Lucas barely waited for the door to shut before shrugging off the jacket Serathine had approved with all the benevolence of a war general.
"Off," he muttered, stripping the fabric like it owed him money. "I want that burned."
Behind him, Trevor stepped inside more slowly, still in full gala attire. His tie was loosened, his cufflinks half-undone, and his expression annoyingly fond.
"That bad?"
Lucas took a while to answer. He was too busy kicking off his shoes with one foot while unbuttoning his shirt with the other hand. Somewhere in the background, the palace AI murmured a quiet greeting and offered to play something soothing. Lucas declined. Loudly.
"I made it five hours, Trevor. Five. Without saying anything wildly inappropriate or pushing a noble into the cake. I deserve sainthood."
"You did push one into a corner with Mia," Trevor pointed out.
"She asked for it. And Mia needed the entertainment."
