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.
