Lucas stepped into the salon just after ten.
The lights were dimmed to a golden glow, and the large windows were open to let the breeze in. It smelled faintly of rosewood and citrus peel—Serathine's signature blend. She was seated on one of the curved velvet sofas, long legs crossed, a book open in her lap.
She didn't look up right away.
Which meant she was waiting for him to speak first.
Lucas closed the door behind him with a soft click, then leaned against it, arms folded.
"He didn't run."
Serathine turned a page, perfectly unbothered. "That's not the bar I set."
Lucas's mouth twitched. "Then let's say he didn't glare, didn't lecture, and didn't try to bite."
Now she looked up—one elegant brow rising. "So… Trevor was Trevor."
Lucas walked toward the fireplace, slower now, the quiet comfort of the room settling around his shoulders like a softer kind of armor.
"He was also very well-informed," he added, glancing at her sidelong.
"Mm." She closed the book with a precise snap. "Let me guess—he told you about the Emperor's tantrum, the declaration of death, and the fact that I manipulated him into this mess?"
Lucas turned to face her fully. "Did you send him to report, or did you just hope he'd be too furious not to?"
Serathine smiled. It wasn't coy.
It was sharp.
"I hoped," she said smoothly, "that his loyalty to me would get him to the table—and that his loyalty to truth would do the rest."
Lucas narrowed his eyes. "So you knew he'd rat you out."
"I counted on it," she replied, rising from the sofa. "He's too stubborn to play politics, and too principled to lie when he's angry. That's why I chose him."
She crossed the room, heels soft against the carpet, and stopped beside him.
"And if you want someone who will never pretend with you," she added quietly, "you start with the man who growls at Emperors and doesn't flinch when a boy like you throws a knife with his eyes."
Lucas stared at the fire for a moment longer, the flames flickering like they knew exactly what was being said.
Then, deadpan:
"So should I have thrown cutlery at him?"
Serathine didn't miss a beat.
"No," she said, arching a brow. "That comes after the second dinner. Preferably during dessert. Silver forks only—he respects tradition."
Lucas let out a soft snort, the closest he came to laughing most days.
"I don't think I'm ready for that level of diplomacy."
"Oh, darling," Serathine murmured, brushing past him to refill her tea, "you've been practicing that particular diplomacy your entire life. You just didn't realize you were sharpening the utensils."
Lucas's eyes remained on the fire, his voice quieter now.
"Did Misty really lie?" he asked. "Why? Wouldn't she have gotten more from the Emperor than from selling me to Christian?"
Serathine didn't answer right away.
She stirred her tea with an absent motion, the spoon clinking once against porcelain. Then:
"No," she said, measured. "Everything the Emperor would have given you would've been in your name. Property. Trust. Lineage."
She looked over her shoulder, eyes calm but cold.
"Everything would have been tracked. Verified. Accounted for under imperial oversight."
Lucas's mouth twisted slightly. "I always thought people knew I was his bastard. That it was some half-kept secret—Misty said she filed for stipends. That the Crown paid for my school. My food. My—"
He stopped.
Serathine walked back to the fire and set her cup down with care.
"That was for Christian," she said flatly.
Lucas went still.
"She submitted those forms under his authority," Serathine continued, voice crisp as cooled steel. "Misty had a monthly subsidy for you—to make sure you were treated, educated, and controlled."
Her tone sharpened, just slightly.
"Of course she asked for more in your name. Clothing stipends. Medical costs. Private tutoring. It all looked noble on paper."
Lucas's hands curled loosely at his sides.
"And Christian paid?"
"Every time," Serathine said. "He doesn't care about money the way Misty does. To him, it wasn't currency—it was insurance."
Lucas swallowed hard, but it felt dry. Hollow.
"So she kept me alive… to sell me better."
Serathine didn't soften.
"Yes," she said. "To keep you polished. Educated. Malleable. And just fragile enough to pass as dependent."
A pause.
"She told herself it was care. But it was grooming, Lucas."
He turned away from the fire then, finally meeting her gaze.
"She told me I was lucky."
Serathine's jaw tightened. Her next words were quiet—but absolute.
"She lied."
Lucas didn't flinch. He simply nodded once, slowly and almost mechanically, and returned his gaze to the fire.
"Maybe I shouldn't tell you this," Serathine said quietly. She didn't sit, didn't sip her tea. Instead, she pushed the porcelain aside and reached for the crystal decanter—something stronger, something more fitting.
"Caelan is still trying to uncover the full truth," she continued, pouring a finger of amber liquid into a short glass. "Trying to give you your rightful place, your freedom. But…"
She sighed. The kind that came from bone-deep frustration and fury too measured to be anything but lethal.
"We think that Misty had a plan for you. A long one."
Lucas blinked once, slowly. "A plan."
"Yes," she said, her voice steady now. "In the report from Dr. Elane, there was something more. Something hidden."
She set the glass down untouched.
"Someone was already injecting you with suppressants. Not the illegal, street-quality kind—these were crafted specifically for you. Attuned to your hormone pattern. Professionally dosed. Carefully combined with the illegal ones you took."
Lucas felt the back of his neck go cold.
Serathine's expression didn't change. "They started when you were fourteen."
The room went very still.
"She slowed your development," she continued. "Intentionally. Prevented your heat, masked your scent, and stabilized your pheromones so you couldn't awaken properly. And she kept it that way."
Lucas didn't speak.
He couldn't—not with the blood draining from his limbs, his heart beating too steady in the wrong places.
"The plan," Serathine said slowly, carefully, "could have been this: she delays your heat. Suppresses your instincts. Makes sure you remain legally unawakened—so the contract with Christian remains just a transaction. A waiting game."
She looked him in the eye.
"He would marry you if you gave him a child."
The silence was suffocating.
"I don't think Misty would have given up on you that easily," Serathine added, softer now. "You were too valuable. Probably… she would have waited. Until you were twenty-five. Until you had failed. And then—"
"—sell me again," Lucas finished, his voice like a blade dragged across stone.
Serathine nodded once.
"Yes."