Chapter 325: Chapter 325: Warning
By mid-morning the palace dressing suite had turned into something between a war room and a circus. Garment bags hung like banners from every hook, shoes lined up in parade rows, and Evrin was at the center of it all, fluttering between racks like a general on too much espresso.
"Buttons, no buttons, high collar, low collar...!" he muttered, already pinning a swatch of silk against Lucas’s shoulder. "If we drop the navy cape now, we can bring it back for the balcony. Yes, yes, the balcony will need a second look..."
Lucas sat on the edge of a low chaise, shirt open at the throat, eyes flat with the patience of a man who’d been pinned and repinned for an hour. "Evrin," he said mildly.
"Shh, your lapel is speaking to me," Evrin said, tugging at the hem. "Oh, the texture under these lights will kill! Kill, I tell you. They’ll weep. They’ll faint."
"I’ll faint," Lucas muttered.
Trevor, leaning against the doorframe with arms folded, let a low laugh escape him. "He’s been like this since dawn." He was lucky enough to have to wear regalia and that was standard enough to dispel Evrin’s interest in the Grand Duke’s attire.
Mia stood near the mirror already in her rose-quartz gown, the soft pleats falling perfectly around her legs. She watched the spectacle with wide eyes, one hand hovering at her hip as if afraid Evrin might turn on her next. "I didn’t realize preparing a prince was this... operatic," she whispered to Cressida, who only arched a pearl-draped brow in amusement.
Evrin spun back with a bundle of navy fabric and a scattering of pins clamped between his lips. "Yes, yes... navy at the collar, smoke at the cuffs. If we get this right, you’ll look like power carved from marble. No, not marble, obsidian! No, no—"
Lucas’s hand shot out and caught Evrin’s collar, tugging him just close enough to break his flow. "Stick. To. The. Plan," he said softly, green eyes narrowing. "Or I swear to you I’ll do this entire presentation in a sweater and jeans. With sneakers."
The entire suite went silent for a heartbeat. Evrin froze, pins still pinched between his fingers, eyes huge over the bundle of navy fabric. "You wouldn’t," he whispered, scandalized.
Lucas’s smile went faint and sharp. "Try me."
Mia’s mouth fell open before she smothered a laugh behind her hand. "He’s actually serious," she murmured, staring at Lucas’s unbothered expression. "Sweater and sneakers at the imperial palace..."
Trevor’s shoulders shook with a low chuckle from the doorway. "He’s been threatening to do it since the first rehearsal," he said. "I almost want to let him."
Evrin pressed a dramatic hand to his chest. "I have been brought low," he declared, stepping back a pace. "A genius, stifled. But fine. We will proceed with the plan, dull though it may be. Just know that mediocrity ages me."
"You’ll live," Lucas muttered, releasing his collar.
Mia smoothed a hand over the soft pleats of her gown, still eyeing the tailor with a kind of fascinated horror. "If this is what you call mediocrity," she said under her breath, "I’m not sure the court is ready for your brilliance."
"Excellence," Evrin corrected loftily as he darted toward the row of shoes, "is when an entire hall gasps at the cut of a sleeve without realizing why."
Cressida’s pearls gleamed as she tilted her head, watching the three of them with a serene smile. "They’re better than half the actual nobility already," she murmured to Serathine. "And far more dangerous."
Serathine’s amber gaze swept from Lucas to Mia, a faint curve to her mouth. "Good," she said. "Let them underestimate them. It will make the presentation easier."
Evrin snapped his tape measure once, the sound like a whip crack. "Now, shoes," he barked, but his tone was already resigned. "And no sneakers."
Lucas rolled his eyes but stood, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve. "Progress," he muttered.
Trevor’s chuckle followed him across the room. "If only you handled every court crisis like this."
Mia’s lips quirked into a grin. "Maybe he should," she said. "We’d be done by now."
The room shifted again, stylists flowing back into motion, but the edge of tension had broken; even Evrin’s theatrics seemed a shade lighter as he began pinning the final cuff.
—
The great reception hall of the east wing had been transformed overnight from a ceremonial gallery into a stage. Light spilled down through high arched windows, striking the polished marble floor until it gleamed like water. Imperial banners hung in precise intervals along the walls, their gold embroidery catching every flicker of movement. Rows of chairs filled the lower half of the hall, nobles and dignitaries already whispering behind gloved hands. The scent of polished wood, perfume, and anticipation was thick enough to taste.
At the far end, beneath the enormous crest of the Empire, the imperial family waited. Caelan sat in the central armchair, his posture deceptively relaxed, brown hair streaked with white under the light, and green eyes steady. Beside him, Aysha, in a gown the color of deep wine, wore her composure like another jewel; her hands folded neatly over her lap, her dark gaze assessing each new arrival without appearing to move. To Caelan’s right, Sirius lounged in a way only a crown prince could get away with, blue eyes bright with amusement above the severe cut of his navy coat. Lucius stood at Aysha’s left, straight-backed and immaculate, dark hair combed into place, expression mild. Only the occasional flick of his gaze toward the door betrayed any impatience.
The herald’s staff struck the marble once. "Presenting Grand Duke Trevor Fitzgeralt, Grand Duchess Lucas Fitzgeralt, and Lady Mia Black."
The murmur in the hall swelled, then hushed as the tall doors swung inward.
Lucas stepped through first at Trevor’s side, the light falling over the pale smoke of his coat and the muted gleam of his cufflinks. His shoulders were squared, his expression carved into calm, but under it his pulse thrummed with the weight of dozens of eyes. He moved as he had been drilled: measured stride, slight pause at the third step, head angled just enough to acknowledge the imperial dais without bowing like a supplicant. Trevor matched him perfectly, violet gaze fixed ahead, one hand at the small of Lucas’s back, anchoring without crowding.
Mia followed a half-step behind, rose-quartz gown moving like poured light around her legs, the soft pleats swaying with each stride. Her posture mirrored Lucas’s, chin lifted, pace matched, hand poised just at the curve of his arm as protocol had drilled her, but her eyes were alive, taking in the banners, the faces, and the ripple of whispers. For all her nerves, she looked the part of a lady-in-waiting born to the role.
They crossed the expanse of marble together, their reflection gliding beneath them in the polished floor, until they reached the edge of the dais. Another beat of silence, then Lucas inclined his head just enough, green eyes meeting Caelan’s across the space, recognition without deference, exactly as Serathine had told him. Trevor did the same a heartbeat later, his hand never leaving Lucas’s back. Mia dipped a low, flawless curtsy, her rose dress fanning out like a petal.
From his chair Caelan’s gaze flicked over all three of them, settling on Lucas last. Something unreadable passed through his expression, gone before the courtiers could place it. Aysha’s eyes warmed just slightly at the sight of Mia’s poise. Sirius’s mouth curved in a ghost of a grin, as though recognizing a performance well played. Lucius’s gaze lingered a moment longer on Mia before shuttering again behind his usual composure.
The herald’s voice rose again, announcing the start of the ceremony, but for a heartbeat it felt as though the hall itself were holding its breath, watching the three figures who had just walked in as if a new piece had been set on the board.