Missed me?"
Jean's wide eyes locked onto his face, her lips moving soundlessly in shock. Then, with a faint gasp, her eyelids fluttered shut, and she slumped in his arms.
Lucius stared down at her, blinking in mild disbelief. "Oh dear," he muttered, his tone more amused than concerned. "This is the welcome I get?"
He adjusted her weight in his arms with ease, carrying her to the bed.
The moonlight filtering through the curtains cast a pale glow on her face as he placed her gently on the mattress.
For a moment, he paused, gazing down at her. Fine Jean, indeed. Even unconscious, her features held a certain elegance that he found… endearing.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, this complicates things," he murmured to himself. "But no time for sentiment. There's work to be done."
Lucius straightened, his mind already shifting to the matter at hand: Margaretha. The audacity of that woman!
He needed to confirm the aftermath of her actions and ensure no loose ends remained. Jean had been a pawn in her schemes, and though she was safe now, he couldn't allow such threats to linger.
Moving toward the door, Lucius became a blur of motion.
His speed was preternatural, a gift that allowed him to move unseen and unheard through the palace corridors.
The guards stationed at various points were oblivious to his presence, their gazes fixed straight ahead as he passed by like a shadow in the wind.
The cool night air greeted him as he stepped outside, the moon high above casting silver light over the palace grounds.
His thoughts were sharp, focused. He needed to find Alaric.
Together, they would ensure that Margaretha's betrayal was dealt with decisively. No more chances. No more threats to Salviana—or Jean.
As he vanished into the night, a faint smile tugged at his lips. He couldn't deny a certain thrill coursed through him.
He was back where he belonged, in the heart of the action. And he wouldn't stop until every piece of this puzzle was laid bare.
~~{───────
~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
Alaric sat in his study, the dim light from the lantern casting shadows over the parchment sprawled before him.
The list of missing girls in the kingdom was long—far too long for his comfort.
His frown deepened as he scanned the names, his gaze narrowing on one fact that tied them together: most of the disappearances had occurred here in Wyffellon.
Young girls, primarily orphans or lowly maids. The pattern gnawed at him. Who would target the most vulnerable in the kingdom?
His mind drifted to past battles. He and Lucius had already wiped out the false
Vamprys—a group of impostors who had tried to sow chaos among the populace.
It couldn't be them; they were long gone. Yet, this felt familiar, like the darkness had returned, wearing a different mask.
A noise pulled him from his thoughts. He glanced toward the doorway, his senses sharp. Lucius.
The realization dawned as he heard the faint murmur of his old friend's voice filtering through the heavy oak door.
With a sigh, Alaric stood. Salviana had fallen asleep peacefully after a soothing bath and a quiet dinner.
He'd stayed by her side until her breathing had evened out, unwilling to leave her alone in the chamber, not after what had happened. But Lucius wouldn't come without reason.
Opening the door, he found the vampire waiting, his ever-relaxed posture betrayed by the sharp glint in his eyes.
"Alaric," Lucius greeted, his voice calm but edged with purpose.
"You're back," Alaric replied, gesturing for him to enter. They made their way to the parlor, where the warm glow of the hearth fought against the chill of the night air.
"How's your wife?" Lucius asked, settling into a chair with the kind of ease that came from centuries of practice.
"Sleeping," Alaric answered, pouring himself a glass of wine. "Peacefully, for now."
Lucius leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "Your instincts were right. If we hadn't come back when we did…" His voice trailed off, but the implication hung heavy in the air.
"At least we came in time," Alaric said, swirling the wine in his glass.
His tone was even, but there was an undercurrent of anger. "They're alive. That's all that matters now—keeping it that way."
Lucius's lips curled into a faint smirk. "What happened with the quack?" he asked, his curiosity evident.
"Margaretha is in the dungeon," Alaric replied curtly.
Lucius raised a brow. "And yet she breathes? Should we not end her?"
"We can't storm the dungeons without drawing attention," Alaric pointed out, setting his glass down with a soft clink.
"You could always use your magic," Lucius suggested, a hint of mischief in his voice.
Alaric sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's not that simple, Lucius."
"Let me ask you this," Lucius pressed, leaning back in his chair. "If you found the ones who tried to kill Salviana, would you let them go?"
"My wife is alive," Alaric shot back, his tone sharp.
"Yes, but barely. It was a near-successful attempt," Lucius countered.
A heavy silence settled between them before Alaric finally spoke. "I found the culprits."
Lucius's eyes narrowed. "Please tell me it wasn't just some foolish maid."
"It's complicated," Alaric admitted, his jaw tightening. "A foolish maid, yes, but she was merely a pawn. She was coerced by two of my cousins."
Lucius's eyes widened, a rare flicker of genuine surprise crossing his face. "Princesses? That's… quite the twist."
"The audacity," Alaric growled. "Such betrayal deserves punishment."
Lucius leaned forward, his expression dark. "So, you'll kill them."
Alaric hesitated, his gaze dropping to the fire. "I don't want to. But they won't escape justice."
Lucius let out a low chuckle. "Is that compassion I hear? Don't tell me you're going soft."
Alaric's gaze snapped back to him, sharp and unyielding. "No. They're blood, as wayward as they are. But that doesn't mean I'll spare them."
Lucius's smirk returned. "Fine. Take me to Margaretha. Let's finish this."