Chapter 404: Chapter 404

Trevor’s mouth curved faintly, that slow, deliberate smile that always meant ’I’ve already cleared it.’

"I rescheduled it," he said simply. "There’s nothing tonight more important than this."

Lucas huffed, part amusement, part disbelief. "You rescheduled a council meeting, didn’t you?"

"Two," Trevor admitted, unrepentant. "And possibly offended a minister in the process. Worth it."

Lucas leaned a hip against the desk, arms folded, trying not to smile and failing just enough for Trevor to notice. "You realize how that sounds, don’t you? The man that never retreats is now canceling a full evening of work to... experiment with my biology?"

Trevor’s eyes warmed, though the line of his mouth stayed serious. "When you put it like that, it sounds romantic."

"Romantic?" Lucas repeated, incredulous. "You need better definitions."

Trevor took a step closer, his voice softer now. "I don’t need definitions. I just need you to try."

That made Lucas falter. His hands stilled where they’d been fussing with the edge of his sleeve. "Try what, exactly?"

"Anything," Trevor said. "A pulse, a flare... whatever it is you’ve been keeping locked away. We don’t need to unleash it; we just need to feel it. Enough to know it’s real."

Lucas studied him in silence for a moment. Trevor’s face was calm, but there was something unguarded in his expression, as if this was about trust rather than control or curiosity.

"You really want me to do this," Lucas said finally. Chapters fırst released on novᴇlfire.net

"I do," Trevor replied, steady as always. "Because the longer you don’t, the longer Benedict has an advantage. He knows what you are, even if you don’t. I can’t protect you from something you won’t show me."

Lucas looked down, thumb tracing the seam of his cuff, then back up, his tone quieter but edged with dry humor. "And what happens if I knock you unconscious?"

Trevor’s mouth twitched, the faintest trace of amusement breaking through. "Then Windstone will drag me out and I’ll call it a productive evening."

Lucas sighed, but his posture eased a little, his irritation melting into something closer to resignation. "And how are we going to do this? I’m not really in the mood to flare anything."

Windstone, who had been standing discreetly near the door the entire time, finally cleared his throat with the kind of soft precision that suggested he’d been waiting for the right moment to interrupt.

"If I may, my lords," he began, tone perfectly composed but carrying that edge of practical authority that came from decades of managing the impossible, "perhaps the study is not the best location for... experimentation."

Lucas shot him a flat look. "Are you suggesting I’m going to blow something up?"

Windstone didn’t blink. "Not intentionally, Your Grace. But the study’s ventilation system connects directly to the manor’s east wing. If your pheromones were to react unexpectedly, I would rather avoid incapacitating the entire household."

Trevor hid a smile behind his hand. "He has a point."

Lucas sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You’re both assuming something’s going to happen."

"We’re preparing in case it does," Windstone replied smoothly, as if discussing dinner service. "The private suite, on the other hand, is isolated and already equipped with an independent air filter. It’s the logical choice."

Lucas gave him a dry look. "You’ve thought this through disturbingly fast."

"I adapt quickly, Your Grace," Windstone said without missing a beat.

Trevor stepped forward, slipping his hands into his pockets, his tone light but his eyes serious. "He’s right. The suite’s safer and more private."

Lucas raised a brow. "Private enough for you to take notes?"

Trevor’s mouth curved faintly. "Tempting, but no. Just the three of us, no staff or sensors."

"Except the ones Windstone inevitably carries in his jacket," Lucas muttered.

Windstone inclined his head, unbothered. "I would never," he said, which, coming from him, was an outright confession.

Lucas exhaled, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "Fine. But if something goes wrong, I’m blaming both of you."

Trevor’s purple eyes gleamed with quiet amusement. "That’s fair. Shall we?"

Windstone moved to open the door, gesturing toward the corridor with his usual grace. "After you, my lords. I’ve already adjusted the temperature and disabled the automatic lock. Just in case."

Lucas gave him a suspicious glance as they stepped into the hall. "How long have you been preparing for this?"

"Since the moment the Marquis said the word ’experiment," Windstone replied. "Experience has taught me to anticipate chaos."

Trevor glanced over at Lucas, his voice soft enough that only he would hear. "He’s not wrong."

Lucas gave him a sidelong look that was equal parts exasperation and fondness. "You really think this is going to work?"

"I think," Trevor said quietly, "we’re about to find out."

The corridor lights dimmed as the trio moved toward the far end of the west wing. The private suite waited at the end, a sanctuary layered with security seals and privacy fields, quiet enough that even the sound of their footsteps seemed to fade.

Lucas paused at the threshold, glancing over his shoulder at the two men behind him. "Last chance to back out," he said, his voice deceptively calm.

Trevor met his gaze steadily. "I wouldn’t dream of it."

Windstone merely adjusted his gloves. "I’ve survived worse."

Lucas sighed once more and stepped inside.

Rain lashed against the tall windows, a dull, relentless percussion that blurred the world beyond into streaks of grey and silver. The storm had rolled in fast, wind heavy with the scent of muddy soil and wet stone.

Inside, the sitting room was its opposite: quiet, warm, and golden. The fire burned steady in the marble hearth, painting the room in soft, amber light that caught the glass decanters on the sideboard and turned the air to honey.

Lucas sat curled at one end of the couch, his legs drawn slightly beneath him, an untouched cup of tea cooling on the low table in front of him. The faint flicker of the flames reflected in his eyes, turning green to molten gold whenever he blinked. His hands rested loosely in his lap.

Trevor had changed into something softer than usual: dark trousers, an open shirt, and the top button undone. He stood by the window, watching the storm as if it might have something useful to say. His reflection shimmered faintly in the glass, tall and far too composed for someone who had just rescheduled two council sessions to sit in silence beside a fire.

Windstone, ever the perfect shadow, had settled into one of the armchairs by the hearth with a datapad resting on his knee, though it was obvious he wasn’t reading. His posture was casual in theory but carried the tension of a man who could, at any given second, stop a small disaster with a teaspoon.

"You look like someone preparing to face an execution," Trevor said finally, his voice low, his gaze still on the rain.

Lucas didn’t answer at once. He was staring into the fire, its rhythm steady and hypnotic. "Maybe I am," he murmured. "Except this time, I’m the executioner too."