Five years later, in the Fitzgeralt Manor

Lucas was trying not to swear.

Which would have been easier if he weren't buried under three years of accumulated noble responsibility, two contradictory reports about western trade corridor sabotage, and a very loud, very unsupervised five-year-old pretending the state seals were dragon scales.

"Sebastian," Lucas said slowly, "that is an official dispatch from the Imperial Court."

"I know," Sebastian replied, gleefully from the rug. "It's shiny. I made it a cape."

Lucas inhaled through his nose. Counted to three. Counted again because Trevor wasn't helping.

In fact, Trevor, Grand Duke of Fitzgeralt, Marquis of Fitzgeralt economic predator of half the continent, and alleged adult, was lounging on the sofa like this was a casual spring afternoon and not a diplomatic war waiting to happen, casually flicking a paper bird into the air every time Sebastian demanded "another one."

"Trevor."

"Mm?"

Lucas didn't look up from his desk. "Why is our son using a royal decree as part of his costume?"

"He said it made him feel powerful."

"I'm starting to reconsider the idea of having another child. Two are enough."

"Two?"

"Yes, you and Sebastian."

Trevor grinned, utterly unrepentant. "But I'm the charming one."

"You're the reason I'm going gray," Lucas muttered.

"You're twenty-five."

"Exactly."

Trevor stretched, utterly serene, as another bird zipped past his ear. "You're doing amazing, by the way. Very commanding. Very 'future Duke of D'Argente who handles foreign sabotage before lunch.'"

"I'm not the future Duke," Lucas said through clenched teeth. "I'm the heir. That's different. Serathine is still alive, terrifying, and better at court murder than both of us combined."

"And yet," Trevor said, resting his chin on his hand, "you're the one they send their messes to now."

Lucas picked up the second report and narrowed his eyes. "That's because if they send them to Serathine, she replies with blood and expense reports."

Trevor looked delighted. "Like mother, like son."

Lucas gave him a warning look.

Sebastian, now crawling under the desk with the decree fluttering behind him like a banner, chirped, "Papa says you're the real boss."

Lucas froze. "Did he?"

Sebastian nodded, proud. "He said you even scare the scary people. Like Grandma Serathine. And the Emperor."

Trevor's paper bird swerved to the left and crashed into a vase.

Lucas sighed.

"Trevor."

"Yes, love?"

"You are going to explain the vase to Windstone…"

Too late.

The door opened with the silent precision of a man who had already seen too much and tolerated more. Windstone, head butler of House Fitzgeralt, steward of half the Empire's sanity, and undisputed champion of Disappointed Silence, entered the room.

He took in the shattered porcelain on the floor, the child in the decree cape dragging what appeared to be a silk curtain across the rug like a royal train, Trevor reclining on the couch like a mildly amused demigod, and Lucas at the desk looking one bad minute away from collapse.

There was a pause.

Then Windstone, without raising his voice, said, "No one is bleeding. That's a start."

Sebastian popped out from under the desk. "Windstone! Look, I'm the Emperor!"

Lucas didn't even look up. "No, you are five and currently committing at least three counts of minor treason."

Windstone stepped forward, examined the debris field with an expression so flat it could resurface a road, and then bent to pick up Sebastian with the efficiency of someone who had done this too many times.

"It is one hour past bedtime," he informed the boy. "And you smell like ink."

"I was signing decrees!" Sebastian protested, giggling as Windstone slung him over one shoulder like a sack of dignified chaos.

"I'm sure the Court will be thrilled."

"Tell them I ordered cake."

"I will inform the ministers at once."

Sebastian smiled, his wide green eyes glinting beneath his disheveled black hair. "You're the best."

Windstone did not reply. But the corners of his mouth twitched. As he turned to leave, he paused by the shattered vase and then looked directly at Trevor.

The pause was like a trial Trevor didn't know he was part of until now. A full ten seconds of wordless, generational disappointment.

Trevor cleared his throat. "In my defense…"

"No," Windstone said calmly. "You do not have a defense."

Trevor blinked, amused and a little sheepish.

Windstone adjusted Sebastian on his shoulder, the boy now laughing while throwing his hands in the butler's perfect white hair. "You have five degrees, an entire wing dedicated to foreign policy, and a functioning adult mate. And yet here we are."

Trevor opened his mouth again. Windstone raised one gloved hand without looking.

"Time-out is not just for the young," he said, pale green eyes pinning it behind the glasses. "Consider that."

And with that, he walked out of the room with imperial grace, five-year-old royalty still trailing paper decrees and murmuring something about 'ordering cake for dragons.'

The door shut behind them with a quiet finality.

Trevor stared after them and had the audacity to smile. "I think he just grounded me."

Lucas, without missing a beat, muttered, "Good. You needed it."

Trevor exhaled, stretched again, and let his head fall back against the cushions. "He used to like me."

Lucas turned a page. "Well, you have a small version of you that he can take to nap when he gets annoying."

Trevor was quiet for a moment, long enough that Lucas assumed he'd finally gone still from shame or sleep. Neither was true.

The cushions shifted behind him, and then Trevor rose from the couch in a slow stretch, his black shirt creasing faintly at the shoulders as he crossed the room. His footsteps were soft and measured, the way they always were when he was about to cause trouble with a smile.

Lucas didn't glance up, even when the familiar warmth of Trevor's hand settled on his shoulder.

Instead, he muttered, "If this is another paper bird…"

"It's not," Trevor said, his voice low, almost thoughtful. "It's a question."

Lucas hummed without interest, eyes flicking between two annotations on the sabotage report. "Is the question about whether or not I'm going to murder the trade minister with a letter opener?"

"No." Trevor leaned down slightly, his hand trailing from his shoulder to the edge of Lucas's collar. "It's about how much longer you're planning to ignore your heat."