics right now," he said, his tone firm yet oddly gentle.
Jean's gaze darted around the room in confusion before settling on him. Her eyes narrowed as she took in his tall, imposing frame and pale, angular face.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice tinged with both fear and defiance.
Lucius sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "I see your mind is still muddled," he said, his gaze softening. "How are you feeling?"
Jean frowned, instinctively leaning back against the headboard. The rapid thrum of her heart was so loud he could almost hear it, and it sent a wave of unease through him.
"What's it to you?" she retorted, clutching the blanket tightly around her.
"It is I, Lucius Drake," he replied, his tone tinged with exasperation as if the answer were obvious. His crimson eyes bore into hers.
Jean blinked, her brows furrowing. That voice—she knew that voice. Realization dawned on her, and her eyes widened in shock.
"Lucius? You're awake?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper as her hand tentatively reached out to touch him.
Lucius clenched his jaw, leaning back out of her reach. "I'd advise you not to touch me," he said, his tone clipped.
Her hand froze mid-air, her expression twisting into one of offense. "I stalked your ethereal presence for months. I'm the one who helped you rise, and now I can't touch you to confirm you're real?"
A smirk tugged at the corners of Lucius's lips, though his eyes remained guarded. "Are you confessing that you're desperate to touch me?" he quipped, the words laced with teasing arrogance.
Jean rolled her eyes, crossing her arms defensively. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, her tone sharp.
"Taking care of you," Lucius said simply, leaning back in his chair as if her question were irrelevant.
Jean's lips pressed into a thin line. "Well, I'm awake now. You can leave," she said, her voice firm.
Lucius's smirk deepened as he settled more comfortably into his seat. "I'm staying here," he said nonchalantly. "Where would you have me go?"
Jean glared at him, her irritation palpable. "You're not a ghost anymore. You have a body now. You can't stay here," she snapped, pulling the blanket higher up her chest as if shielding herself from his presence.
Lucius's gaze darkened, his smirk fading into something more solemn. "I was never a ghost, Pumpkin. But you make being one sound preferable—because then I could be with you without boundaries."
"Get out, Lucius," she hissed, her voice low and threatening.
He cocked his head, studying her with an infuriating mixture of amusement and tenderness. "Pumpkin, let me take care of you," he said softly, the sincerity in his voice catching her off guard.
Jean's eyes narrowed. "What exactly do you plan to do, Lucius? You're the one who put me in this situation in the first place," she shot back, her voice trembling with anger.
Lucius's lips twitched as if he were suppressing a response. Instead, he leaned forward, his crimson gaze locking with hers. "And that, my dear, is precisely why I need to stay. To make it right."
Jean's heart raced again, though she wasn't sure if it was from fury or something else entirely. "I don't need you here," she snapped, though her voice lacked conviction.