The salon chosen for the meeting was one of the quieter ones, elegant, narrow, too formal for casual gatherings, and too intimate for full diplomatic sessions. It was the kind of room where history lingered in the tapestries, and silence felt sharpened by legacy.
Lucas entered without knocking. Neither woman looked up at the sound of the door.
Serathine was by the window, a wine glass in hand, her red curls pinned into an artful sweep, emerald earrings catching the light like knives. Cressida sat near the hearth, draped in lilac silk and pearls that clinked as she reached for her tea, the curve of her mouth already edged with disappointment.
"You're late," Cressida said without looking at him.
"I'm exactly on time," Lucas replied, closing the door behind him. "You're early. Again."
Serathine took a sip, smiled into the glass, and finally turned. "At least you haven't run."
"Yet."
Cressida's eyes narrowed. "Don't tempt me, boy. I'm in a generous mood."
