The first light of dawn stretched across the marble floor like spilled silk. The palace had never been this quiet — not even in the early hours when the servants moved like ghosts between corridors. The air itself carried unease; rumor had traveled faster than the sunrise.
An arrow had nearly struck the new royal tutor last night.
Now, behind the heavy drapes of his chamber, Lucian Throne sat propped against the cushions, pale and still, wrapped in a robe the color of ash. A faint line of red marked the side of his neck where the arrow's wind had grazed him. It wasn't a wound, but a reminder — sharp enough to draw sympathy, yet harmless enough to let him perform his role as the trembling survivor.
Beside him, Rei stood at an unassuming distance. His uniform was simple — dark, clean, unadorned — and his bandaged arm rested easily at his side. He did not speak. He simply watched, a figure cut from silence itself.
