Chapter 173: The plan is moving
Lucas took a slow sip of orange blossom tea and seriously considered leaping off the balcony.
They were seated at an ornate glass table on the sun-drenched terrace of Le Verité, one of Palatine’s most exclusive brunch venues. Everything sparkled. The cutlery. The water glasses. The people. Even the toast shimmered suspiciously, like it had been lacquered with edible gold leaf. And most likely it was.
He hadn’t so much sat down as been installed, Cressida’s perfectly manicured hand pressing firmly to his back as she guided him to his seat between a duchess with no eyebrows and a viscount who smelled like an aftershave with thunder in its name.
Across from him, Cressida smiled with the serene confidence of someone who had never once considered losing a war, social or otherwise. She sipped her champagne, patted his knee under the table like he was a well-behaved lapdog, and said in a voice just loud enough to be heard by their immediate surroundings:
"Lucas has been so very busy lately. Invitations are flooding in. The Emperor himself requested tea, you know. Of course, we’re still deciding whether the date aligns with our calendar."
Lucas nearly choked on a piece of melon.
Several heads turned. Subtle gasps. One woman actually fanned herself.
Cressida didn’t even blink. "Of course, he’ll go. I would never deny the Emperor a private audience with my grandson-in-law. But really, one mustn’t appear too available."
Lucas, still chewing, made a faint noise of protest that could have meant "help" or "run," depending on the angle.
A countess leaned forward, smile glossy and carnivorous. "And how is married life, Your Grace? You look so flushed lately. Radiant."
"I’m recovering from a fever," Lucas said flatly.
Cressida placed her hand over his with just enough pressure to remind him she could and would carry this brunch without his help. "He means emotional fever. Young love, you know. So consuming."