Florian walked silently through the dim corridors of the dungeon, the chill in the air clinging to his skin like a second layer. Lucius walked quietly beside him, their footsteps echoing faintly behind them. The tension hadn't lifted—not really. It followed Florian like a shadow.
"Do you want me to get you to your room quicker, Your Highness?" Lucius offered gently, his voice low, almost cautious.
Florian shook his head, not even glancing at him. "No… I need you to stay here with Delilah. Until Lancelot or one of the other knights comes down. When they do, tell them they're to remain stationed here. No one goes in to see her. No one unauthorized. Not even Drizelous."
He could feel Lucius's surprise before he saw it. Of course Lucius would be taken aback—Florian rarely gave direct orders, let alone ones so firm. His role as prince, though technically legitimate, never felt like it belonged to him. And truthfully, it didn't.
'Because I'm not the real Florian… I never was.'
