Chapter 310: Chapter 310: Mornings and butlers
Lucas picked up a piece of toast, eyed it like it was a personal enemy, and then promptly reached for Trevor’s plate instead. Trevor caught his wrist mid-move, not even looking up from buttering his own.
"Eat your own."
Lucas smirked, unfazed. "What’s yours is mine."
Trevor finally met his gaze, violet eyes narrowing in amusement. "That doesn’t extend to breakfast."
Windstone, who was pouring juice with mechanical calm, muttered just low enough to be heard, "It extends to everything else, apparently."
Lucas barked a laugh and leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee with exaggerated leisure. "Windstone, tell me something useful. Did the Maleks accept the deal with the Blacks?"
Windstone set the carafe down, folding his hands neatly behind his back. "They did. The agreement was signed late last night. Lady Mia was present, though it was Andrew who sealed the terms."
Trevor’s response was immediate and flat. "Which means Mia won’t work for us. We’ll have to replace her."
Lucas blinked, lips quirking. "That’s all you care about?"
Trevor cut into his toast with deliberate calm. "Of course. They had only one decision to make, really, be used by an extended family that doesn’t care about their safety, or take the risk with a contract so stiff in their favor they’re set for life." He lifted the fork, unhurried, and glanced at Lucas over the rim of his plate. "Only a fool would’ve chosen differently."
Lucas leaned back in his chair, nursing his coffee with a crooked grin. "You are in a good mood."
Trevor’s lips curved faintly. "I had breakfast delivered before ten, my mate within reach, and no nobles in sight. That counts as a good morning."
Lucas smirked into his cup. "You forgot, Serathine already came by to insult your robe. That alone should’ve ruined your day."
Trevor took another slow bite, unbothered. "She’s predictable. It barely counts."
Lucas’s grin widened, sharp and amused. "Then you won’t have anything to object to for Mia as my lady-in-waiting at the imperial presentation."
Trevor didn’t even blink. His knife slid through the toast with quiet precision. "The same Mia who smuggled fried noodles past three layers of security because you were sulking?"
Lucas’s smirk only grew. "Efficient, wasn’t she?"
Windstone, hovering by the sideboard with all the dignity of a man used to far too much, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Efficient in giving me palpitations, perhaps. If I find another suspicious grease stain on the Persian rugs, I will resign."
Lucas raised a brow, sipping his coffee with deliberate calm. "Oh, don’t be dramatic, Windstone. You didn’t resign when I shoved her and Andrew toward the Blacks. You knew exactly why. I planned for this."
Trevor finally set his knife down, turning in his chair to face Lucas directly. His violet eyes caught the morning light, sharp, unreadable. "You shoved them toward the Blacks because you already intended Mia for this role."
Lucas tilted his head, green eyes bright with mischief. "Not just for that, but guilty."
Windstone muttered, "He’s turning into you, Your Grace," before retreating discreetly to pour more coffee.
Trevor leaned back, studying Lucas for a long beat. "You’re smug when you scheme."
Lucas’s grin curved, wicked and pleased. "I learned from the best."
Trevor exhaled slowly, one hand brushing across the table until his fingers grazed Lucas’s. "Fine. Mia stays. But if she brings fast food into the palace..."
"...you’ll confiscate it and eat it yourself," Lucas cut in smoothly, his smirk daring him to deny it.
Trevor’s mouth curved into something dangerously close to a laugh. "Don’t push me, Lucas."
Windstone set the coffeepot down with military precision and stepped back, smoothing the front of his jacket. "If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, I should attend to the day’s correspondence. There are... pressing matters."
Lucas arched a brow over the rim of his cup. "Pressing? Or invented?"
Windstone’s pale green eyes flickered, the faintest twitch of a smile betraying him before he inclined his head. "Both." With that, he turned crisply on his heel and disappeared through the side door, leaving behind only the faint sound of his measured steps echoing down the corridor.
Lucas let out a soft laugh, leaning back in his chair. "Workaholic. The house could be burning and he’d still draft a report about it before leaving."
Trevor hummed, unbothered, his gaze lingering on Lucas rather than the empty doorway. "It keeps him out of my study, which is reward enough."
"I’ve heard that." Windstone’s voice drifted back just before the door shut behind him with more patience than the moment required.
Alone in the hall, he exhaled through his nose, adjusting his cuffs. His phone buzzed with a discreet ping. Sliding it free, he glanced at the screen: Benjamin’s name, a single message.
’It’s finished.’
Windstone’s lips twitched into the faintest suggestion of approval. The ring, the one commissioned for the Grand Duchess’s official presentation, was ready. ’Good.’ Another box to tick, another problem solved before it could even be raised.
He slipped the device back into his pocket, rolling his shoulders until the stiffness in his joints gave a small, satisfying crack. Perhaps a walk would do. The manor hardly required his presence, everything was in order, but efficiency meant keeping himself sharp. A turn through the gardens, a breath of cold air, and a quick stop to confirm delivery with Benjamin. All under an hour.
The gates closed behind him with a metallic hush, the faint hum of traffic rising as he stepped onto the clean avenue that cut through the capital’s old quarter. Shops were still shuttered, the glass fronts reflecting the pale morning sun, while a few vendors set up carts with the patience of routine.
Windstone walked at his usual pace, his long frame cutting a precise silhouette against the marble façades. He didn’t need to hurry. Timing was everything, and he always accounted for it.
But halfway down the street, as his eyes caught his own reflection in a polished window, he noticed it: the echo of another stride. A fraction too close. A rhythm too steady.
He passed the glass again, slower this time, and the shape held, a figure lingering just far enough back to feign coincidence, just near enough to shadow him.
Windstone did not break stride. He adjusted his cuff, slipped one hand into his coat, and let his fingers rest lightly against the leather sheath he always carried. His expression never shifted, pale green eyes calm, almost bored, but his senses sharpened like a blade drawn clean from its scabbard.
He was being followed.