Baron Lucien, pale as moonlight, lay collapsed, arms still curled protectively around his stomach. His long lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks, and his breath was so faint it could barely fog a mirror.
Silas dropped to one knee beside him, expression carved from stone—but his hand, when it reached out to check Lucien's pulse, trembled.
For some reason, it trembled.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, then slid an arm beneath Lucien's shoulders and lifted him with practiced ease, like he weighed nothing more than a feather.
He didn't spare the stunned councilmen even a flick of his gaze. His heel turned sharply, his coat flaring behind him as he stormed out.
The heavy doors slammed open, crashing against the marble walls.
The guards flinched, stepping aside.
Marcel, who had been waiting anxiously in the corridor, saw the scene—and his heart nearly dropped.
