The afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows of House Valeris, turning the dust in the air into drifting gold.
Niana sat at the small round table near the window, chin propped on her palm, watching Lucien move through the sitting room with practiced ease. Every motion was precise—measured steps, controlled posture, sleeves rolled just enough to be proper while working.
On the table between them sat three plates.
One empty.
Two very much not.
Serena stared at the remaining slice of moon-cream torte like it had personally challenged her.
"…Are you sure this is allowed?" Serena asked, glancing between Niana and Lucien. "At the temple, sweets are… limited."
Niana waved her hand dismissively. "You're not at the temple yet. This is your last chance to enjoy sugar without guilt. Eat."
Lucien set down a teacup with a soft clink. "Mistress is correct," he said calmly. "It would be… inefficient to waste it."
Serena blinked. "Inefficient?"
Niana snorted. "See? Even his logic wants you to eat it."
After a moment's hesitation, Serena lifted her fork and took a careful bite.
The reaction was immediate.
Her eyes widened.
"…Oh."
Niana grinned. "There it is."
Serena took another bite—larger this time. "This is… this is incredible. It's light, but not too sweet, and the cream—oh, the cream—"
Lucien inclined his head slightly. "I am pleased it meets your expectations."
Serena swallowed, suddenly serious. She set her fork down carefully. "You made this?"
"Yes."
"…For Lady Niana?"
Lucien glanced briefly toward Niana before answering. "It is… her preference."
Niana felt her chest do a strange little flip.
She looked away quickly. "I didn't even ask today."
"I was aware," Lucien replied.
Serena's gaze flicked between them. Slowly. Thoughtfully.
Niana cleared her throat. "S-so! Serena. Temple training. Big decision."
Serena nodded, fingers tightening around her teacup. "I… thought about it all night."
The room softened.
"I'm scared," Serena admitted quietly. "But if this power exists for a reason… then maybe I should learn how to use it properly. For everyone."
Niana studied her—the delicate strength beneath the softness, the way her shoulders trembled but didn't collapse.
"You're braver than you think," Niana said gently.
Serena smiled shyly. "I don't feel brave."
Lucien spoke then, voice calm but firm. "Courage is not the absence of fear. It is choosing to act despite it."
Serena looked at him, eyes shining. "You speak like a knight."
Lucien paused. "…I am merely a butler."
Niana raised an eyebrow. "Sure you are."
.
.
.
The moon-cream torte disappeared faster than Niana expected.
She stared at the empty plate like it had personally betrayed her.
"…That was my third slice," she said flatly.
Serena froze mid-bite, fork hovering guiltily in the air. "I—I'm sorry! I didn't realize—"
Niana sighed, then waved a hand. "No, no. Eat. If Lucien made it, it's already too late anyway."
Lucien stood beside the table, hands folded neatly behind his back, posture perfect as ever.
"There remains another portion cooling in the kitchen," he said calmly. "If Mistress desires—"
"I desire justice," Niana replied. "But I'll settle for another slice."
Serena laughed—a soft, surprised sound, like she hadn't meant to but couldn't stop it.
Niana blinked.
That laugh again.
It was still strange to see Serena like this. Relaxed. Sitting comfortably at a wide oak table instead of chained, terrified, waiting to be sold to the highest bidder. Her shoulders weren't hunched. Her hands weren't trembling. Her pale hair caught the candlelight gently, loose instead of tied back.
Alive.
Lucien returned with another plate and set it in front of Niana with practiced grace.
Serena watched him carefully. "…You're very kind," she said, earnest.
Lucien inclined his head. "I am merely fulfilling my duties."
Niana snorted. "He says that about everything."
Lucien did not deny it.
They ate in comfortable silence for a moment. The manor was quiet—no meetings, no messengers, no looming disasters. Just the sound of forks against porcelain and the faint crackle of the fireplace.
Serena spoke first.
"…Your Grace?"
"Mm?"
"What… what do you want to do? If you weren't a duchess?"
The question landed softly—and stayed.
Niana paused, fork halfway to her mouth.
Lucien's gaze shifted to her. Subtle. Sharp.
The room seemed to wait.
"I…" Niana hesitated, then let out a quiet laugh. "That's a dangerous question."
Serena looked worried. "Oh—! I didn't mean to—"
"No, it's okay," Niana said quickly. She leaned back in her chair, eyes drifting toward the ceiling. "I think… I just want to live."
Serena blinked.
Lucien did not move.
"Not rule," Niana continued. "Not save the world. Just… live. Eat good food. Sleep without fear. Laugh without checking who's watching."
She smiled, small and a little tired.
"For now, this is nice."
Serena's eyes shimmered. "I… I hope I can be strong enough to protect that."
Niana reached across the table without thinking and squeezed Serena's hand.
"You already are."
Lucien looked away.
---
Serena departed the next morning.
No grand ceremony. No crowd. Just a carriage at dawn, temple guards waiting respectfully, and a saintess-in-training clutching a small bag to her chest.
"I'll come back," Serena promised, voice shaking but determined.
"I know," Niana said. "And when you do, I'll steal you from the temple for dessert."
Serena laughed, then hugged her tightly.
Lucien bowed. "May the Divine watch over your path."
The carriage rolled away.
The manor felt… emptier.
Too quiet.
---
That night, Niana dreamed of nothing.
No memories. No future scenes. No warnings.
Just darkness.
Then—
Something brushed her shoulder.
Not rough. Careful.
Intentional.
Her eyes snapped open.
The room was dark—but not empty.
A shadow loomed over her bed.
Steel caught the moonlight.
Her breath caught in her throat.
A blade descended.
Niana screamed—more in her mind than her mouth—and rolled instinctively, the knife slicing into the mattress where her neck had been a heartbeat earlier.
She fell hard onto the floor.
Her chest burned. Her limbs shook.
I'm human. I'm human—I can die—
"What—who—" Her voice came out broken.
The figure didn't answer.
It moved again.
Too fast.
Niana's vision blurred with panic. Her hands scrabbled blindly until her fingers closed around something solid—a ceramic inkpot.
She threw it.
It shattered against the wall, exploding into black shards and ink.
The figure recoiled.
Then the door behind Niana slammed open.
"—Mistress!"
Lucien.
Steel clashed.
The assassin retreated instantly, vaulting backward through the open window like smoke.
Silence crashed down.
Lucien stood between Niana and the night, blade drawn, breathing steady—but his eyes—
Sharp. Furious. Alive.
He turned.
"…Lady Niana, are you injured?"
Niana couldn't answer.
Her body finally caught up to the fear.
She shook.
Lucien sheathed his weapon and knelt in front of her without hesitation, gloved hands hovering, careful not to touch unless permitted.
"I am here," he said quietly. "You are safe."
Her breath hitched.
"…Lucien," she whispered.
He looked at her.
And for the first time—
He looked afraid.