Chapter 25: That’s My Heir
The afternoon air in the west wing was scented with pressed linens, tea steam, and open windows. Seamstresses whispered in corners, cloth rustled like breath, and pins flickered silver in the hands of masters.
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Lucas stood in front of the full-length mirror.
He wore ivory again—but not like before.
This time, it was deliberate.
Tailored perfectly to his frame, the jacket lay crisp along his shoulders, structured without being stiff. The collar was high, military-inspired but cut in a modern line. Black satin cuffs peeked out from beneath the sleeves. His trousers were tapered and sharp, the shoes mirror-polished. A chain of onyx and gold sat at his throat, subtle but unmistakably imperial in design.
He hadn’t spoken much during the process. He hadn’t needed to.
The room moved around him like clockwork. Serathine had summoned the best and given them a single command: Let him be seen.
A soft knock came at the far door.
Lucas turned slightly, and Serathine’s expression shifted. Not surprised—but unreadable.
Then she nodded once. "Let him in."
Lucius entered the room with the confidence of a man born with a golden spoon.
The second prince of the Empire wore a fitted black jacket, lapel chain glinting with his house crest. His silver cufflinks flashed once in the sunlight, and his presence—tall, composed, and unflinching—filled the room like a storm no one dared name.