Lucas remained rooted in place even as the Pulse Seer's footsteps faded behind him. He stared blankly ahead, jaw clenched, hands buried in the sleeves of his robe. A thin sheen of sweat had begun to gather at the nape of his neck, and despite the cool air in the palace hall, he could feel heat building beneath his collar.
A trap.
No, worse than a trap, a threat.
And he hadn't seen it coming.
The King turned from where he had been speaking in hushed urgency with one of his commanders and glanced over at Lucas.
"Xavier," he said, his voice carrying the weight of a ruler trying to remain composed, "you look pale."
Lucas blinked and shifted, forcing the taut muscles in his body to loosen, just slightly. "It's… nothing, Your Majesty," he replied, forcing a calmness he didn't feel. "The fatigue's catching up to me, I suppose."
The King gave a slow nod. "Understandable. You've done more than enough tonight. You've earned our deepest thanks."
