The council chamber buzzed with murmurs. Nobles sat stiffly in their seats, expressions carved from marble. Papers shuffled. Someone coughed dramatically in the corner—twice—clearly hoping for attention.
Lucien sat gracefully.
Well… as gracefully as someone internally panicking, bloated, and fighting the ghost of a craving for candied grapes could manage.
He blinked around the room like a tourist who'd somehow wandered into a holy temple of bureaucracy.
His thoughts?
Not on the crisis. Not on a human growing inside him. Certainly not on whatever political nightmare this meeting was about.
No, his mind was spiraling in bold italics and all caps.
'Where did I see that long, silver-haired, handsome man before? Was he mentioned in the novel?'
His eyes flicked to Grand Duke Silas—currently deep in conversation with the vice-captain, Elize. The man stood like a painting come to life. Too perfect. Too poised. Too much of a walking emotional tax audit.
Lucien squinted.
