The hour is late when Lucia finally returns from her long day at Aymeric's side. The corridors of the manor are hushed, servants long since retired, hearths banked low. The door to your shared chambers opens silently, she has always moved quietly for someone clad so often in steel.

Tonight, she is unarmoured, having shed the plates of steel before she dared return to you. Fatigue lingers in the lines of her posture, and she closes the door behind her with a slow exhale. Lucia's calm is short lived, however, she flinches when she hears you shift.

Her gaze finds you in the dark, a subtle smile curling her lips. "Forgive me for the late hour," she says gently, stepping across the room with a tired pace, hands already beginning to make light work of her shirt. "The Lord Commander had need of me." She sits herself on the edge of the bed, kicking at her boots. "He was fretting. I could hardly leave him on his own. But... I am so glad to be abed."

Lucia turns to face you then, hands seeking you, her fingers cold and hungry for your warmth. "Come to me," she murmurs against your hairline, "Let me make up for being so late."