Chapter 57: You might have a chance
The dining room was quiet.
Not in the formal, silverware-polished kind of way. Not in the way noble houses often held silence like a statement. This quiet was different.
It was personal.
The long table had been set for two instead of the usual three. Serathine was out—some social function with ambassadors and heirs she pretended not to loathe. The staff, as always, kept their presence minimal, leaving the air scented faintly with lemon and wine.
Lucas sat near the far end, posture straight, hands resting lightly against the edge of his plate. He hadn’t touched much of the food—soft, braised vegetables and a protein glaze he usually liked. But his appetite was fragile tonight.
Across from him, Trevor cut into his meal with measured ease. His jacket was off, sleeves rolled back just past his forearms, collar slightly undone. He looked every inch the composed noble.
Which meant something was wrong.
Lucas tilted his head slightly, studying him between sips of water.
"You’re doing that thing again," he said after a moment.
Trevor didn’t look up. "Which thing?"
"The thing where you’re trying too hard to look like nothing’s wrong."
Trevor’s knife paused. Briefly.