Chapter 309: Chapter 309: Harpy and the Scarecrow.
"It’s barely ten in the morning, harpy," Trevor muttered, one hand resting on the banister as he leaned over the landing. His dark robe hung open enough to show the edge of a white shirt beneath, his hair still tousled from a morning he had no intention of cutting short.
Serathine swept into the foyer as though she owned it, the heels of her shoes clicking decisively across the marble. She glanced up, amber eyes narrowing at the sight of him, then smiled, sharp and amused. "What a lovely scarecrow. Tell me, Grand Duke, did civilization abandon you in the night?"
Trevor didn’t move, didn’t blink, and only tightened the sash at his waist with lazy precision. "Civilization left when you walked through my door uninvited."
"Mm." She unbuttoned her gloves with the same grace one might unsheathe a blade. "Where is my son?"
"Sleeping," Trevor said flatly.
Her brows arched, the faintest flick of surprise betrayed before her lips curved. "Still? At this hour?"
Trevor’s mouth twitched, though it was not quite a smile. "He had a long night."
The pause that followed was thick enough to make even the servants hesitate at the edges of the hall.
Serathine’s eyes gleamed, sharp as glass. "Ah. Quite active for a man who once swore celibacy and sent essays about it to anyone foolish enough to mention marriage."
Trevor spread his arms lazily, the dark robe falling open just enough to reveal the careless line of his shirt beneath. "I’m a changed man," he said, mockery dripping from every word.
Her laugh was soft, amused, and barbed. "So it seems. Though I wonder how long Palatine will let you play the reformed rake."
Trevor’s smirk didn’t falter. "Long enough."
Serathine unpinned her coat with the ease of someone unsheathing a weapon, the silk lining catching the light. "See that it is. Because your mate has a far bigger stage to step onto than this manor. His official presentation to the imperial family is nearly upon us."
The words landed heavy in the foyer, sharper than all the teasing before.
Trevor’s expression cooled, the smugness fading into something harder. "I’m aware."
"Good." Serathine smiled faintly, snapping her gloves once before handing them to a servant. "Then keep him ready. He will not be seen as a boy playing dress-up beside you, Trevor. He is the Grand Duchess now. He will be expected to shine."
And with that, she turned toward the door, her heels striking cleanly against the marble, leaving behind only the faint trace of her perfume.
Trevor exhaled, muttering under his breath, "Harpy," before heading upstairs toward Lucas.
—
Lucas didn’t want to move, breathe, or wake up, but Serathine’s voice carried easily through walls and stairwells, and that was enough to pierce the fog of sleep. He cracked one eye open, regretted it immediately, and groaned as he rolled onto his back. Every muscle ached, every nerve still humming.
Trevor had kept him up all night, relentless in proving that dominance was not just a title but a lived practice. Two rounds, Lucas had thought. Maybe three. Surely that was enough. But Trevor, smug, inexhaustible, and very much an alpha with something to prove, had thought otherwise.
Lucas groaned again, lifted himself halfway off the mattress, and promptly collapsed back into the sheets. "Nope," he muttered, burying his face against Trevor’s pillow. "Not today. Let the Empire wait."
"You look like a ruin." The voice drawled lazily from the doorway.
Lucas didn’t bother to turn, already picturing Trevor leaning there with arms folded, smug and satisfied, probably cataloging the marks he’d left behind. "You left the door open intentionally."
"I did." Trevor’s footsteps crossed the carpet, slow and deliberate, the faint rustle of his robe brushing with each stride. "A man should be proud of his victories."
Lucas snorted into the pillow. "Victories? You make it sound like a military campaign."
Trevor’s weight dipped the mattress as he sat at the edge, one large hand pressing warm against Lucas’s back. "Judging by your inability to stand, it was."
Lucas rolled just enough to glare up at him, hair falling into his eyes, lips curved in a crooked smirk. "You’re impossible."
Trevor’s answering grin was maddeningly calm. "You asked for it. But I’m merciful enough to medicate you... after breakfast."
"In bed?" Lucas asked, green eyes sparking with a thread of hope.
"Not a chance." Trevor tilted his head toward the round table set neatly by the window, sunlight spilling across the white cloth and silver. "By the window."
Lucas groaned dramatically and buried himself halfway under the sheets again. "Tyrant."
"I’ll carry you." Trevor’s voice dipped lower, equal parts promise and threat, his violet eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
Lucas peeked at him from beneath the linen, the smirk returning slow and lazy. "You’d enjoy that far too much."
Trevor leaned down, brushing his lips across Lucas’s hairline. "Yes, I would."
Trevor kept his word. One strong arm slid beneath Lucas’s knees, the other at his back, and before Lucas could properly protest, he was lifted clean off the bed.
"Unfair," Lucas muttered, arms looping lazily around his neck as though refusing to help. "Manhandling should be illegal."
Trevor smirked, carrying him with the ease of someone who’d done this before. "If it were, I’d have already rewritten the law."
By the time he lowered Lucas into the chair by the window, sunlight warming the white linen and gleaming plates, Windstone appeared silently from the door. The butler’s silver hair was immaculate as always, but his pale green eyes carried the long-suffering patience of a man who had seen too much already this week.
"Breakfast, Your Grace. Grand Duchess." He set the tray with the same precision he brought to everything, though the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his opinion of carrying omegas to the table.
Lucas glanced up at him, green eyes glinting with mischief. "You disapprove."
Windstone straightened, smoothing a hand over his cuff. "Disapprove? No. Resigned... certainly." His tone was dry enough to rival the toast he placed on the table.
Trevor’s lips curved faintly as he poured coffee. "You’re too used to cleaning up after me, Windstone."
The butler inclined his head. "Experience, Your Grace, not preference."
Lucas bit back a laugh, accepting the coffee Trevor slid toward him. "Careful, Windstone. If you keep talking like that, I’ll start believing you like me better than him."
The butler did not blink. "I already do, Grand Duchess. You finish your meals."
Trevor gave him a flat look over the rim of his cup while Lucas broke into open laughter, the sound spilling across the room brighter than the morning sun.