Lucien had tolerated Devon's evasions for weeks. He had tolerated the quiet lies, the exhausted smiles, the moments when Devon swayed on his feet after using magic he clearly couldn't control. He had tolerated the distance, the one Devon insisted on, and the one Lucien had forced between them.
But tonight, he couldn't tolerate it anymore.
Devon had collapsed again.
Lucien found him behind the servants' courtyard, half-kneeling on the cold stones, blood dripping from his palm where he had drawn a rune directly into his skin. The faint afterglow of magic still pulsed under the wound, refusing to fade.
Devon tried to wipe it away with his sleeve as if hiding it could undo everything.
Lucien's patience snapped. He crossed the space in a second, grabbed Devon by the wrist, and hauled him upright.
Devon gasped in pain, but didn't fight back. He never fought back.
"Enough." Lucien's voice was low, dangerous, a growl rumbling beneath every syllable. "I've had enough of this."
