Trevor returned as Windstone was collecting the empty tray, the sound of the door opening soft, but Lucas looked up imdiately—eyes trained like he’d been waiting for the exact click of that latch.
Trevor didn’t speak right away. He stepped in, closed the door behind him, and shrugged off his jacket with the kind of tiredness that ca from restraint, not exhaustion. His shirt sleeves were still rolled, faint creases marking where tension had sat in his arms.
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "So? War or relocation?"
Trevor’s lips twitched, but it didn’t quite make it into a smile. "Relocation."
Windstone, ever efficient, took the cue and bowed himself out with barely a whisper of footsteps, leaving them alone.
Trevor ca closer, but didn’t sit. "We’re switching suites before nightfall. Quietly. You’ll pack only what you want in the open. Windstone and I already arranged the rest."
Lucas leaned back. "I assu this isn’t because the view wasn’t dramatic enough."
Trevor t his gaze, steady and open. "Jason Luna."
The na dropped between them like a stone.
Lucas didn’t flinch, but he stopped playing with the stylus.
"I had Dever, one of Dax’s n, speak with him," Trevor continued, his voice low but direct. "He didn’t ask questions during the interview, but he listened too well. He left the palace grounds shortly after and reached out."
"To whom?"
"We’re still trying to find out," Trevor admitted. "But it wasn’t clergy. That much we’re sure of. The contact point was shielded, smart enough to avoid usual surveillance."
Lucas’s expression darkened. "I see."
Trevor stepped closer, not crowding but unmistakably present. "We have everything under control," he said quietly. "But we expect him to make a move. Until then, I will be with you. All the ti."
Lucas arched a brow, a dry edge to his silence.
Trevor didn’t flinch. "We are on our honeymoon," he added, fingers brushing lightly against Lucas’s wrist. "And damned I’ll be if I let anyone interrupt us again."
There was sothing final in the way he said it. Not a promise. A vow.
Lucas didn’t pull away. "Ever the romantic. Did you have lunch?"
Trevor’s hand stayed at his wrist, thumb brushing once against the bone before falling away. "No," he said. "Too busy relocating our lives and plotting murders."
"Efficient," Lucas murmured, already turning toward the small dining table in the corner. "Sit, then. Windstone brought cappuccino, and I’m feeling generous."
Trevor followed, his movents loose but alert, like a predator pretending to be ta. He didn’t sit until Lucas did, and even then he angled his chair just enough to keep the entrance in his peripheral vision.
"You’re not subtle," Lucas noted, pouring him a glass of water. "You know that, right?"
"I was subtle once," Trevor said, taking the glass without thanks. "Didn’t like what happened."
Lucas stirred the cappuccino idly. "So now we’re living in espionage suites, hiding from a recessive beta with alpha delusions and a tendency to spy on us."
Trevor’s mouth twitched. "You make it sound less threatening, but yes, or..."
"What?"
"Let’s have a date."
Lucas blinked once. "A what?"
Trevor leaned forward slightly, fingers tapping the side of his water glass. "A date. You know, sothing normal people do when they’re not being hunted, poisoned, or blackmailed."
Lucas arched a brow, unimpressed. "Do normal people also relocate under cover, have secret guard rotations, and threaten nobles before dessert?"
Trevor didn’t flinch. "Depends on their standards."
A beat passed.
Lucas stirred his coffee again, slower this ti, the faint clink of the spoon against porcelain the only sound between them. "You want to take on a date. While we’re under surveillance. In a palace that slls like Dax’s perfu and political decay."
"Yes."
Lucas set the spoon down with deliberate grace. "Fine," he said. "But if I get called a whore again, I’m burning sothing."
Trevor didn’t miss a beat. "Then I’ll bring the matches."
Lucas rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him, curving just slightly, like amusent had the audacity to sneak past his composure. "You’re supposed to say sothing reassuring."
"I did." Trevor leaned back in his chair, entirely too pleased with himself. "You said if it happens again. I’m saying I’ll support your arson if it does. That’s called partnership."
Lucas muttered sothing under his breath about barbaric northern courting traditions and pushed back his chair. "Where exactly is this date?"
Trevor stood as well, reaching for his jacket. "Sowhere no one will dare interrupt us. And yes, Windstone approved it."
Lucas snorted. "Of course he did. He probably picked the tableware too."
"He did." Trevor smiled. "And the security detail. And the dessert. I think he wants us to kiss in public just to establish dominance."
Lucas paused mid-step and turned slowly. "We are not kissing in public."
Trevor raised both hands. "You say that now."
Lucas turned again, walking ahead this ti, his voice floating back like silk over steel. "And if you try, I’ll burn you first."
Trevor grinned. "Worth it."
—
Lucas stood in front of the mirror, unmoving.
His shirt was half-buttoned. The cufflinks rested untouched beside the sink, silver and obsidian, carved with the Fitzgeralt crest, a gift from Trevor, of course. The kind of things ant to look casual but expensive enough to say mine without needing to speak.
The suite had changed that morning. Windstone packed everything with surgical precision and unpacked it in the new rooms before Lucas had even finished his coffee. The view was identical. The scent of Trevor still lingered in the sheets. And now, apparently, there was a date.
Lucas didn’t rember agreeing. He rembered saying fine with the kind of tone that should’ve sent any rational man running for the hills. Trevor, naturally, took it as encouragent.
He finished buttoning the shirt—dark, tailored, and soft enough to pass for indulgent. He didn’t want to overdress, but the restaurant was famous, and the only thing worse than being called a whore by noblewon with too much perfu was being underdressed at a place where the nu required approval.
His gaze drifted to the mirror again. The faint flush on his cheek was long gone, but it hadn’t been forgotten. His skin still felt too warm in places where Trevor’s hands had lingered earlier. His scent was clean now, scrubbed down to sothing neutral and sharp, but it didn’t help.
Nothing helped.
Because Trevor wasn’t just there anymore. He was everywhere. In Lucas’s space, in his scent, in the goddamn watch ticking on his wrist.
Lucas clicked the cufflinks into place with swift, precise movents.
It didn’t matter. He could handle dinner. He’d faced far worse. Trevor could pour wine and pretend he wasn’t looking at him like a man starved, and Lucas would smile like he hadn’t spent twenty minutes deciding between two belts.
He stepped back once and checked the final result. Ash-grey trousers, a black shirt tucked in with just enough sharpness to look deliberate. The collar sat open, not too high, not too stiff. And the cuffs—yes, perfect.
Composed. Cool. Untouched.
Even if it was a lie.
Windstone tapped once on the inner door. "The car is waiting, Your Grace."
Lucas exhaled slowly, smoothing one hand down his front.
Let the night begin.
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