Now, the room was hushed. Lucian hummed as he undid the ties of his linen undershirt, tugging the fabric from his chest and shoulders until his pale skin gleamed against the dim candlelight. Old scars lined his body, faint and forgotten, but they only made the image sharper. He stretched like a cat in his own den, loose and languid, as though he hadn't just humiliated a prince before half the hunting party.
The footsteps came closer. Hard. Fast.
Lucian's lips curved, but he didn't turn. He moved to the wardrobe, fingers brushing lazily through silks as if selecting his outfit for dinner were more urgent than the storm outside his door.
The storm broke.
The door slammed open with a crack that rattled the hinges.
"Your Highness, wait—Master Lucian is—"
