The Duke’s boots scraped across the cold stone floor, his pace quickening with each step.
His pulse raced, pounding in his ears, and though the room around him remained unchanged — the dim candlelight flickering, casting long shadows on the walls — he could see none of it.
His vision had narrowed, locked solely on the motionless figure lying on the bed.
Beside the bed, the old physician worked silently.
His hands, though aged and weathered, moved with the precision of long practice as he carefully removed the arrow embedded in the young man’s leg.
Blood slowly seeped from the wound, dark and thick, pooling beneath the linens.
Without hesitation, the physician applied a thick, pungent paste, attempting to staunch the flow and ward off infection.
Varian’s breath caught in his throat, recognition striking him like a blow to the chest.
He staggered forward, gripping the edge of the bed for support, his hands trembling.
“No… it can’t be,” he muttered, voice hoarse with disbelief.
His gaze was fixed on the pale, bloodied face before him, his mind reeling from the realization of who it was.
“Old man,” Varian said sharply, his voice filled with urgency, “Open his eyelids. I need to confirm something.”
The physician hesitated for only a moment, startled by the Duke’s sudden intensity, before nodding.
With trembling fingers, he carefully pried open the man’s eyelids.
What lay beneath was unnatural — the eyes gleamed faintly in the low light, their irises dark red, like blood swirling in a glass.
The deep crimson seemed to pulse, as though alive, and Varian could feel a chill spread through him at the sight.
“This must be blood… in his eyes, right?” Varian whispered, his voice barely audible. His heart raced, pounding harder with each beat.
The old physician leaned closer, squinting as he examined them, shaking his head slightly, replied calmly, “No, Your Grace… it’s not blood. Just… his natural pupils! A truly unique color indeed.”
Varian had seen those eyes before, but never like this.
The realization pressed down on him like an iron chain.
Even though their encounters had been few, the striking features were impossible to forget.
His hands trembled uncontrollably as he clutched the bed tighter, turning toward the physician with wide, fearful eyes, “Are you sure he… he’s still alive?”
The physician wiped the sweat from his brow, his face etched with exhaustion, “Fortunately, he is, Your Grace, though barely. The blood loss and infection… It’s a miracle that he’s still breathing.”
Sighed in relief, Duke Varian forced himself to stand straighter, regaining some measure of control.
He could not afford to show weakness now. His emotions, the fear gnawing at him, would have to wait.
“You’ve done well,” Varian said quietly, though his voice remained tight with tension.
He turned to the physician, his gaze sharp.
“But remember, you are not to speak of what happened here. Not a word of his condition, or anything you’ve seen. Otherwise…” His tone grew cold, leaving the unspoken threat hanging in the air.
The physician nodded, understanding the gravity of the Duke’s words, “Of course, Your Grace. I will keep this matter strictly confidential. You have my word.”
He gathered his tools quickly, his footsteps soft as he slipped out of the room.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Varian and Commander Ulric alone with the figure lying in the bed.
A heavy silence filled the room, thick and suffocating.
Varian’s hands shook slightly as he turned to Ulric, whose face had gone pale, his jaw clenched.
“Your Grace,” Ulric began hesitantly, his voice low, “Are you certain this is truly the Prince? I’ve only ever seen him in the portrait… but you…”
Varian cut him off, his gaze darkening.
“There’s no doubt,” he muttered, though the weight of the revelation hung heavy in the air.
Shaking off the moment, Varian’s voice grew urgent, “Have you sent men to search the area? His guards, his retinue — someone must still be alive!?”
Ulric nodded stiffly, “Yes, Your Grace. We’ve already dispatched several search parties, but…”
He hesitated, his brow furrowing with concern, “There’s been no sign of anyone else. No guards, no horses! It’s as if he came alone!”
Alone? Varian’s heart sank. That made no sense. A Royal Prince would never travel without his guard. Something had gone terribly wrong!
Ulric’s voice dropped lower, laced with unease as he continued, “I’ve also ordered the men to venture deeper into the wilderness… but so far, still nothing. I’m afraid…”
Silence settled over them once again, the faint sound of Lucian’s labored breathing the only indication of life in the room.
Varian’s mind whirled with possibilities, each one more dangerous than the last.
“Ulric,” Varian said, his voice barely above a whisper, “we must learn what happened. Was there anything else you find?”
“All we discovered was a small knife in the Prince’s possession,” Ulric replied, his expression grim.
“I see. For now no-one must know his true identity until we find out what exactly happened to the Prince,” Varian added, determination hardening his voice.
Ulric, still gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, nodded.
“The soldiers who brought him here, as well as the city guards have never seen the Prince before, Your Grace,” he said cautiously.
Varian paused, weighing Ulric’s words carefully. It was indeed true; Lucian had faded into obscurity over the past several year, his absence almost entirely forgotten by the court.
Now in his current state — bloodied and unconscious — few would recognize him now.
If not for his prior encounters with Lucian as a Duke, Varian also might not have recognised the Prince entirely.
As for Ulric, he had recognized Lucian only because the Duke’s men in the Imperial Capital had informed the Duke of the Emperor’s order for the Prince’s visit here, providing a detailed portrait for reference.
He was near the city gates only because he had been aware that Prince Lucian would be arriving soon, but the timing was supposed to be closer to evening today.
Suddenly Ulric leaned closer, his voices dropping to a low murmur, “Your Grace, may I speak freely?”
Varian nodded, his gaze narrowing.
“Is it possible… this is a trap?” Ulric asked, his tone cautious.
“What are you suggesting?” Varian, startled, asked, his brows knitting together in confusion.
“Consider it, Your Grace,” Ulric pressed, his voice lowering, “The Emperor has been growing suspicious of our influence, slowly closing his grip on the Dukedom.
What if this is just a scheme to entangle us? Using the Prince as bait to test our loyalty or set a trap?”
The thought made Varian’s blood run cold. He had considered it, but hearing it aloud gave it weight.
“Are you suggesting the Emperor orchestrated this? That he ordered his own son’s assassination to set a trap for us?” His voice shook slightly as he tried to mask the dread creeping in.
“But why would a tiger devour his own cub?”
Ulric’s expression darkened, “But Prince Lucian is not just any son. He’s but a concubine’s child — an outsider in the Imperial Family.
He’s never been a threat to his siblings. If the Emperor saw a way to use his death to paint us as traitors, to consolidate his power, he wouldn’t hesitate.”
Varian’s heart sank deeper as Ulric’s words echoed in his mind.
The thought of being ensnared in such a deadly web, where even the Emperor’s son could be a pawn, was almost too much to bear.
“Are you suggesting we should wait until we know exactly what happened before informing the Emperor?
But if we can recognize such a scheme so easily, why would that old fox resort to such straightforward tactics?”
“Ughh–”
Just as Ulric opened his mouth to respond, a low groan cut through the air.
Both men froze, their eyes snapping to the bed.
Lucian stirred, his face twitching with ‘pain’, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
“Your Highness…” Varian whispered, stepping closer, his earlier fear now replaced by a quiet urgency that tightened his chest.
He leaned over the prince, his voice soft yet desperate, as he tried to connect with the fading consciousness before him.
“Can you hear me, Your Highness? Are you feeling well now? Can you tell us what happened? Who did this to you?”
Varian fired off a barrage of questions, his voice urgent and filled with concern.
Ulric, standing beside him, placed a firm hand on the Duke’s shoulder.
“Your Grace, we should let the Prince calm down first,” he suggested quietly. “He’s been through a lot. Give him a moment.”
“You are right. I lost my composer for a moment.”
In the bed, Lucian’s eyes fluttered open, revealing a deep well of ‘fear’ that tugged at Varian’s heart.
Confusion clouded his gaze, and he ‘struggled to focus’ on the faces hovering above him, their outlines shifting in and out of clarity.
“H-horse…” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper, trembling with panic as he fought against the ‘pain’, “Where’s my horse?”
His brow furrowed, and a bead of sweat trickled down his temple, adding to the distress etched on his pale face.
“Your horse?” Varian echoed, taken aback by the unexpected question, “What do you mean?”
With a sharp inhale, Varian turned to face Ulric, who promptly replied,”Unfortunately, Your Highness, your horse couldn’t make it. It… passed away.”
“I see…” Lucian replied, his voice cracking, a tremor of anguish weaving through each word, “Don’t throw it away… I need to see it off myself…”
His ‘sorrow’ was palpable.
“Alright. Now Prince,” Varian urged, desperation lacing his tone, “Can you now tell us what exactly happened? And how did you end up in this situation?”
Lucian’s eyes flickered with ‘terror’ as his trembling lips parted.
“De… demons…” he whispered, his voice barely a breath, trembling as dark memories resurfaced.
“What?!”
“What do you mean, Your Highness!?”
“We… we were attacked by demons…” Lucian continued, his eyes squeezing shut as if trying to block out the images assaulting him.
His voice grew weaker, but the ‘horror’ within his words was unmistakable.
“They suddenly came out of nowhere, like shadows… shadows in the night, and… and they killed all my guards…”
Lucian’s breathing grew ragged, his chest heaving as he struggled to continue.
“One of them…” He swallowed hard, his voice cracking with ‘fear’, “One of them even spit fi… fire from his mouth…”
The words came out in a broken rush, his ‘horror’ almost palpable.
His fingers curled into the bedsheets, knuckles white as he gripped them, a physical ‘manifestation of the fear’ coursing through him.
“And my… my dear brother…” Lucian’s voice trembled, the raw emotion choking him as he ‘fought back a sob’.
His body shook with the weight of the words, and ‘tears’ welled up in his bloodshot eyes, “He… he sacrificed himself to help me run…”