"Salviana?"
Alaric's voice was sharp with concern as he rushed into the room. He had been in his office downstairs, but the erratic rhythm of her heartbeat had summoned him instantly.
He reached her side in moments, taking her trembling form into his arms. "What's wrong, my fiery one?" he asked, his voice soft but firm, his hand stroking her hair as she clung to him.
"I… I saw them," she whispered, her voice shaky.
"Who?" Alaric asked, his tone darkening.
"Jolene and Christiana," she said, her breathing uneven. "In my dream… they were laughing at me. Watching me die… like they wanted it to happen."
Alaric stiffened, his arms tightening around her protectively. "It was just a nightmare," he assured her, though his jaw clenched at the thought of his cousins' possible involvement.
"No, Alaric," she said, her voice firmer now. "I saw them that day in the garden. I didn't think anything of it—they were just talking, laughing. I thought they were simply passing by."
Alaric's expression hardened, a storm brewing in his dark eyes. "You think they were there to watch you drink it?"
Salviana nodded slowly, her hands gripping his shirt as though anchoring herself to him. "It feels too coincidental now."
Alaric kissed her forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. "You're safe with me. I won't let anyone hurt you again," he promised, his voice laced with both tenderness and fury.
She shivered in his embrace, her mind still haunted by the dream. But his presence, his strength, was a balm to her frayed nerves.
"I'll deal with them," Alaric said quietly but with an edge of steel in his tone. "If they've done what we suspect, they'll pay for it."
Salviana closed her eyes, leaning into his chest. She trusted him, and in that moment, she needed his reassurance more than ever.
Alaric knew they wanted his wife to die and that in itself is enough to make him end them.
~~{───────
~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
Lucius however had thought, for a fleeting moment, that he might search the mansion ruins. The thought faded almost as quickly as it had come.
His body refused to move, his instincts screaming to stay hidden.
Blinking slowly, he clenched his teeth, forcing himself to remain still as a statue.
He positioned himself behind the front door, blending into the shadows where the light didn't dare touch.
He wanted to leave.
What had happened back at the castle? Why couldn't he relax—and where was Jean now?
The thought of her, fragile and burdened by his absence, gnawed at him. He clenched his fists tighter. If the situation earlier had gone wrong, Jean could suffer for it.
He was an intruder in the castle and he'd have perished if they saw him and dragged him out. He smirked.
That wouldn't have happened but he'd have had to kill all of them and that would've been too messy for Jean and her reputation.
So he'd just wait for night.
Hours passed, the silence around him thick and heavy. His sharp ears picked up every creak of the old building, every distant sound carried by the wind.
His eyes never left the closed doors, watching, waiting, ready for any sign of darkness.
As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, the darkness crept in around him.
Lucius didn't move an inch, not even to adjust his stance. The night enveloped him, but his heightened senses kept him sharp, his mind racing.
Finally, he took a deep breath when the night breeze filtered in. A low growl rumbled in his chest, though he kept it contained. He was done being hiding.
He pushed the door open and to the castle he travelled.
~~{────────
~~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
Jean sat in the center of her parlor, hands clasped tightly in her lap. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a single lamp on the table beside her.
Sleep had eluded her, and her nerves were frayed after the harrowing events of the night before.
The memory of the attempted poisoning lingered in her mind, intertwining with a new fear: What if Margaretha had sent someone else? What if it wasn't over?
Her thoughts spiraled, feeding her unease. The palace, usually a place of grandeur and comfort, now felt suffocating.
Every creak of the walls and rustle of fabric set her on edge. She tried to shake off her paranoia, but her instincts told her she wasn't being unreasonable.
Success attracts envy, she thought bitterly. Her promotion to the princess's lady-in-waiting had painted a target on her back.
A sudden noise from her bedroom shattered her reverie.
It wasn't loud—more like a soft scrape—but it was enough to send her heart into a gallop.
She froze, her eyes darting toward the door. The idea of running crossed her mind, but pride and curiosity rooted her in place.
No, Jean. If you're going to live in this palace, you can't cower every time you hear a noise.
Taking a deep breath, she snatched the lamp from the table. Its light flickered slightly as she held it aloft and crept toward the bedroom door, her movements slow and tentative.
Each step felt like an eternity as she willed herself forward. The silence was heavy, almost oppressive, and her breath sounded thunderous in her ears.
Just as she pushed the door open, the lamp's flame sputtered and died, plunging her into darkness.
She let out a small, involuntary gasp and fumbled to relight it, her fingers trembling. Stay calm, Jean. It's just the wind. It's just—
The weak flame flared to life again, illuminating the room.
Her gaze swept the shadows and landed on a figure seated casually in Lucius's favorite chair. The lamp nearly slipped from her grasp.
A scream ripped from her throat as her knees buckled, her body teetering backward.
Before she could hit the floor, strong arms shot out and caught her effortlessly.
"Hello, Jean," came the smooth, teasing voice of Lucius. His tone was soft, yet unmistakably playful. "Missed me?"