Chapter 25: That’s My Heir

Chapter 25: Chapter 25: That’s My Heir The afternoon air in the west wing was scented with pressed linens, tea steam, and open windows. Seamstresses whispered in corners, cloth rustled like breath, and pins flickered silver in the hands of masters. Lucas stood in front of the full-length mirror. He wore ivory again—but not like before. This time, it was deliberate. Tailored perfectly to his frame, the jacket lay crisp along his shoulders, structured without being stiff. The collar was high, military-inspired but cut in a modern line. Black satin cuffs peeked out from beneath the sleeves. His trousers were tapered and sharp, the shoes mirror-polished. A chain of onyx and gold sat at his throat, subtle but unmistakably imperial in design. He hadn’t spoken much during the process. He hadn’t needed to. The room moved around him like clockwork. Serathine had summoned the best and given them a single command: Let him be seen. A soft knock came at the far door. Lucas turned slightly, and Serathine’s expression shifted. Not surprised—but unreadable. Then she nodded once. "Let him in." Lucius entered the room with the confidence of a man born with a golden spoon. The second prince of the Empire wore a fitted black jacket, lapel chain glinting with his house crest. His silver cufflinks flashed once in the sunlight, and his presence—tall, composed, and unflinching—filled the room like a storm no one dared name. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t pause to admire the tailoring, the gleam of wealth, or the curated silence of power humming in the background. His eyes found Lucas instantly. And for a brief second—just long enough for anyone watching closely—something flickered behind the polished mask. Recognition. Anger. Protectiveness. Then it was gone. "Lucas," he said, voice level. Lucas turned slightly, not quite facing him, not quite looking away. "Prince Lucius," he replied evenly. Then added, "Should I call you brother now?" Lucius’s mouth twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. "Hmm... depends," he said. Lucas arched a brow. "On what?" "On whether you plan to stab me, embarrass me, or ask me to carry your wine at the Gala." Lucas smirked, faint but real. "Why not all three?" Lucius gave a low exhale, almost a laugh. "Then you’re definitely my brother." That broke the tension—not entirely, but enough. They stood in that narrow peace for a breath longer than either of them was used to. And for once, Lucas didn’t feel like a guest in his own bloodline. Serathine, from her seat across the room, looked up over the rim of her glass and murmured, "Charming. Now that the brotherly banter has been established, perhaps we can focus on the part where Lucas is about to walk into a ballroom filled with half the Empire and a quarter of the people who would try to seduce him." Lucas didn’t even blink. Lucius did. Sharply. His expression twisted into something halfway between affront and disbelief. "I’m sorry—what?" Serathine set her glass down, utterly unbothered. "I said seduce, Lucius. The word isn’t banned in the Capital, despite what your etiquette tutors taught you." Lucas tilted his head. "She’s not wrong." "You—" Lucius began, then stopped. He glanced at Lucas’s cuffs, the line of the jacket, the way he stood now—straight-backed and quiet, but unmistakably visible. "You’re serious." Lucas smirked. "I’m dressed to be stared at. What did you think was going to happen?" Lucius looked at Serathine like this had become her problem again. "And you’re fine with this?" She waved a hand airily. "Darling, I designed this." Lucas stepped back toward the mirror, smoothing the sleeve Lucius had pinned. "If they’re going to whisper," Lucas said, gaze still on the mirror, "I’d rather give them something real to talk about." Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing like a man already at war. "He is barely eighteen, for god’s sake." Serathine didn’t even blink. "Yes, and the Empire didn’t wait for him to grow up before trying to sell him. Let him dress like power—he is power." Lucas turned then, facing them both with a calm that felt practiced but genuine. "I’m not naïve," he said, voice soft. "They’ll leer. They’ll gossip. But this time, I’m not being led anywhere. I’m choosing to walk into that room." Lucius’s jaw tightened. "And if someone tries something—" "I’ll handle it," Lucas cut in, steady. "And if I can’t, I assume one of you will stab them." Serathine raised her glass. "My knife’s already laced." Lucius muttered something again, this time about being surrounded by lunatics and nobles with zero impulse control. But he looked at Lucas differently now. Not as a delicate, breakable thing, but as someone who had already walked through fire and now dressed in white to prove he hadn’t burned. "Just," Lucius said, exasperated, "try not to flirt with any foreign diplomats tonight." Lucas smiled—wicked and bright. "I wasn’t planning to flirt with anybody," he said, smoothing the line of his collar. "Trevor will be at the Gala too... but now you’ve given me ideas." Lucius stared at him like he was trying to will sense into his bloodstream. "You do not toy with Trevor Fitzgeralt." Serathine looked delighted. "Why not? He’s tall, dangerous, emotionally restrained—the perfect Gala accessory." Lucas raised an eyebrow. "And he’s on contract, isn’t he? That makes him mine for the evening." Lucius turned slightly, half in disbelief, half in horror. "Sera," he said slowly, "what exactly did you blackmail the man with to get him into all of this?" Serathine sipped her tea like it was an ancient wine and gave him a look that managed to be both coy and smug. "Oh, I didn’t blackmail him," she said smoothly. "That would imply he had a choice." Lucius narrowed his eyes. "Serathine." She smiled, catlike. "I gave him three options: play escort to my heir, get dragged into a diplomatic scandal involving the North’s trade charter, or owe me a favor with no clear expiration date." Lucas blinked. "You threatened his entire foreign policy?" "He was being stubborn," she said, shrugging. "And more importantly, he likes you." Lucas opened his mouth to object, then paused. "Wait—he what?" Serathine’s smile widened. "Why do you think he agreed to the dinner before the Gala, darling? Trevor Fitzgeralt doesn’t waste his time. He only loans it to things that matter." Lucius looked like he was about to faint. "He’s going to kill us all." Lucas turned back to the mirror, lips curving in a slow, dangerous grin. "I should wear more white," he said. "It makes the chaos harder to see coming." Serathine toasted him with her tea. "That’s my heir."