"You need it," he replied calmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"I don't want it!" she snapped, her voice rising louder than she intended.
Lucius froze mid-step. His breath hitched sharply, his jaw tightening as he blinked rapidly.
For a moment it looked like he was in pain.
Jean noticed the sudden change and immediately stilled, her heart pounding. "Are you… okay?" she asked, her voice softer now.
"Don't yell," he murmured, his voice barely audible. He swallowed hard, his expression distant, as though something was pulling him into a memory he didn't want to relive.
Jean's chest tightened with guilt. Had she hurt him? She felt torn between wanting to apologize and the gnawing fear that something about her voice had triggered this reaction.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling.
His dark eyes flicked to hers, and something in them softened. "Don't apologize," he said, his tone quiet but resolute.
Lucius turned around, walking back toward the bed. He set her down gently, as though she were something fragile.
Then he pulled the blanket over her, tucking it in carefully around her.
Jean lay still, her mind racing. She was on edge now, wondering if she'd truly hurt him. She opened her mouth to ask, but the words wouldn't come.
Lucius walked back to his chair and sat down, the wood creaking under his weight. He leaned back, cocking his head slightly as his piercing gaze locked onto her.
Jean's chest tightened under his scrutiny. She could feel the intensity of his stare, and she couldn't tell if it was annoyance, concern, or something else entirely.
She didn't dare ask what was coming next.
Jean's chest tightened as she watched Lucius return to his chair, the air thick with unspoken tension.
His earlier calm had been replaced with something she couldn't quite name, something that sent a chill through her body.
"Lucius," she ventured softly, her voice tentative, "are you… alright?"
He didn't answer immediately, his head tilted slightly as if listening to something far away. Then his gaze fixed on her, sharp and assessing, yet somehow tender.
"You didn't hurt me," he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. "But yelling—it stirs something."
Jean's breath caught. "Stirs what?"
Lucius blinked slowly, his jaw tightening before he sighed. "Memories," he said simply, his words laden with meaning he didn't elaborate on.
Jean felt the weight of his confession but didn't press further. Instead, she shifted under the blanket he had so carefully placed over her, her heart aching with guilt and curiosity.
"I didn't mean to yell," she whispered. "It's just… I'm not used to being taken care of. Especially not like this."
Lucius's expression softened slightly, his shoulders relaxing. "You're stubborn, you know."
"I'm independent," she corrected, though her voice lacked its usual fire.
"And yet, here you are," he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "In my care, whether you like it or not."
Jean rolled her eyes, but her chest warmed at his words despite herself. "Well, don't get used to it."
"I won't have to," he replied, his tone teasing. "You're already plotting your escape, aren't you?"
Jean bit her lip, looking away. "Maybe."
Lucius chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Good. Keep that fire, Jeanie. It suits you."
Her cheeks flushed, and she found herself unable to meet his gaze. "Stop calling me that," she muttered.
"What should I call you then?" he asked, leaning back in his chair, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.
"Miss Goliath will do," she shot back, her voice steady despite the heat in her face.
Lucius laughed again, his fangs just barely visible. "Very well, Miss Goliath. But know this—if you ever need me, I'm here."
His sincerity caught her off guard, and for a moment, she didn't know how to respond. Instead, she pulled the blanket tighter around herself and glanced away, muttering under her breath.
"I won't need you," she said, more to herself than to him.
Lucius heard her, of course. He always heard everything. But instead of replying, he simply sat back and watched her with that same unreadable gaze, the silence between them thick with unspoken truths.
Jean swallowed hard, her mind racing.
She was in trouble.
~~~{──────────
~~~~~~~~~~~~~}"You need it," he replied calmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"I don't want it!" she snapped, her voice rising louder than she intended.
Lucius froze mid-step. His breath hitched sharply, his jaw tightening as he blinked rapidly.
For a moment it looked like he was in pain.
Jean noticed the sudden change and immediately stilled, her heart pounding. "Are you… okay?" she asked, her voice softer now.
"Don't yell," he murmured, his voice barely audible. He swallowed hard, his expression distant, as though something was pulling him into a memory he didn't want to relive.
Jean's chest tightened with guilt. Had she hurt him? She felt torn between wanting to apologize and the gnawing fear that something about her voice had triggered this reaction.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling.
His dark eyes flicked to hers, and something in them softened. "Don't apologize," he said, his tone quiet but resolute.
Lucius turned around, walking back toward the bed. He set her down gently, as though she were something fragile.
Then he pulled the blanket over her, tucking it in carefully around her.
Jean lay still, her mind racing. She was on edge now, wondering if she'd truly hurt him. She opened her mouth to ask, but the words wouldn't come.
Lucius walked back to his chair and sat down, the wood creaking under his weight. He leaned back, cocking his head slightly as his piercing gaze locked onto her.
Jean's chest tightened under his scrutiny. She could feel the intensity of his stare, and she couldn't tell if it was annoyance, concern, or something else entirely.
She didn't dare ask what was coming next.
Jean's chest tightened as she watched Lucius return to his chair, the air thick with unspoken tension.
His earlier calm had been replaced with something she couldn't quite name, something that sent a chill through her body.
"Lucius," she ventured softly, her voice tentative, "are you… alright?"
He didn't answer immediately, his head tilted slightly as if listening to something far away. Then his gaze fixed on her, sharp and assessing, yet somehow tender.
"You didn't hurt me," he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. "But yelling—it stirs something."
Jean's breath caught. "Stirs what?"
Lucius blinked slowly, his jaw tightening before he sighed. "Memories," he said simply, his words laden with meaning he didn't elaborate on.
Jean felt the weight of his confession but didn't press further. Instead, she shifted under the blanket he had so carefully placed over her, her heart aching with guilt and curiosity.
"I didn't mean to yell," she whispered. "It's just… I'm not used to being taken care of. Especially not like this."
Lucius's expression softened slightly, his shoulders relaxing. "You're stubborn, you know."
"I'm independent," she corrected, though her voice lacked its usual fire.
"And yet, here you are," he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "In my care, whether you like it or not."
Jean rolled her eyes, but her chest warmed at his words despite herself. "Well, don't get used to it."
"I won't have to," he replied, his tone teasing. "You're already plotting your escape, aren't you?"
Jean bit her lip, looking away. "Maybe."
Lucius chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Good. Keep that fire, Jeanie. It suits you."
Her cheeks flushed, and she found herself unable to meet his gaze. "Stop calling me that," she muttered.
"What should I call you then?" he asked, leaning back in his chair, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.
"Miss Goliath will do," she shot back, her voice steady despite the heat in her face.
Lucius laughed again, his fangs just barely visible. "Very well, Miss Goliath. But know this—if you ever need me, I'm here."
His sincerity caught her off guard, and for a moment, she didn't know how to respond. Instead, she pulled the blanket tighter around herself and glanced away, muttering under her breath.
"I won't need you," she said, more to herself than to him.
Lucius heard her, of course. He always heard everything. But instead of replying, he simply sat back and watched her with that same unreadable gaze, the silence between them thick with unspoken truths.
Jean swallowed hard, her mind racing.
She was in trouble.
~~~{────────
~~~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
The morning buzz of the royal castle was as chaotic as ever, but today, tension hung thick in the air.
The kitchen, usually filled with laughter and the steady rhythm of preparation, was eerily quiet except for the low murmurs of discontent.
Martha stood at the center of the kitchen, her arms crossed over her chest.
She was frowning, her dark brows knitting together as Clara, another maid, gestured animatedly toward the shelves.
"Gone! The apples, pears, figs—everything! And the cheeses too! Do you know how much work it'll take to replenish all that?" Clara exclaimed, her voice hushed but urgent.
"It's the king's birthday banquet soon," Martha added, her tone grim. "How are we supposed to prepare without half the supplies? There's enough food missing to feed a small army."
Dao, a petite maid with sharp eyes, chimed in, her voice shaky. "Who would dare steal from the royal kitchen? This is the castle, for gods' sake! No one is that foolish… are they?"
The maids exchanged uneasy glances. A bear, someone suggested earlier.
But how would a bear get into the castle? And why fruits?
Martha sighed and rubbed her temples. "We'll have to tell Matilde," she said, her voice reluctant.
"No," Clara groaned. "She'll bite our heads off for even suggesting someone's been stealing from the castle."
Dao nodded in agreement. "She won't take it seriously. She'll say it's impossible and blame us for 'losing track of inventory.'"
Before they could speculate further, the kitchen doors swung open with a loud clang. Matilde, the head maiden, marched in with the authority of a general.
She was a plump woman with a face that always seemed locked in a stern expression. Her presence alone silenced the room.
~~~
The morning buzz of the royal castle was as chaotic as ever, but today, tension hung thick in the air.
The kitchen, usually filled with laughter and the steady rhythm of preparation, was eerily quiet except for the low murmurs of discontent.
Martha stood at the center of the kitchen, her arms crossed over her chest.
She was frowning, her dark brows knitting together as Clara, another maid, gestured animatedly toward the shelves.
"Gone! The apples, pears, figs—everything! And the cheeses too! Do you know how much work it'll take to replenish all that?" Clara exclaimed, her voice hushed but urgent.
"It's the king's birthday banquet soon," Martha added, her tone grim. "How are we supposed to prepare without half the supplies? There's enough food missing to feed a small army."
Dao, a petite maid with sharp eyes, chimed in, her voice shaky. "Who would dare steal from the royal kitchen? This is the castle, for gods' sake! No one is that foolish… are they?"
The maids exchanged uneasy glances. A bear, someone suggested earlier.
But how would a bear get into the castle? And why fruits?
Martha sighed and rubbed her temples. "We'll have to tell Matilde," she said, her voice reluctant.
"No," Clara groaned. "She'll bite our heads off for even suggesting someone's been stealing from the castle."
Dao nodded in agreement. "She won't take it seriously. She'll say it's impossible and blame us for 'losing track of inventory.'"
Before they could speculate further, the kitchen doors swung open with a loud clang. Matilde, the head maiden, marched in with the authority of a general.
She was a plump woman with a face that always seemed locked in a stern expression. Her presence alone silenced the room.