Trevor chuckled, the sound low and thoroughly self-satisfied. "Yes."
"Absolutely not," Lucas said from under the pillow, voice muffled but resolute. "We just survived a wedding, three family dinners, and a palace visit where people whispered about me being his son. I am not walking into another ceremony so half the capital can decide whether to bow, curtsy, or start building conspiracy boards."
Trevor tugged the pillow down just enough to see his face, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Technically, they already are. At least this time we can give them something official to gossip about."
"Official?" Lucas groaned, glaring at him. "You mean adding Marquis of Fitzgeralt to your already absurd list of titles? Grand Duke wasn't enough?"
Trevor leaned lazily against the headboard, unbothered and infuriatingly smug. "Apparently not. Cressida decided the empire needed a reminder that I can still ruin dinner parties and chair economic councils in the same week."
