Lucien stood frozen, forgetting that he had a nosebleed minutes ago, his feet seemingly rooted to the spot as if an unseen force had anchored him to the ground. The words echoed in his ears, a haunting refrain that refused to fade away, as if they had been spoken in another language – yet, they were too loud, too real to be misunderstood. The syllables still lingered on the air, vibrating with an almost palpable intensity that made his skin prickle with unease.
He felt as though he was drowning in the silence that followed, the only sound the heavy pounding of his own heart in his chest. The words replayed in his mind, each repetition like a knife twisting in his gut, leaving him breathless and disbelieving. For a moment, time itself seemed to stand still, and all that existed was the echo of those words, resonating deep within him like a death knell.
> "What do you think, Lucien? How would you like to be the Crowned Prince?"
