Lucas didn't get a moment to respond before a familiar shadow loomed too close to ignore.
"Your Grace," purred a voice soaked in old money and political desperation. "May I say how pleased we are to see you in such... radiant form."
The man smiling down at him was Count Elison Moor, the type who shook hands like contracts and wore his titles heavier than his conscience. He bowed with a flourish entirely too theatrical for a brunch table.
Lucas gave him a polite nod, just this side of cold. "Count Moor."
"Your reputation precedes you," Moor continued, eyes gleaming. "In fact, I believe it's been preceding you through half the court since the engagement was announced. Everyone is quite curious about the final ceremony. And the absence of clergy… well, it's inspired some rather interesting speculation."
He didn't pause long enough for a response, just forged ahead, smile too slick, too certain.
