The laughter was still echoing when the door opened again.
Trevor stepped inside without announcement, the low hum of conversation faltered, the sound of fire softened, and even the light seemed to lean his way.
The crisp white of his shirt gleamed against the deep charcoal of his vest, sleeves rolled once, revealing the faint glint of gold cufflinks shaped like the Fitzgeralt crest. His hair was slightly disheveled, the only betrayal of how long the meeting must have run.
And yet, the first thing he saw was not the gathered nobles, not the prince at the armchair, nor Benjamin dramatically clutching a napkin to his chest… no. It was Lucas.
Lucas, with that soft sweater and the tired, fond smile, surrounded by chaos and affection that didn't include him.
Something in Trevor's chest tightened, irrational and familiar.
