Chapter 169: Administrative nightmares and Imperial Summons
Lucas stared at him, open-mouthed. "I—what? No. Absolutely not. I’m not a—" He gestured vaguely toward the window, as if the morning light itself might have answers. "That’s insane."
Trevor shrugged, unapologetic. "You married into the Fitzgeralt line, under the blessing of House D’Argente. You’re the heir of one duchess and you’re carrying the political hopes of at least three provinces who want to see what kind of legacy you’ll leave. That makes you more than a state event. You’re practically a public holiday."
Lucas flailed slightly, hands in the air. "I don’t feel like a public holiday."
"You’re not supposed to feel like one," Windstone said dryly, still scrolling through the morning’s alerts. "You’re meant to appear radiant and deeply inaccessible, Your Grace. Now, if we may continue. I’ve arranged for your office to be cleared and stocked. All documents requiring your seal are already sorted by urgency and potential emotional damage."
Lucas pushed his chair back with the slow determination of someone walking to his own execution. "Fine. Let’s go. If I have to pretend to be radiant and inaccessible, I’d rather do it from behind a desk."
Trevor rose with him, finishing the last of his drink. "I’ll walk you. I need to see the look on your face when you realize half your official correspondence now starts with ’Beloved Grand Duchess.’"
Lucas groaned. "God, just kill me."
Windstone, who had survived three regime transitions and at least one mysterious fire, raised an eyebrow. "If only I had a coin for every time someone said that before entering the office wing."
—
NovelFire
The walk through the east corridor was mercifully quiet, no aides, no press, no bloodthirsty grandmothers armed with florals. Just the soft hush of polished floors, the warm press of sunlight, and the whisper of Lucas’s polished shoes as he moved with purpose. Or tried to.
The door to Trevor’s personal office, now their shared office space, was already open.
Lucas stepped in first, expecting something cold and sterile, the kind of neutral room built to intimidate. But the moment he crossed the threshold, something in his chest exhaled.