The manor had gone quiet.
Not the clipped, professional quiet of staff resetting tables, nor the strained quiet of nobles out of words for the evening, but the deep, lived‑in hush of a house breathing again after being stretched to its limit. Far off, lanterns still flickered on the terrace, their glow soft through the tall windows.
Lucas padded across the carpeted floor of their private suite, the plush robe cinched at his waist and damp hair curling against his neck from the long bath he’d allowed himself. The small bowl of ice cream in his hand had already begun to sweat in the soft lamplight, but he didn’t care. He perched on the edge of the couch, tucking one leg under him, letting the sugar calm the adrenaline still humming in his chest.
Through the crack in the en‑suite door came the hiss of running water shutting off, then the muffled sound of Trevor’s voice, low, a curse muttered under his breath, followed by the soft scrape of a towel.
Lucas spooned another bite, the sweetness sharp on his tongue, and let himself breathe. He had smiled all night. He had laughed, danced, thanked, and endured the toasts and the watchful eyes. And underneath it all there had been that single, dark pulse of danger after Dax’s words in the hall, a quiet weight in his chest that hadn’t gone away.
Trevor had left shortly after to make sure that the others that had interacted with the poison were under arrest by the end of the celebration.
The en‑suite door swung open, letting out a curl of steam that softened the lamplight. He stepped through with a towel slung around his neck, dark hair damp and pushed back, his shirt loose in one hand as if he hadn’t decided yet whether to bother with it. The faint scent of soap and hot water drifted with him, a cleaner note against the lingering spice of wine and candle wax that clung to the room.
Lucas’s eyes lifted from his bowl, quiet, watchful. "You’re late," he murmured, though there was no reproach in it.
Trevor tossed the towel onto a chair and worked his arms through the shirt, rolling the sleeves to his forearms as he crossed the room. His movements were fluid, but Lucas saw it, the tightness in his jaw, the way his shoulders hadn’t quite loosened.
"Three were caught in the service wing," Trevor said, his voice low but no longer edged with urgency, more like he was recounting the end of a long day. "Two confessed before I even asked. The third will talk by dawn."
Lucas set the spoon aside, the last of the ice cream forgotten as he tipped his head, curiosity warming his expression. "So... Jason Luna decided to move?"
Trevor gave a quiet hum, tugging the towel from his neck and tossing it onto a chair. "Yes. He’s already at the location. And before you even think of it, stay away from him. I know you want your revenge, but let me serve it for you."
Lucas lifted a hand in mock surrender, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. "You’ve made your point."
Trevor’s own smile came easier now, the edge gone. He shifted on the couch, stretching an arm along the backrest and letting out a low laugh. "We had another plan ready, one that wouldn’t ruffle the clergy, but Christopher Malek managed to make himself useful in his own way. Or... well, he thought he did."
Lucas blinked, the corners of his lips twitching. "Oh?"
"Mm." Trevor’s eyes gleamed with quiet amusement. "He stepped in, thinking he was saving someone. The poison was never going to reach us, not with the layers we had in place, but in the process he caught Dax’s eye."
Lucas gave a soft snort, leaning back into the cushions. "So his big, selfless moment didn’t change a thing... except to hand Dax something new to chase?"
Trevor chuckled, the sound low and warm in the quiet room. "Exactly. And I, for one, can’t wait to see our dear king running himself in circles over a dominant omega who doesn’t even know what he’s stirred up."
Lucas shook his head, a laugh slipping out, soft and genuine. "You’re terrible."
"Terrible?" Trevor leaned closer, brushing a stray curl from Lucas’s forehead with his knuckles, his grin turning mischievous. "He made us suffer and gave me warnings when you weren’t marked... now it’s his turn."
"Should we help his new target to run away from him a little longer?" Lucas asked with a wide grin.
Trevor let out a quiet laugh, the kind that rumbled low in his chest and softened the line of his shoulders at last. "You’re worse than I am," he said, though his hand stayed against Lucas’s hair a moment longer, almost absently smoothing the damp curl back.
Lucas shifted, drawing his knees up onto the couch, robe pooling around him as he tilted his head with mock innocence. "It would be a favor," he said, voice all bright mischief. "Dax would be too busy chasing shadows to poke around our business again."
Trevor’s brow arched, eyes glinting in the lamplight. "A favor," he echoed, as though tasting the word.
Lucas bit back a laugh, failing, his green eyes shining with amusement. "You can’t tell me you don’t like the idea of him tripping over his own schemes."
Trevor leaned back into the cushions, finally letting the weight of the night ease from his posture.
"I admit," he said, drawing the words out, "watching him run himself ragged might be the most entertainment we’ve had in months."
A light knock sounded at the suite door.
Trevor glanced toward it, his lips curving. "Windstone," he called, "if you’re out there, come in. You’re not fooling anyone by waiting."
The door opened, and Windstone stepped inside with the same quiet ease he always carried, evening coat still neat, though he’d tucked his gloves into one pocket. There was a spark of amusement in his pale green eyes, and the set of his shoulders said he wasn’t here on anything urgent.
Lucas brightened slightly, setting his empty bowl aside. "You’re still awake?"
Windstone gave a small shrug, the faintest smile playing on his mouth. "Couldn’t sleep. I was considering reorganizing the wine cellar again, but then this came through."
Trevor huffed a soft laugh, warm rather than sharp. "If you alphabetize that collection one more time, no one but you will ever be able to find a bottle again."
Windstone’s eyes crinkled. "Then they’ll finally stop touching it." He stepped further into the room, clasping his hands behind his back, though the gesture was more habit than formality. "But that’s not why I’m here. Thought you’d like to know the latest."
Lucas tilted his head, curiosity sparking in his green eyes. "You sound far too pleased with yourself."
Windstone’s smile deepened, the kind that made the faint lines at the corners of his eyes show. "Christopher Malek," he said, savoring the name like a choice anecdote. "The king didn’t even pretend to be discreet. He intercepted the poor man the moment he stepped off the bus on his way home."
Trevor’s brows arched, a low laugh slipping out as genuine amusement flickered in his eyes. "Already? He didn’t even give the man a chance to sleep off the evening?"
"Apparently not," Windstone replied, his tone light and threaded with that wry humor only someone who’d seen far too many royal antics could manage. "Either Dax doesn’t waste time... or he knows better than to let a second chance slip through his fingers."
Lucas let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Well," he murmured, leaning back into the cushions, "this is going to be fun to watch."
Windstone only inclined his head, still smiling as if he agreed entirely.