'Fuck. What should I do? He'll kill them at this point.' Florian's heart was a war drum in his chest, pounding louder with every ragged gasp that escaped Lucius and Lancelot's throats.
He stood frozen for a second too long, eyes wide as he watched the two powerful men—men who rarely bent, who commanded armies and secrets—collapse to the marble like broken dolls.
Lancelot's muscles twitched as he clawed at his throat, veins bulging and skin reddening. Lucius' lips had turned an unsettling pale blue, and his hands trembled violently as if reaching for salvation that wouldn't come.
'No, no—this is too far…'
"Y-Your Majesty," Florian began, voice barely steady, "really… we should keep a level head. It's… not entirely their fault."
