"Lucius, why did you pull me like—"
Florian's words caught in his throat. His eyes widened in shock when he realized who it was that had grabbed him.
"Lucius?" he whispered, but the butler's hand was already over his mouth, firm yet trembling.
"Shh." Lucius's voice was low, urgent, almost pleading. "Your Highness, please don't make a sound. There's…" He hesitated, his eyes flicking toward the end of the corridor.
Florian saw it immediately in his expression—fear.
"…people who aren't supposed to be here," Lucius finished, his voice barely audible.
Florian's heartbeat quickened. Lucius peered around the corner toward the entrance of the safe room. His jaw clenched.
"…are here."
The words sank into Florian's chest like ice.
'The princesses… Cashew—!'
His thoughts were cut off by a voice that did not belong in the palace.
"I know you're there, glasses."
It was deep, rough, and cruelly amused. The kind of voice that reeked of confidence—the kind that knew blood was coming.
