The hallway was practically a sea of drawn steel and heavy breathing.
The Duke's Northern knights looked like stone statues, their hands on the hilt of their blades, waiting for a single permission to paint the walls red.
Then, the door creaked open.
Lucius didn't cower. The shy boy Julian had known had completely disappeared, replaced by a child who was afraid of nothing.
"L-Lucius," Julian called, his voice trembling. "Don't… don't do anything reckless."
But Lucius didn't look back at Julian. He stepped into the threshold and planted his feet firmly on the floor, his small hands resting on his waist.
It was a posture one could regard as the effortless arrogance of a wolf staring at a scavenger. Or rather, the arrogance of a wolf cub.
Even at his height, the weight of the Grand Ducal blood seemed to fill the corridor, momentarily paralyzing the Marquis's knights.
To touch the heir of the Grand Duke was to invite the extinction of their own houses.
