The last attendant stepped away with a murmured bow, leaving the room in a hush broken only by the faint rustle of fabric as Lucas adjusted the fall of his coat‑cape.
He caught sight of himself again in the mirror, caught the gleam of gold embroidery, the rich shadow of violet‑black pooling like twilight at his shoulder, and let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh.
"This is absurd," he murmured to no one in particular. "I look like I'm about to stage a coup, not a wedding."
The door opened without ceremony, a familiar presence spilling into the room like a shadow that fit too easily against his own.
Trevor.
