Lucas had showered, but only because Trevor bribed him with fresh linen and threats of cold breakfast. His hair was still damp at the ends, brushing against the collar of the dark green lounge shirt he'd pulled on with little effort, half-buttoned, wrinkled, and soft from wear. The matching pants hung loose at the hips, and he walked barefoot, eyes half-closed, cradling a mug of tea as if it held the universe's secrets.
The doctor was already waiting in the sitting room, standing beside one of the large armchairs, her coat neatly draped over the back and her sleeves rolled up to her forearms. She didn't bother with bows or pleasantries.
"Grand Duchess," she said mildly, glancing up from the datapad. "You're late."
Lucas blinked slowly, like the words had to pass through three layers of fog before reaching his brain. "Good morning to you too."
