Sebastine's h95ead snapped toward him. His glare could have cut steel. "You." The word dripped venom.
Lucian tilted his head, feigning innocence. "Me. Surprised?"
"Irritated," Sebastine shot back. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, then pointed the tip of his sword toward Lucian. "You don't belong here. Leave."
"Ah," Lucian murmured, stepping forward, his eyes glinting. "And yet, here I am."
Sebastine's jaw flexed. He lowered his blade but did not sheath it, keeping it angled as if the tutor before him might strike. His voice was low, sharp. "I don't know what you're scheming, Throne, but I'll warn you once. Stay out of my way."
Lucian's smirk faltered into something softer—fear, carefully crafted. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out the folded piece of parchment. His fingers trembled as he held it out. "I wish I could," he said quietly. "But the shadows won't let me."
