Lucien dashed through the corridors of the Everrie palace, his legs carrying him as fast as they could while his arms clutched tightly to the figure in his hands.
Blood covered him—warm, slick, and unbearable, and he pressed his palm harder against the wound as though sheer will alone could stop the bleeding.
Aries lay cradled in Lucien's arms, gathered helplessly against his chest, looking as though life itself had finally decided to bid him farewell.
His face was deathly pale, like freshly fallen snow while the rest of his body was a cruel contrast. Blood continued to drip steadily, splashing against the hard floors of the palace as Lucien ran, leaving behind a trail.
Behind him came hurried footsteps—officials, princes, guards, and most importantly, the king himself. When the incident the king had later termed a phenomenon occurred, confusion and shock had rippled through the entire hall.
