Chapter 323: Chapter 323: Rehearsal
Two weeks later the manor no longer felt like a house; it felt like a staging ground. Garment bags hung from doorframes. Stylists and caterers came and went in soft-soled shoes, murmuring into phones. Every time Lucas passed through a hall someone pressed a clipboard into his hand, or a schedule, or another list of names to approve. The scent of polish and espresso had been replaced by starch, perfume, and nerves.
In the middle of it all, the binder sat exactly where he’d left it: on the nightstand beside his bed, a pale block of paper with a crease in its cover where his thumb had run weeks ago. The dustless square beneath it was the only sign anyone still lived in the room. He hadn’t touched it since the bath. Each night he returned late, too wired or too exhausted to read, telling himself tomorrow as he dropped into bed. Tomorrow never came.
Now, in the rehearsal hall at the palace, Lucas stood on a taped line while a protocol officer droned through the order of names. His coat had been stripped off hours ago; his sleeves were rolled above his elbows, and a microphone was pinned to his collar. Staff moved around him like a tide, pinning last-minute notes to clipboards, murmuring timing cues. The sound of it rose and fell like surf, rehearsed bows, scripted handshakes, and placement for photographers. Every detail had been planned down to the second, yet there was still a jitter in the air, an undercurrent of panic.
Now, in the rehearsal hall at the palace, Lucas stood on a taped line with Mia at his right shoulder while a protocol officer droned through the order of names. Both of them had been stripped of their coats; Lucas’s sleeves were rolled above his elbows and a microphone was pinned to his collar, while Mia was already in soft grey and pearl, her hair pinned in a sleek twist. She clutched a small tablet in one hand but kept her posture straight, rehearsed, and formal.
"Again," the officer barked, clapping once for emphasis. "Entrance from the east doors, pause on the third step, Lady Mia to mirror his pace, smile on the incline, eyes front. If you’re out of step, it throws the whole line."
Lucas and Mia exchanged a glance. "Like we’re walking into battle," she muttered under her breath.
"Like choreography," Lucas returned, his mouth twitching faintly. "Pretend it’s a stage."
They started forward together, Mia half a step behind him, their movements a mirrored glide toward the center of the hall. The officer walked backwards ahead of them, gesturing sharply. "Stop. Turn. Good. Lady Mia, your hand at the elbow; not a clutch, a guide. Grand Duke’s consort will be on your other side; you’re balancing the frame. Again."
Mia adjusted her fingers against Lucas’s sleeve, her voice a dry whisper. "Do I look like I’ve been guiding nobles for years?"
"You look like you’re threatening to throttle them," Lucas murmured back, but his green eyes softened a little as he said it.
Serathine’s voice cut through the space like velvet over steel. "Enough. They’ll both look like wax figures if you keep at it." She glided across the hall in deep green silk, Cressida following with her serene pearls and amused eyes. "This is theater, not war. They already know their marks."
Cressida tilted her head, eyes sweeping the two young people on the taped line. "They’re better than half the actual nobility already," she murmured. "And far more dangerous."
Mia straightened, smoothing an imaginary crease in her skirt. "Good," she said softly. "Let them underestimate me."
The protocol officer opened his mouth for another correction, but a deeper voice from the doorway interrupted. "That’s enough for today."
Lucas glanced up to see Sirius leaning in the doorframe, blue eyes bright with mischief above his perfectly cut navy coat. Beside him, Lucius stood straighter, dark hair neatly combed back, hands clasped behind his back in a pose of polite patience. They looked like they’d just stepped out of a portrait, the two princes a matched pair of charm and calculation.
"Brother," Sirius drawled, pushing off the doorframe. "If they drill you any more, you’ll start reciting the seating chart in your sleep. Come take a break before you start hating tomorrow." His smile flicked toward Mia, warm enough to be disarming. "You too, Lady Mia. Protocol officers don’t deserve all the fun."
Lucas exhaled, rolling his shoulders once. "Finally. Someone sensible."
Lucius’s gaze slid briefly to Mia and then away, the glance so quick it might have been nothing to anyone who wasn’t watching. "It’s nearly dusk," he said mildly, stepping forward. "You should eat. We’ll walk you to the lounge." His tone stayed even and courtly, but his eyes flicked back to Mia for half a heartbeat, a spark of curiosity quickly shuttered.
Mia’s stylus hovered over her tablet for a moment before she tucked it away and smoothed her skirt again. "I... suppose a break won’t kill us," she said lightly, glancing between the brothers. "I might even get my hands to stop shaking."
"Good," Sirius said, offering her his arm with a grin. "Come before the kitchen staff hides the last of the pastries."
Lucas chuckled, stepping off the taped line. "I was starting to think I’d forgotten what food tastes like."
The four of them left the echoing rehearsal hall together, their footsteps soft on the marble corridor. Staff melted out of their way with murmured bows. Through the high windows the sky had already gone from pale gold to lavender; the palace’s evening lights glowed against the gathering dusk. For a moment, without the clipped orders of the protocol officer, it almost felt like walking out of a performance into ordinary life.
They were ushered by a footman into one of the smaller state lounges, a sitting room lined with tall windows and pale velvet chairs, a fire already kindled in the grate. The scent of tea and warm pastries drifted from a low table set discreetly in the corner, a servant bowing once before retreating and leaving them alone.
Mia let out a sigh she’d been holding since the last run-through and dropped into one of the velvet chairs opposite the fire. She kicked off her heels under the table, flexing her toes once. "I could get used to this," she said, a breathless little laugh breaking through. "The tea, the view, the chairs... just not the part where everyone’s yelling at me about angles."
Lucas sank into the chair beside her, loosening his rolled sleeves. "You’re not the only one," he murmured. "I’d forgotten what it’s like to stand still without someone pinning a microphone on me."
Sirius poured tea from the waiting pot with the easy familiarity of someone who had grown up in these rooms. "That’s the trick of it," he said, handing a cup to Mia with a grin. "If you can survive rehearsal, the ceremony feels like a holiday."
Lucius took the chair nearest Mia, long fingers folding neatly over his knee. "It won’t always be this chaotic," he said mildly, his gaze flicking toward her for a fraction of a second before settling on his cup. "Once the presentation is over, everything slows."
Mia curled her fingers around the teacup, the warmth seeping into her hands. "Slow sounds good," she said, not quite meeting Lucius’s eyes but feeling the weight of his brief glance. "But I suppose I’ll have to survive tomorrow first."