Chapter 14: Chapter 14: At Fitzgeralt’s
Dax’s convoy had wound up the hill in a slow line of dark cars, engines humming like a single note. Through the tinted glass, the Fitzgeralt grounds unrolled below, manicured and glittering under the late-afternoon sun. At the crest stood the villa he’d secured weeks ago, a villa more like a pale-stone château with slate-blue roofs, tall windows, and formal gardens spilling down the slope like a chessboard of clipped hedges and reflecting pools. It was the kind of house designed to impress old money rather than new, a place where you could negotiate a treaty or host a war council without moving the furniture.
He’d run Saha’s government from its oak-paneled study for days now, the rooms big enough to swallow his entire team and their devices without breaking the old-world calm. From its balconies he could look straight across the valley at the Fitzgeralt manor without ever setting foot on their grounds.
Now, however, he was on Fitzgeralt soil.
The doors of the lead car opened first. Cool air met him, tinged with cedar from the clipped hedges and the faint sweetness of flowers bred to bloom exactly on cue for the wedding. Guards moved ahead, a silent wedge. Dax stepped out a beat later, his tailored midnight coat cutting a clean line against the pale stone of the receiving hall steps.
Trevor and Lucas were waiting just inside, framed by the high arch of the entryway. The Grand Duke, immaculate as always, dark eyes unreadable; Lucas, a fraction behind his husband, a slim hand on Trevor’s arm, green eyes catching the light. Together they looked like the photograph the newspapers would print tomorrow: stability, wealth, and the storybook bond everyone wanted to believe in.
Dax’s violet gaze slid over them once, cool and assessing, then softened into the faint smile he used when the cameras might still be watching. "Duke Fitzgeralt. Grand Duchess." His voice was velvet-low, carrying easily over the marble. "Thank you for the invitation."
Trevor inclined his head, every inch the host. "Your Majesty. We’re glad you could spare the time."
Lucas echoed the gesture with a small, polished nod. "Welcome to our home."
For a heartbeat they held the polite tableau. Staff bowed, cameras clicked, and aides murmured in the background. Then, as the last flash faded and the nearest footman withdrew, Trevor let his shoulders drop a fraction and gave a small huff of laughter. "Enough of that," he muttered under his breath, still smiling for anyone who might be watching. "You’ll have me bowing so low I’ll end up under the carpet."
Dax’s mouth curved, violet eyes glinting with the kind of humor he never showed in public. "And then I’d have to haul you back out again," he murmured back, voice pitched so only Trevor could hear. "Not a dignified look for either of us."
Behind them Lucas was already leaning slightly, green eyes tracking the passing tray of petit fours as if it might make a break for the door. "Are we done playing statues?" he asked softly. "Because there’s a plate of macarons over there calling my name."
Trevor gave him a dry sideways glance without losing his host’s smile. "Lucas."
"I’m just saying," Lucas whispered back, expression all innocence, "the alliance will survive five minutes of sugar."
Dax chuckled low in his throat. "Still the same," he said, shaking his head. "Let’s have the discussion about Jason Luna before I lose interest."
—
The reception room was quieter than the hall, a long sunlit space with pale wood floors and wide windows that opened onto the inner courtyard. A low table had already been set with coffee, tea, a bottle of Sahan whiskey and, because Lucas had a sweet tooth and everyone knew it, a tray of delicate pastries and macarons.
Dax dropped into one of the armchairs without waiting to be announced, rolling his cuffs once as though sloughing off the last of his public composure. "Finally," he muttered. "No cameras."
Trevor followed more slowly, still a picture of composure as he poured coffee into a small porcelain cup. "You only had to walk thirty meters. Hardship."
Dax shot him a look, then pointed at the tray of pastries. "You tempt me with these, but you let those two vipers sit me between them last night."
Lucas had already claimed a plate and was plucking a macaron off it. "Serathine and Cressida?" he asked around a mouthful, crumbs dusting his fingers.
"Who else?" Dax said, leaning back. "They’ve decided I’m their new project. Between the appetizers and the main course, they managed to parade every eligible name on the continent in front of me. I’ve had less intense interrogations in war councils."
Trevor’s mouth twitched but he kept his tone mild. "You did say you wanted to strengthen ties."
"I said trade," Dax corrected. "Not marriage. And definitely not being cornered by two women who could out-plan my entire cabinet while sipping champagne." He picked up a macaron with a resigned air, biting into it like it had personally offended him. "If they bring out a chart tomorrow, I’m leaving."
"They are busy circling me until the wedding is over." Lucas said with a resigned sigh and a desperate look at his phone. "They are on the way."
Trevor set his cup down with a soft clink, his expression still polite but his dark eyes giving away a flicker of amusement. "Then finish your macaron and run while you still can. They’ll be here any second, and once Serathine and Cressida have you in their sights, you’ll be pinned under silk, jewels, and powder until rehearsal."
Lucas groaned quietly, thumbs flying over his phone as if sheer typing speed could conjure a rescue. "I thought I had at least ten more minutes before the bridal committee arrived," he muttered. "They’ve been ’just on their way’ since breakfast."
Dax chuckled, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "If it’s any consolation, they’ve shifted from trying to pick me a bride to making you a spectacle. I might actually be safe for once."
Lucas shot him a look over the edge of his phone. "You’re welcome to them. They only need five minutes to decide what color my cufflinks should be."
"They already tried to decide my next queen," Dax said dryly. "By dessert last night I had three names, two dossiers, and one seating chart. War councils are kinder."
Trevor’s mouth curved in a suppressed smile. "If you leave a bill, they’ll just match you with a richer candidate."
A knock at the far door cut through their laughter. Two of Serathine’s attendants slipped in, arms laden with garment bags and jewelry cases. "Grand Duchess," one of them said with a bow, "the ladies are ready for your fitting."
Lucas closed his eyes in mock despair, then pushed his chair back, brushing sugar from his fingers onto a napkin. "Execution time," he muttered.
Trevor rose too, steady and unhurried, and laid a hand on his arm. "Changing room. And wash your hands. I’m not letting them find you looking like you raided the pastry tray."
Lucas tried for a look of wounded innocence. "This is strategic carb-loading."
"Go," Trevor said, steering him gently but firmly toward the door. "I’ll keep Dax entertained until they’re finished with you."
Dax watched them with open amusement, leaning back in his chair, long legs stretched out. "Still the same," he murmured to himself. Trevor steady as ever, Lucas bribed by sugar and dragged off to be polished, and he stuck in the middle of the Fitzgeralt household with two matriarchs circling like hawks.
He reached for another macaron, bit into it with a sigh and glanced toward the door as the muted sound of approaching heels echoed down the corridor. "At least on a battlefield," he muttered, straightening his cuffs, "no one tries to match the jewelry to my eyes."