Lucian had already slipped into his chambers, shutting out the endless chatter of the palace halls. The heavy door clicked behind him, sealing him away from the noise of duty, politics, and the suffocating stares of nobles.
He exhaled, letting the silence wash over him. At last—his own space.
He dropped into the nearest chair, stretching out like a man who had earned a throne instead of a desk. His fingers tapped against the polished wood, slow and unhurried.
One servant lingered at the door, uncertain.
Lucian tilted his head lazily, robes falling just enough to expose the sharp line of his collarbone.
"Don't just stand there like a decorative statue. Go fetch Erin. Tell him to bring me something to eat. Breakfast… or lunch. At this hour, I hardly care which it's called. Tell him to hurry."
The servant bowed, nearly tripping in his rush to obey.
Lucian smirked faintly. Even here, a whisper from his lips carried weight. Power, after all, was not always shouted.
