She sat at the edge of her bed, still dressed, arms wrapped around her knees. Beatrice had brought her hot tea, but it sat untouched. She stared at the floor. The rush of the night hadn't faded yet; it lingered like thunder after a storm.
There was a knock. Soft.
She hesitated. "Yes?"
Lucien stepped in.
His coat was gone, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. His dark hair was slightly damp, as if he had washed the blood off quickly and returned.
"I wanted to ensure you were… alright."
She nodded.
"You fought well," she added, after a pause.
Lucien lifted a brow.
"You were quick," she continued, and then gave a shaky smile. "Remind me never to threaten you."
That earned a quiet chuckle from him. A rare thing.
He stepped closer, but not too near.
"I've assigned two guards to your door," he said. "You'll not be left alone at night again."
She looked up. "You think this will happen again?"
His jaw tightened. "I think someone has begun to realize you matter."
