Lucas hugged her gently, holding her against his chest. He could feel her trembling, and though his own heart was racing, he reached up and stroked her hair, petting her like one would calm a frightened bird. He did not know the right words to say, nor the right action to take in that mont, but he knew he had to try. Even if he was powerless, he had to give her sothing to hold onto.
"You’re not alone, Nyx," he murmured quietly, his hand still combing through her dark hair. "I’ll do my best for you... even if I don’t know how yet, I will. I promise."
Nyx looked up at him through damp eyes, her lashes still glistening with tears. She wanted to tell him not to promise what he could not guarantee, but sothing in the way his voice wavered, in the way he spoke with such raw sincerity, made her cling to those words instead. Perhaps it was foolish. Perhaps it was desperation. But a small part of her believed him, believed that if anyone could stand with her in the storm, it would be Lucas.
He helped her rise carefully, steadying her with one hand at her back. He guided her to the bed and sat her down, pulling a blanket over her shoulders. His voice softened again. "You should return to your chambers, Nyx."
She nodded faintly, though her eyes lingered on him as if she did not want to leave. Lucas reached for another cloak hanging nearby, one of his spares, plain and unassuming. He draped it over her shoulders, covering the simple clothes she had worn to blend in among the common folk. "This will hide you on your way back," he said, adjusting the clasp for her.
Nyx gave him a grateful nod, her lips parting as though to say sothing more. But instead, she suddenly stepped forward, her hands clutching at the edge of his tunic. Before Lucas could react, she rose on her toes and pressed her lips to his cheek. A heartbeat later, she shifted and kissed him once more, quick, tender, and full of unspoken longing. When she pulled away, her cheeks were flushed crimson. She whispered, "Thank you," and hurried toward the door before either of them could say anything else.
Lucas stood there, frozen, the faint warmth of her kiss still tingling against his skin. His chest felt tight, but not in a way he could describe. Slowly, he sat back down, dragging a hand across his face in frustration. He tried to steady himself by returning to Saint Raph’s notes on the table, opening the parchnt where passages on the core of dominion were carefully inked. He traced the letters with his eyes, willing himself to focus, but the words blurred. He turned a page, then another, but nothing stuck.
His mind kept drifting back to Nyx, her face, her tears, her kiss, the trust she had placed in him so recklessly. He clenched his fist against the desk, his jaw tightening with anger he couldn’t entirely place. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath, pushing the notes aside.
Laying back on the bed, he stared up at the ceiling, his thoughts racing. This was exactly what he had been trying to avoid all along, entangling himself with too many people, letting bonds weigh him down, letting emotions cloud his judgnt. He had promised himself he would stay cautious, detached, careful. And yet, Lira and Nyx had slipped past all his defenses. Now he was caught up in Nyx’s struggles, tied to her fate whether he liked it or not.
His hand balled into a fist against the sheets. He was one of the King’s trusted n, alongside Henrietta, involved in matters that stretched far beyond himself. That trust was sacred, a fragile bond that must never be broken. The thought of betraying it by doing sothing as reckless as fathering the King’s daughter’s child, no, that was unthinkable. That would not be him. He would not betray the man who had placed such faith in him.
And yet, the thought of doing nothing, of standing aside while Nyx suffered, made his chest ache with a fury that burned hotter than he expected. He was trapped in a web he never wanted to enter.
But impregnating the King’s daughter so she wouldn’t be taken away... that was betraying the King. He wouldn’t do that.
He suddenly had an idea...the only way to help Nyx was to find a more powerful ally for the King, an ally that wouldn’t demand for Nyx’s hand in marriage. He had lots of things he could offer as he was from the future.
He got up his bed, left the chamber and headed to the dungeons, he was going to see the crippled grandmaster. He asked the guards for privacy to talk to him. The crippled grandmaster knew a lot of information Lucas could use to his advantage, he was going to turn him to his servant by bounding him using the soul binding contract.
The man was slumped against the cold stone wall, his once proud fra reduced to frailty and skin drawn tight over bone. His beard was unkempt, and his robes were tattered from weeks of imprisonnt. The flickering torchlight illuminated the dungeon’s damp walls, casting long shadows across the floor, and in those shadows the weight of bitterness was almost tangible.
The grandmaster lifted his head slowly, his eyes bloodshot and filled with loathing as they landed on Lucas. He let out a harsh, rattled laugh, though it ended in a cough.
The grandmaster sneered, though his strength barely allowed the expression to last. "Why are you here? You, your precious King, and that viper Henrietta made promises you never intended to keep. You let rot in this pit, stripped of the only thing that made who I am. Do you know what it is like to be alive yet dead, boy?"
Lucas’s gaze hardened, but there was no cruelty in his tone when he replied. "I know what it is to lose everything. Do not mistake for soone who cannot understand your suffering. I ca here tonight because I need your help on informations. But you look so frail, you need to eat first."
Lucas turned toward the nearest guard.
"Bring so bread and water," he ordered. "The prisoner needs it."
The guard blinked, clearly startled. For a mont, it seed as though he wanted to protest, but the sharp glint in Lucas’ eyes silenced him. He bowed quickly and left the chamber.
Monts later, the guard returned with the loaf of coarse bread and a cup of water. Lucas took it in his own hands and offered it directly to the grandmaster.
The grandmaster’s breathing grew heavy, his chest rising and falling with effort. He wanted to spit more venom, but exhaustion held him back, he needed the bread badly, he hadn’t eaten in days.
The crippled man eyed the food hungrily, but pride chained his hands still. His fingers twitched, his throat tightened with thirst, yet he did not move. Lucas leaned back slightly, watching him with a quiet patience. "Eat," he said simply. "Your pride won’t fill your stomach."
The grandmaster gave a bitter chuckle. "You think bread will nd what was stolen from ?"
Lucas’s eyes narrowed slightly. "No. But bread will keep you alive."
The grandmaster’s eyes flickered with anger, resentnt, but perhaps also confusion. Slowly, with shaking hands, he reached for the bread, tearing off a small piece and stuffing it into his mouth, as though even the act of eating in Lucas’s presence was a humiliation.
For a long mont, the only sound in the dungeon was the crunch of stale bread and the gulp of water. Lucas finally stood, brushing dust from his robes. His voice carried low but firm as he turned to leave. "Rest. Whether you believe it or not, I’ll return. And when I do, I expect more from you than curses."
The grandmaster remained silent, but his trembling hands clutched the bread tighter.
Lucas could tell the grandmaster was not ready to speak....he would co back later to talk to him...after he had asked proper permission from the King.
As he walked through the long corridor, his thoughts turned elsewhere, to Henrietta. Of all the people in the palace, she was one who could provide him with the breadth of knowledge he needed. If he was going to understand the full picture of the kingdom of Rus and its place among the other great powers, she would be the one to tell him.
He didn’t find her in her chamber, but one of the servants directed him to check her in the library, he found her seated by a long table near the library’s windows. Scrolls and tos were spread out before her, and she was making notes in neat, precise handwriting. Henrietta looked up as soon as she heard his approach, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly with curiosity.
"Xavier," she said with a faint smile. "You rarely seek out at this hour. What brings you here?"
Lucas ca closer, his gaze steady. "I need your help, Henrietta. I want to know everything you can tell about the kingdom of Rus, their strengths, their rulers, and their place among the other kingdoms. And not just them. I want to understand the balance of power between the great kingdoms as a whole."
Henrietta arched a brow, clearly intrigued. She set her quill down carefully and leaned back in her chair. "That’s quite the request."
Lucas replied calmly, pulling out a chair across from her. "I need to know. Every detail might matter in the days ahead."
Her lips curved into a knowing smile as she tilted her head slightly. "Very well. Then sit. If you are patient, I will tell you of Rus and the others."
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