The dining room was too bright.
Lucas squinted as he entered, blinking against the soft morning light spilling through tall windows, the crystal pitcher of juice on the table glowing like it had the nerve to be cheerful. Trevor, of course, looked entirely unbothered, hair tousled just so, shirt freshly buttoned and only marginally wrinkled. He slid into his usual chair like a man who had never known chaos in his life.
Lucas sat across from him with the weight of a man preparing for war.
Windstone poured coffee with reverent precision. "Cream is to your left, Your Grace. And a reminder that you asked for breakfast service at this hour."
"I was under duress," Lucas muttered. "There was a knot involved."
Trevor smirked over his mug, looking at Lucas like he had offended his entire bloodline. "You remember just one?"
Windstone, who had lived through too many wars, political and romantic, didn't blink.