CHAPTER 54: CHAPTER 54

Minutes passed quietly in the secluded corner of the Velebrandt estate’s vast garden. Amidst the rustling leaves, birdsong, and faint, distant hum of maids tidying up from earlier festivities, Lucien lay asleep with his head resting gently on Marie’s lap. His breathing had evened out, and the pained contortion that once marred his features was gone, replaced by a soft serenity.

The dappled sunlight filtering through the trees painted his pale, elegant face in shifting patches of gold and green. Each rise and fall of his chest was calm now, a stark contrast to the earlier scene of distress. In that moment, he looked otherworldly—like a young prince from a tale of dreams, or perhaps something even more divine.

Marie stared down at him, her fingers slowly gliding through his silver hair in a soothing, repetitive motion. The softness of his strands surprised her each time, like they weren’t made for this world. Her eyes, wide and filled with worry moments ago, now trembled with something gentler—something more tender, but uncertain.

"What could have caused it...?" she thought, glancing toward the grassy path, where the half-eaten dessert still sat, toppled over. A line of jelly remained intact, but the spoon had rolled a little away, glinting faintly under the sun.

Her brows knitted together.

"Could it have been poisoned? Or..." her imagination spun wildly. Her eyes widened slightly—then she blushed, a faint pink dusting her cheeks.

"W-Wait... no way... d-don’t tell me someone put sleeping powder into the dessert..." Her grip on the hem of her dress tightened. "Don’t tell me some foolish maid tried to..."

Her thoughts crashed together in a storm of anxiety and anger.

"...tried to sneak in time alone with him while he was vulnerable?"

Her cheeks flared, even brighter now, and a storm of flustered confusion and indignation built inside her. She dared not say it aloud—but the very idea of someone using underhanded methods to get close to her young master, especially after how vulnerable he looked... it ignited something fierce in her chest.

"That... that would be unforgivable!" she thought, gripping her skirt with both fists. "His face... with that kind of face and body, anyone would—no, no! That’s not the point! It doesn’t matter if he’s more handsome than an elf blessed by moonlight! If someone dared take advantage of him...!"

She bit her lip, casting a sharp glance around the garden path, as if searching for clues.

But then—nothing.

There were no signs of intrusion. No footprints in the grass. No signs of tampering. Lucien’s clothes were untouched. Not a crease or wrinkle out of place.

Everything was still. Peaceful.

Marie’s fierce glare softened.

"...I’m overthinking it, aren’t I?" she whispered to herself, letting out a long breath through her nose.

Still, just to be sure, she decided silently: "When he wakes up... I’ll quietly investigate. If someone did this... I’ll find out. Even if I have to wring the truth from their tongues myself."

Her hand moved once more, brushing aside a strand of hair that had fallen over Lucien’s closed eye. His skin was warm under her fingertips, and for just a heartbeat, Marie forgot all her worries.

She stared.

Stared at the symmetry of his face—the gentle slope of his nose, the curve of his lashes, the soft pink of his lips that seemed almost too delicate for someone of noble birth. The way his cheek pressed softly into her lap stirred a strange flutter in her chest.

"Too beautiful..." she murmured under her breath.

She blinked quickly and tore her gaze away. And yet, her fingers didn’t stop. Now and then, she gave in to a whim: a gentle poke at his nose, a bold stroke along the edge of his cheek, even the faintest pinch of his earlobe.

Lucien, unconscious as he was, barely reacted—save for the smallest twitch of his brow.

Marie suppressed a smile, but her heart continued to pound like a drum.

"When did he grow this much...?" she thought.

Only four years ago, she’d been assigned as one of his personal attendants. At the time, he was small—elegant in manner even as a child, yes—but small and delicate. Back then, she never imagined that he’d turn into this—a young man with the presence of a lord and the beauty of a celestial noble.

"If the daughters of other nobles see this side of him, they might really... fall."

She shook her head.

"No. Focus. Focus, Marie. He needs to rest. That’s all."

Still, she couldn’t help but stroke his hair a little more. Just a little longer. After all... he seemed so at peace. And truthfully, even she was comforted by the warmth of his presence. The tension in her shoulders eased, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like the world had gone quiet. Like it was just the two of them, tucked away in the shade of the trees, far from politics, nobles, status, or mystery.

Just a tired boy and a worried maid.

And so, time passed gently, the garden holding its breath around them.

The wind stirred the leaves above, and Marie looked to the sky, murmuring, "Please... let him be safe."

She returned her gaze to Lucien, watching the way his chest rose and fell with each quiet breath.

And then, as if hearing her plea, he stirred faintly in her lap, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

Marie froze, unsure if he was waking.

But Lucien only shifted slightly, curling a little closer into her, his expression remaining calm.

She smiled gently. Her hands resumed their careful rhythm, brushing back his hair, again and again—like a lullaby made of fingertips.

The world outside could wait a little longer.

Lucien... could sleep just a little more.

______________________________________________

Time passed once more like scattered petals caught in a breeze.

Lucien’s breathing was slow and steady, his head resting gently in the lap of Maid Marie, whose fingers still stroked his hair with delicate reverence. The garden was tranquil—birds chirped lazily above, and the trees rustled as if whispering ancient lullabies.

Then, a sound—soft and almost hesitant—brushed against Lucien’s consciousness.

"Young master... Lucien... it’s time to wake up."

It was a gentle voice. Familiar. Feminine. It hovered like a feather near his ear, tickling the edge of his dreams.

Lucien stirred slightly. A faint groan escaped his lips as he shifted his body, turning slightly on Marie’s lap in resistance, annoyed by the disturbance. His brows furrowed.

But the voice came again, a little more insistent this time.

"Lucien... please, open your eyes."

With a weary breath, he obeyed.

His eyes cracked open, heavy and reluctant. The soft afternoon sunlight filtered through the garden canopy above, painting speckles of gold and emerald on his vision. His mismatched eyes—one silver-gray, the other deep crimson—met a familiar face leaning over him.

Shoulder length brown hair. Gentle, almond-shaped eyes filled with worry. A soft smile tinged with restrained panic.

"Marie..." he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

"Good afternoon, young master," she said softly, her voice warm but laced with concern.

Lucien blinked again, trying to fully grasp his surroundings. His vision was still a little hazy, but the warmth beneath his head and the weightless sense of peace around him told him he was no longer in danger.

He tried to move—but immediately regretted it.

"Agh—!" A sudden, sharp pain surged up his neck, radiating through the base of his skull and shoulders. It was like a thousand tight cords had been pulled taut and then snapped all at once. He winced and clenched his jaw, fingers twitching as he instinctively reached to cradle his neck.

"What... in the world..." he grunted, grimacing. "Did someone... shatter my spine while I was asleep...?"

Marie, alarmed by his sudden groan, quickly sat straighter. Without a word, she slipped her hand into the small dimensional pouch hidden beneath her waist apron.

With a practiced flick of her wrist, she withdrew four small potion vials, each encased in reinforced crystal glass, faintly glowing under the sunlight. The potions shimmered with dense magic—red, orange, green, and blue. Each held a mysterious swirl of swirling light and herbs suspended in liquefied mana.

Balancing them between her slender fingers, Marie laid three of them down on the grass and held the orange one aloft.

"This one," she said softly, uncorking the lid with a gentle pop, "should help relieve your drowsiness, weakness, and any lingering drug or poison effects."

Lucien, still wincing, turned his eyes toward her with a sluggish squint.

He didn’t say anything, but the question was obvious in his gaze: "Is that safe?"

Marie caught the look and gave a small, reassuring smile. "These are the same ones used by the palace knights. They were brewed by court alchemists and kept for emergencies. I wouldn’t give you anything dangerous, young master."

Lucien gave a small, almost imperceptible nod and sighed. With his strength still wavering, he let his eyes fall shut once more in silent permission.

Marie brought the vial close to his lips and carefully tilted it forward. The liquid inside flowed slowly—more like syrup than water—thick and glistening with golden-orange specks. As soon as the first few drops touched Lucien’s tongue, he flinched.

"Ghck—!"

The taste hit him like a hammer. Bitter, with an aftershock of astringent herbs and mana-infused citrus. It burned down his throat like medicinal fire.

He coughed into his hand, half-choking, his body tensing.

Marie instinctively pressed her hand gently against his shoulder to keep him stable. "Steady now, young master," she whispered.

Lucien opened his eyes fully, staring at her with teary annoyance, his face slightly flushed from the shock of the flavor. "Wh-What kind of... horrid swamp water did you just pour down my throat...?"

Marie’s expression wavered for a moment—and then she broke into a small, nervous laugh, cheeks flushing pink. "I-It’s not that bad... You’re just overreacting, young master..."

But deep down, even she admitted it smelled like fermented tree bark brewed with disappointment.

Still, seeing Lucien so flustered—his typically composed, aloof face twisted in displeasure—was too much for her heart.

He looks too cute like this...

She quickly turned her head, cheeks bright red, and composed herself. "You must drink it all," she said more sternly. "Because... because Sir Knight Rex just informed me that the special guest—"

Lucien, still trying to will away the taste from his tongue, froze.

Marie met his gaze. "—the one who can identify the power within you. He’s arrived."

That caught Lucien’s full attention.

Even with the disgusting taste in his mouth and his neck still aching like he’d been used as a pillow by a dragon, the weight of Marie’s words settled over him like a cold wind.

"The druid...?"

She nodded. "He’s waiting in the west wing reception chamber. Your father asked for you to prepare as soon as you’re able."

Lucien glanced away, reluctantly tilting his head back and letting the rest of the potion slip down his throat like liquid punishment. He didn’t complain again—but his face betrayed the inner torment.

Marie looked down at him, holding back another laugh.

Lucien sighed deeply and thought, "If this man doesn’t tell me something useful, I’m making him drink one of these potions himself..."