Lucien didn't sleep much that night.
Not because Alexander didn't try.
Alexander held him close, solid and warm, pressing slow kisses into Lucien's hair and temple whenever Lucien's breathing turned too sharp. He murmured promises in the darknquiet things like I'm hereband I've got you and nothing touches you while I breathe.
And Lucien wanted to believe him.
He almost did.
But every time his eyes drifted shut, his mind returned to the same thought like a bruise you couldn't stop pressing:
They won't attack the throne first. They'll take something easier.
Him.
By morning, Lucien had stopped pretending he could rest. He lay there, staring at the pale light creeping across the ceiling, feeling Alexander's arm tighten when Lucien shifted.
Alexander's voice was rough with sleep. "You're awake."
Lucien hummed softly. "I didn't want to wake you."
