Chapter 8. You Say It’s Brutal?

Lucien lay in a soft bed. A proper one. The sheets were white and clean. A warm glow from the bedside lamp cast a peaceful light.

Bandages covered his arm and part of his torso. He wore a simple button-up pajama shirt. His skin was pale, but no longer cold.

Roman sat beside him, watching.

Lucien’s features were delicate. A sharp jawline, long lashes, a nose too fine for a boy raised in pain. His lips were cracked but soft.

Roman reached out without thinking. His pinky brushed the side of Lucien’s face, tracing gently.

Lucien stirred.

Roman pulled back quickly, ashamed of himself.

“What the hell are you doing,” he muttered, rising and exiting the room.

Dining Room

The table was long and extravagant.

Dishes of steaming food lined its center—grilled lamb, roasted duck, bowls of steaming rice, vegetables sautéed in garlic butter, spicy sauces, fresh fruits and tarts. Every corner was filled with luxury.

Zayn sat at the he