The guards half-dragged, half-carried Lucian through the dim palace corridors, his body limp in their arms. His feet scraped against the polished stone floors, leaving faint smears of blood that marked their passage like a trail. His head lolled to one side, the rope still biting faintly at his bruised neck, purple welts already swelling against his pale skin.
They reached the tutor's chambers. One of the guards banged a heavy fist against the door. "Open."
Inside, Kury—one of the junior attendants assigned recently to Lucian—jumped to his feet at the sound. The door swung wide, and Kury froze when he saw what they carried.
"M–Master Lucian?" His voice cracked, horror widening his eyes. He stumbled forward, hands shaking, but did not know where to touch, how to help. The sight of his master's battered form—clothes torn, skin marked, lips flecked with blood—was more than he had prepared for.
