CHAPTER 243: CHAPTER 243: PLAYING NICE (2)

"Fine," Trevor said, the words smooth as if he were agreeing to something utterly harmless. "I’ll play nice."

Lucas’s fork paused over his plate just long enough for Trevor to notice. "Define nice."

Trevor’s mouth curved, slow and deliberate. "Mia goes if she wants to go. No pressure, no implication that House Fitzgeralt expects her to smile through anything she doesn’t like." His tone was steady, almost casual. "She’ll walk in and walk out the same way she arrived, untouched by anyone’s agenda but her own."

Lucas hummed, not quite satisfied yet. "And if she doesn’t want to go?"

"Then she doesn’t go," Trevor said easily, leaning back in his chair. "And if Dax calls again, I’ll tell him the truth."

Windstone, who had been listening from a respectful distance, glanced up sharply. "Which truth, my lord?"

Trevor’s smile deepened, the kind that usually preceded property damage. "That his dinner plans are beneath his station, and if he wants to keep the company of attendants, he can hire them like everyone else."

Lucas hid a flicker of amusement in his wine glass. "That’s your definition of playing nice?"

"I didn’t say I’d like it," Trevor replied, lifting his glass in a mock toast, "just that I’d do it."

Windstone made a sound suspiciously close to a quiet prayer for patience and turned to signal one of the footmen. "I’ll have Mia informed of the request and assure her she’s free to decline."

"Good," Lucas said, returning to his meal with the calm satisfaction of a man who had just prevented at least one diplomatic disaster.

Trevor watched him for a long moment, the faintest smirk still tugging at his mouth. "You know, you ruin half my fun."

Lucas didn’t look up. "Now I understand why you and Dax are friends... no... not friends." He looked thoughtful.

"But?" Trevor prompted, amusement warming his tone.

"More like scorned exes."

That earned a quiet laugh, low and deliberate, as Trevor leaned back in his chair. "Ah... the tabloids would be thrilled to hear you say that. They’ve been recycling those photographs for years."

Lucas arched a brow, finally glancing up at him. "Photographs?"

Trevor’s smirk sharpened. "You’ve seen them. Those grainy shots of us at the northern summit, or that dinner in Baye. According to half the Capital’s gossip rags, we were either plotting a coup or trying to decide who would wear the wedding veil."

"I thought the veil was yours," Lucas murmured, dry as old wine.

Windstone made a strangled sound from somewhere near the sideboard, valiantly pretending not to hear.

Trevor’s gaze lingered on Lucas, a flicker of mock injury passing through his eyes. "You’re cruel, Lucas."

"Cruel?" Lucas’s tone softened just enough to be dangerous. "I’m simply taking the rumors you’ve allowed to thrive and giving them the dignity of accuracy."

Trevor tilted his glass toward him. "Careful. Keep talking like that and I might let Dax hear you."

"I’m counting on it," Lucas said, returning to his plate as if the conversation were finished, though the faint curve at the corner of his mouth made it clear it wasn’t. "I still haven’t forgotten his remark about the collar."

Trevor groaned, tipping his head back. "I pity Christopher... Dax is different with his omegas." His gaze slid toward Windstone, the shift in tone so subtle it was almost polite. "Windstone, inform the girl, don’t frighten her, and tell Dax that if even a hair is out of place, I’ll take the north border security dispatch back myself."

Windstone inclined his head, though the slight pause before he turned made it clear he had already begun rehearsing the most diplomatic way to deliver that particular threat.

—

Windstone found Mia in one of the smaller offices near the west wing, her hair pulled back neatly, fingers flying over the keys of a temperamental old terminal. She looked up at the sound of the door, surprise flickering in her eyes before she pushed back her chair.

"Sir?" She asked, surprised to see Windstone there. He was one of those that gave orders, rarely executing them himself, and that only when it was an emergency or direct order from Trevor. "Did my brother do something... again?"

Windstone’s mouth twitched, though whether it was amusement or resignation was difficult to tell. "Not this time. Lord Fitzgeralt has a request for you, though it is entirely optional."

That earned him a quick grin, the kind that made her look even younger than twenty-one. "Optional? That’s never good. Go on."

"There is a dinner engagement. His Majesty King Dax will be in attendance." Windstone kept his voice steady, his words measured. "You were requested to serve as part of the Fitzgeralt party. You will be treated with courtesy, and if you decline, the matter ends here. There will be no consequences."

Mia tilted her head, curiosity sparking in her expression. "This is one of those special event things, isn’t it? Like the wedding?"

"Similar," Windstone agreed. "Though you will not be serving as waitstaff. More... a representative of the household."

She brightened at that, an easy grin lighting her face until... a flicker of memory caught up. "Fuck." The word slipped out before she could catch it. "I’m sorry, Mr. Windstone."

"That’s an appropriate response," he said evenly.

Mia leaned back in her chair, biting her lower lip. "My brother wrote me a message about being with His Majesty the King... I thought it was for work. Please tell me it’s not what I’m thinking."

Windstone’s pause was brief but telling. "That depends entirely on what you’re thinking."

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion warring with curiosity. "You’re telling me His Majesty actually..."

"Yes," Windstone interrupted gently, his tone as calm as if he were discussing the weather. "His Majesty recognized Lord Christopher as a dominant omega. And yes... he is now under His Majesty’s protection."

Mia stared at him, then let out a slow, disbelieving whistle. "Well, that explains the messages. The extra guards, you calling Chris Lord. And why my brother sounded like he was trying not to say something in every sentence." She shook her head, half amused, half concerned. "Should I be terrified for him or for the rest of the world?"

"Both," Windstone said without hesitation. "Now... do you accept the invitation?"

Her grin returned, wicked this time. "Absolutely. If I’m going to a dinner like this, I want a front-row seat."