The days passed without incident, deceptively peaceful.
Snow had settled deep over the Fitzgeralt estate, blanketing the terraces and driveways until even the usual hum of the city below seemed distant. The manor ran quieter now, the press of guests and politics replaced by the faint rhythm of Windstone's morning rounds, the occasional call from Serathine, and Trevor's habitual silence over black coffee.
After the formal announcement of Lucas's pregnancy, their public appearances had been reduced to almost none. Trevor's office handled most affairs remotely, and the press, though restless, respected the palace-issued statement that "the Duke and Grand Duchess were focusing on their health and private affairs for the winter."
Privately, it meant the two of them could breathe.
