Chapter 57: Do You Smell That? It’s Guilt.
[Rynthall Estate—Midnight, East Wing Chambers]
The halls were quiet.
Not just ordinary quiet—but the kind of heavy, reverent silence that only descended when the estate’s resident hurricane, also known as Lucien Rynthall, had finally—finally—run out of energy.
Silas walked slowly through the corridor, the firelight flickering against the polished marble as he carried Lucien gently in his arms. Draped in layers of silk and exhaustion, Lucien was asleep, face soft and peaceful against Silas’s shoulder, one hand still loosely clutching his highlighter.
"Your Grace," Alphonso appeared at the turn, bowing respectfully. "He fell asleep in the library?"
Silas sighed, adjusting Lucien’s weight with practiced ease. "Yes. He insisted on finishing one more Chapter... something about the Grand Duchess deciding it was time for revenge."
Alphonso blinked. "Revenge?"
"Apparently the Duchess poisoned the Duke’s perfume. Turned his skin green." Silas muttered. "Lucien was thrilled. He laughed for a solid five minutes before passing out on a pile of scandal."
"...Our lord has...uniquely terrifying taste in bedtime stories," Alphonso said diplomatically.
Silas gently pushed open the door to their chamber with his shoulder. He walked over to the bed, soft as clouds and piled with enough velvet and lace to bankrupt a province, and laid Lucien down carefully.
Lucien stirred slightly, murmuring something about betrayal, lavender-scented bath bombs, and maybe tax fraud.