It started with the kind of quiet that didn't belong in a palace.
After the dinner, after the smiles and the toasts and the polished words that tasted like poison, Lucien had expected his mind to stay sharp all night expected to lie awake replaying every glance, every pause, every "regency" said as if it were a harmless suggestion.
But Alexander held him.
Not tightly, not like a cage just firm enough to remind Lucien he was real, safe, and not alone.
Lucien drifted into sleep with his face tucked into Alexander's neck, the warmth of his skin under Lucien's lips and the steady rise and fall of his breathing easing the last of the anger out of Lucien's chest.
And then morning came, dragging the palace back to life.
Lucien woke to pale light spilling over the bed and the faint sounds of the corridor beyond their door soft footfalls, hushed voices, the steady rhythm of servants moving through routine.
