The corridor beyond their suite felt charged, lined with attendants who moved aside instinctively as Trevor and Lucas passed. Their footsteps echoed softly against the marble floor, the muted hum of preparations rising like a distant tide. The scent of polished wood and fresh-cut flowers mingled in the air, a quiet reminder that the manor itself was dressed for spectacle.
Lucas's fingers rested lightly in the crook of Trevor's arm, but his green eyes stayed fixed ahead, thoughtful, unreadable. Every few steps, Trevor would glance down, taking in the way the light caught on the gold filigree at Lucas's collar, how the violet-black sweep of his coat shifted with each stride like liquid shadow.
