Chapter 232: Chapter 232: The hidden side of him
Trevor leaned back in the chair that still smelled faintly of salt and old wood, brought over from the coastal estate not out of need but memory. They’d only returned a few hours ago, and the main mansion felt both too large and too expectant, like a theater resetting its stage after the final curtain.
Lucas was just a room away. His office door stood slightly ajar, enough for the sounds to carry, pages turning, a pen tapping glass, and the crisp slide of envelopes being opened and sorted by hand. Trevor didn’t need to hover anymore. If Lucas wanted him, he’d call. If Lucas were in trouble, Trevor would already know.
He exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing over the folder on his desk. The cover was still warm from the sun that had slanted through the tall windows earlier, its edges softened by use. Inside, nothing new. Just a confirmation of what was already done.
Jason Luna had died at the coastal estate, quiet, efficient, with the kind of finality that left no trace. Trevor hadn’t drawn it out. He wasn’t Dax.
His phone, resting beside the closed folder, still glowed faintly from the recent call. Serathine. Her voice lingered like a well-aged perfume.
Trevor had known her for years. Long before Lucas. Long before this mess had unfolded into courtrooms and assassins and blood-slicked titles. Their relationship was one of careful understanding, built on shared contempt for inefficiency and for excuses. He didn’t ask questions she wouldn’t answer, and she didn’t insult him by pretending not to know who he was. It worked.
He had long suspected she chose him for Lucas before Lucas had even known. That night nearly a year ago, at the coming-of-age gala... she hadn’t asked. She’d suggested. She’d placed Lucas near him and stepped back, like someone setting the first move of a game already mapped five turns ahead. Not Dax. Not some silver-tongued heir from a minor house. She had chosen Trevor.
And Trevor never forgot a favor that large.
He reached for the cup Daniel had brought, new tea, faintly spiced, still hot enough to catch in the throat if he drank too fast.
"She’s releasing the girl," he murmured aloud, mostly to himself.
The sound of a chair moving from the room beyond drifted through the wall. Lucas, probably shifting to sort through the last stack of letters. He’d been buried in postponements since they returned, but he didn’t complain. He didn’t sigh. He just worked.
Trevor let himself smile faintly.
Serathine had done what was necessary. Ophelia was being allowed to run to Odin, or whoever else she thought would hand her back the spotlight. But it wouldn’t matter.
"She won’t see the glass," Serathine had said.
And she wouldn’t. Not until it shattered around her.
Trevor stood slowly, collecting the folder and his phone in one motion. The sun was sinking lower now, casting long amber strokes across the floor. He glanced once toward the door to Lucas’s study, where the faint rustle of pages continued.
He walked past the door and down the hall, his steps quiet over the pale stone until he reached the corner where Windstone waited, as he always did, with the kind of unshakeable posture only decades of disciplined service and mild exasperation could build.
"For Her Grace," Trevor said simply, holding out the folder.
Windstone took it without question, but not without expression. His pale green eyes flicked to the label, no real title, just a date, and then back to Trevor’s face. "And how much mess am I expected to file this one under?"
Trevor smiled faintly. "None. That mess was handled yesterday."
"I see." Windstone’s lips twitched. "Then congratulations on your efficiency, Your Grace."
Trevor was already turning. "If anyone calls, I’m unavailable."
"To the court?"
"To the world."
Windstone chuckled and turned to deal with the task at hand.
Trevor made his way back to the study, where the door still stood half-open in invitation. Lucas was seated with his back partially to him, sunlight gilding the edge of his profile, catching the arch of his brow and the soft sweep of his hair where it curled just slightly behind his ear. He looked... too far away.
Trevor crossed the threshold and let the door close behind him with a quiet thud.
Lucas didn’t look up. He was sorting correspondence into clean stacks: personal, political, irrelevant, and making notes in that sharp, slanted handwriting of his, the one only Trevor could read when Lucas was half-asleep or annoyed. A little crown-shaped doodle marked the margin of one page. He did that sometimes when he was thinking.
"You’ve been in here too long," Trevor said finally, his voice softer than it needed to be.
Lucas reached for another envelope. "I’ve been gone for two weeks."
"And now you’re making up for it in one sitting?" Trevor rounded the desk without waiting for an answer and leaned against the edge, folding his arms. "That’s not very efficient."
"I’m working," Lucas muttered, not looking up. "Which is more than I can say for you."
Trevor hummed. "I already finished killing people before dinner. It was a light day."
Lucas paused. Just for a second. Then finally looked up, one brow raised in fake disdain. "And now you’re here to bother me?"
"No." Trevor leaned in, reaching without hesitation to tug the pen out of Lucas’s hand and drop it on the desk. "I’m here to love you."
Lucas’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes softened.
Trevor reached out again, his palm settling warm and firm against the side of Lucas’s neck, thumb brushing just under his jaw. His pulse was steady. ’Mine.’
More than a mate. Lucas was his tether to something real in a world that demanded too much blood to stay clean. Lucas was the only reason Trevor still knew how to be gentle and still wanted to be. Lucas deserved nothing less than every ruined part of him folded into something careful.
"You’re not leaving this room for anything else today," Trevor said, already leaning in, mouth brushing the corner of Lucas’s lips. "And I’m not leaving your side."
Lucas sighed long, theatrical, and entirely fake, and leaned back in his chair, tilting his head so Trevor could press a kiss to his temple.
"Fine," he said. "But you’re making tea."
Trevor smirked. "Deal. And then I’m dragging you onto the sofa until you forget what mail even is."
"Bribery."
"Love."
And this time, when Lucas smiled, it was real.