Lucius arrived at Jean's quarters, his senses instantly assaulted by a strong, acrid smell that made his nostrils flare.
'What is that?' he thought.
His expression darkened, brows furrowing as he sniffed the air.
The pungent stench of fuel hung heavy, but it was more than that—it was the erratic rhythm of Jean's heart that sent a ripple of unease through him. She was inside, and something was terribly wrong.
He heard an urgent yelp for help but he was calm and didn't let it deter him.
Without hesitation, he moved silently around the perimeter, his footsteps swift but soundless. When he reached the back, he froze.
There, crouched in the shadows, was a figure cloaked in black. The figure fumbled with a match, the tiny spark catching the edge of his heightened vision.
Lucius's eyes narrowed, and understanding struck him like a bolt of lightning.
Fuel.
The realization sent a jolt of fury through his veins. He didn't need to ask what the figure was doing—he already knew.
In an instant, he moved, faster than the human eye could follow.
One moment, the cloaked figure was preparing to strike the match, and the next, Lucius's hand was around their throat, hoisting them off the ground like a rag doll.
The match fell from her fingers, extinguished before it could ignite.
The figure gasped, clawing at his hand, but Lucius slammed her against the wall with enough force to make her cry out.
Her hood slipped back, revealing her face, and recognition lit in his crimson eyes like a spark meeting dry tinder.
It was her.
The former lady-in-waiting to Princess Salviana. The quack.
Lucius cocked his head, his expression a mixture of disbelief and rising rage. "You," he hissed, his voice low and venomous. "You dare?"
Her wide, terrified eyes met his, and her mouth opened as if to explain, but no words came out—only panicked gasps as Lucius's grip tightened.
He didn't ask why. He didn't care. All that mattered was the audacity, the sheer insolence of this woman trying to harm Jean.
His fingers dug deeper into her throat, and her desperate struggles grew weaker. Her hands flailed, clawing uselessly at his unyielding grip as her life began to slip away.
Lucius's lips curled into a snarl, his fangs glinting in the moonlight. His fury was unrelenting, his instincts screaming for him to end her. She didn't deserve mercy.
She didn't deserve to breathe.
But then, a voice broke through the haze of his anger. "Lucius! Stop!"
Jean.
Her voice was faint, but it was enough to cut through the red mist clouding his mind. He turned his head, his gaze softening as he saw her standing there, clutching the doorframe for support.
She looked disheveled, her raven hair tousled and her dress stained, but her brown eyes shone with determination.
"You can't kill her," Jean pleaded, her voice trembling but resolute. "We can report her. She'll face justice. Please."
Lucius hesitated, his grip still firm around the woman's neck. His gaze flickered between Jean and the would-be arsonist, his mind warring with itself.
He wanted to end this threat, to snuff out her life like she'd tried to snuff out Jean's. But Jean's voice held him back, anchoring him to reason.
With a low growl of frustration, he released the woman, letting her crumple to the ground like a broken doll.
She gasped for air, clutching her throat and coughing violently.
Lucius didn't spare her another glance. Instead, he was at Jean's side in an instant, his hands cradling her face as he inspected her for injuries.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost tender. His thumbs brushed against her cheeks as he tilted her head slightly to look for any signs of harm.
Jean shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm fine… just shaken."
Lucius's jaw clenched, his anger still simmering beneath the surface, but his focus remained on her. "She could've killed you," he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "If I hadn't…"
"You did enough," Jean interrupted gently, placing a hand over his. "I'm okay, Lucius. Thanks to you."
His crimson eyes softened further, the tension in his shoulders easing as he let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "I'll never let anyone hurt you," he promised, his voice a low murmur. "They can try but I won't lose you" he declared.
The storm inside him began to calm as he held her close, his emotions raw and unguarded.
Jean felt the weight of his words, the depth of his devotion, and despite the fear and chaos of the night, she felt safe in his arms.
The rain poured mercilessly, soaking Jean to the bone, but she barely registered it. Her thoughts were clouded, her breath uneven as Lucius's words lingered in the air.
He had saved her, stopped the woman who had tried to burn her alive, but the storm outside seemed determined to match the tempest within her.
Suddenly, thunder cracked across the sky like a whip, and Jean flinched instinctively. Before she could react further, Lucius wrapped her in his arms, pulling her tight against him.
Her petite frame was pressed flush against his, and for a fleeting moment, his mind betrayed him.
He didn't want to think about the way her soaked dress clung to her form, outlining her curves, or how her warmth seeped into him despite the cold rain.
Taking a steadying breath, Lucius clenched his jaw and forced his thoughts elsewhere.
But the feel of her trembling against him sparked a protective instinct that burned brighter than the lightning above. He held her tighter, his hands firm yet careful as if afraid she might shatter.
But then, movement caught his eye. The would-be murderer, Margaretha, was trying to escape.
Jean noticed it too and pulled away, her wide, accusing eyes locking onto the woman. "Who is it?" she demanded, her voice trembling but determined.
Lucius's dark eyes followed the cloaked figure, and his lip curled in disdain. "Princess Alaric's former lady-in-waiting," he growled.