Chapter 200: The Conversation Next To Jean
When Salviana arrived at Jean’s chambers, the air inside felt heavy, almost tangible with tension. The storm outside began rumbling again, the low growl of thunder a backdrop to the dimly lit room.
Lucius sat by the bed, his broad shoulders hunched, and his usually sharp features dulled with sorrow. He looked clean and put-together—his dark red eyes almost black under the dim light and his neatly trimmed hair gleaming—but there was no mistaking the anguish etched into his expression.
Jean lay still on the bed, wrapped in a soft blanket. Her delicate features seemed at peace despite the lifeless stillness of her body.
Her previous gown had been replaced with a simpler white dress, but even that looked too grand for the pale, fragile state she was in now.
Salviana hesitated at the doorway. Lucius’s presence filled the space, and she didn’t know how to approach him.
There was something raw and untouchable about his grief, a depth of emotion she rarely saw in anyone but her husband. Yet, despite her uncertainty, she stepped in, her heels clicking softly against the stone floor.
Lucius glanced at her but said nothing, his gaze returning to Jean almost immediately.
"She’ll be fine, Lucius," Salviana said gently, setting the basket of fruits down on a small table near the bed.
He let out a low scoff, shaking his head. "Fine? Look at her," he muttered bitterly. "She’s not even moving, not even breathing properly. I can hear how faint her heartbeat is."
Salviana sighed, crossing her arms as she looked at Jean’s still form.
She was about to speak again when a sudden, haunting realization struck her. This was the nightmare she had dreamed not long ago: