Chapter 183: The Matriarchs
The corridor to the east salon was unnervingly quiet, no clinking teacups, no murmured arguments, no sound of servants being flayed by passive-aggressive requests for imported sugar swans. Just the muted brush of footsteps and the kind of tension usually reserved for international summits and sudden-death chess matches.
Trevor walked like he was going into a boardroom with guns under the table. Lucas walked like a man being escorted to an altar and a firing squad simultaneously. Benjamin strolled, perfectly at ease, because he had already accepted the chaos and decided to wear it like couture.
Outside the double doors, Windstone paused with the solemnity of a man announcing a final meal. "They’re waiting."
Lucas sighed knowing full well that he was the main victim of this alliance. Trevor could be moved by loyalty, by duty, by Lucas, yes, but not by lace samples or the threat of rebranded imperial floral theory. Cressida had long given up trying to outmaneuver his stonewall demeanor. Serathine hadn’t tried at all. They both knew the more efficient route was psychological warfare, and Lucas, bless him, had feelings. Which made him the battlefield.
Lucas exhaled once more, leveled his spine like armor, and gave Windstone a slight nod. "Open the gates."
Windstone didn’t flinch. He opened the doors.
The east salon was radiant. Which was already suspicious.
Gold-thread curtains drawn halfway to cast flattering shadows. Cut crystal vases filled with peonies, calla lilies, and, inexplicably, weaponized orchids. A tea service arranged like it had been styled for a royal magazine spread. And in the center of it all, like matching thunderclouds disguised as elegance, they sat.
Lady Serathine, immaculately posed in ivory with wine-red accents, was cross-legged on the divan, reading over what looked like a mood board with the intensity of someone evaluating enemy troop positions.
Lady Cressida, regal in midnight blue and surgical precision, was sipping her tea like it was an indictment.
They looked up in eerie unison.
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"Good," Cressida said. "You’re late."