It was a familiar enough command, but this time Basil shook his head and made his concern plain. He could acknowledge that Eugene Primrose’s appearance surpassed what the rumours had suggested — he’d grant that much. But Eugene was only an Earl’s son, and a third son at that, with no authority to speak of — a rank far beneath a Duke. Even so, treating the Primroses as a mere earldom one could simply toy with was another matter entirely.
“He is not some nobody you can handle carelessly. Whatever their current circumstances, they are still the Primroses.”
“Who said anything of the sort? I only said I wished to know more about Eugene.”
“Then please do say exactly that to the Queen Mother when she asks why you are so late.”
Basil knew Lucian too well not to narrow his eyes. This wasn’t simply about Eugene Primrose having a remarkable face — it wasn’t as though Lucian were asking him to look into someone purely out of aesthetic admiration. Lucian had always done exactly this — found someone who sparked his interest, seduced them with little effort, and walked away once he grew bored. It was a cycle he’d repeated countless times.
Basil wanted to believe that perhaps this time, it truly was the beginning of some fated love — but Lucian was not a man capable of sharing his heart that deeply with anyone.
It wasn’t that something was wrong with Lucian. Everything surrounding him had made him that way. He was, at the very least, a Prince of the realm. And not just any prince — the beloved youngest of the King, who had yet to designate a proper heir. On top of that, he was the cherished youngest son of the Queen Mother, a woman who still wielded enormous influence.
If something were to happen to the current King’s health one day — God forbid — what then? The Queen Mother would have no choice but to put Lucian forward before anyone else.
At least at this moment, in this kingdom of Hyphaelion, Lucian was the person closest to power after the King himself — and the one with the most legitimate claim. Which meant that regardless of Lucian’s own wishes, factions seeking to place him at the centre of power appeared everywhere, at every turn.
And here, Lucian’s own will truly did not matter. Even when he declared, repeatedly and without ambiguity, that he had not the slightest interest in the throne, there were those who simply refused to hear it.
This would continue — at least until the current King filled the vacancy left by his absent Queen, until a new Queen conceived an heir. No — perhaps until that heir was born whole and grew to adulthood. Or unless Lucian disappeared from the world entirely.
“You are being unusually harsh today, Basil. You remind me of someone.”
“It is not something I do for the pleasure of it. I understand, more than I might appear to — but even so, please exercise some restraint this time.”
Lucian rubbed at his forehead. A gesture with a slight edge of irritation to it. A little more pressure than usual, and the pushback came immediately. Even so, today Lucian had been unusually impulsive, one reckless move after another.
Visiting Atrian with some ceremony before entering the palace — that had been fine. It was the sort of schedule befitting a thoughtless prince who, despite having returned from his travels, couldn’t be bothered to present himself at court immediately and was off getting his clothes fitted instead. But that was where it should have ended.
His mother wasn’t well, and she was waiting for him — there was no reason to drag things out this long. And loitering with the Primroses, chattering about beards and sideburns — that had been entirely outside the plan. That alone would have been enough — but then to go further and show such undisguised interest in Eugene Primrose outright left Basil with no choice but to voice his concern.
Lucian’s life was always a delicate balance on a razor’s edge. Without someone to steady him at intervals, he could tip over at any moment. Given the height of his position, a stumble wouldn’t merely mean sliding off a low ledge — it would be a fall from which no one could recover, the kind where the body was never found. Toying carelessly with the son of a great noble family was no small matter — not even for a Duke.
What was more, Lucian already had a prior incident on his record — one where he’d crossed a dangerous line. To save a close friend who had been on the verge of being branded a traitor to the kingdom — not merely ruined, but destroyed — Lucian, who had never once expressed any political stance, had crossed that line. For his friend Basil.
Which was precisely why that had to remain the one and only time Lucian crossed such a line. He could not be seen to champion or collude with any single family a second time. This wasn’t some petty jealousy — it was loyalty. Lucian had saved Basil’s life and his family. And Basil intended to repay that debt.
“And what if I told you I was sincere this time, Basil?”
The carriage wasn’t even swaying, yet Basil nearly leapt out of his seat. Lucian’s face still wore that playful smile. Basil answered him with the coolness and composure of someone who wasn’t giving an inch.
“Your Grace does not have sincerity.”
“That’s rather cruel. I feel things too, you know.”
“Having served Your Grace for so long — as a slave under the pretence of friendship — I must have somehow missed it.”
Knowing full well that Basil had said it deliberately, Lucian clutched his left breast and put on an elaborate show of being deeply wounded. He twisted his body as though in great pain, but the smile never left his lips. When Basil didn’t so much as blink, Lucian dropped the theatrics and leaned back against the carriage.
A brief silence settled between them. Lucian gazed out the window and let out a small, deflated laugh — the kind that sounded like the air going out of something. Looking at him then, Basil thought the beard had served a useful purpose after all.
It had acted as a sort of veil, in its way — and now that his face was entirely bare, this Social Season was already as good as finished. It would without a doubt be twice as exhausting as before.
It was Eugene Primrose’s fault. Basil found himself resenting that beautiful young man he didn’t even know. Of all the days, why had the recluse chosen today to visit Atrian and cause all of this disruption? Dissatisfied, Basil stared fixedly at Lucian’s newly bare jaw and asked:
“Are you truly going to go through this season looking like that?”
“What, you don’t like it? Be honest with me, Basil.”
“You will look like an even more brazen and frivolous scoundrel than before.”
“Is that so? That’s not entirely bad.”
He hadn’t expected it to work, but it didn’t land even slightly. For all that Lucian’s moods shifted constantly, he was also an extraordinary creature of stubbornness. Once he’d made up his mind about something, he wouldn’t rest until he’d seen it through. Lucian was a born rebel — tell him not to do something and he’d want to do it all the more. Basil knew this perfectly well, yet today he couldn’t help himself and kept adding one more word, and then another.
“Watch a little longer and see.”
“Then — are you truly going to summon Eugene Primrose to the ducal residence?”
“You have unusually many questions today, Basil.”
Basil was thinking the same thing himself, but Lucian pinpointed it and made his displeasure clear. Saying anything more at this point would only produce the opposite of the intended effect — and yet Basil couldn’t hold back.
“Surely — you haven’t truly fallen for someone at first sight? Something like that?”
At Basil’s question, Lucian let the smile drop from his face and looked at him steadily. The two young men’s gazes met, sharp and direct. A flicker of irritation moved through Lucian’s hazel eyes.
Yes — this was the question Basil had wanted to ask all along. He had watched Lucian for a long time, and in all that time, he had never once seen the real Lucian. Since coming into his own, Lucian had always been a consummate performer — playing whatever role he chose, whenever he chose it. As far as Basil knew, there was no truth and no sincerity to be found in Lucian. There couldn’t be. He wasn’t permitted that.
A brief, awkward silence passed between them. Then Lucian broke into an easy, open laugh — as though to sweep away whatever nameless unease Basil was carrying — and waved a hand in playful dismissal.
“Basil. Didn’t you yourself just call me a heartless man with no feelings?”
“You’ve been unusually unsettling today. That’s why I’m uneasy.”
“But it’s entertaining, isn’t it.”
That same familiar, sardonic tone. That same laugh full of mischief. Basil pressed a hand to his chest to calm the strange flutter that had risen there and let out a long breath. Before he’d even finished releasing it, Lucian added one last thing.
“In any case — find out everything there is to know about Eugene Primrose, and soon. In thorough detail.”
Instead of answering, Basil leaned forward and told the driver to pick up speed. The carriage, bearing the Highwinter crest of a soaring eagle in flight, accelerated toward the ducal residence.
**
Back from Atrian, Eugene didn’t go straight up to his room. Instead he sprawled across the sitting room sofa in a manner thoroughly unbecoming of a nobleman — though Ivan said nothing about it. He simply dropped down beside Eugene on the same sofa.
Unlike when they’d left, Ivan had come back noticeably changed. It was a significant transformation for the second son who was now, in effect, the eldest — but every one of the Primrose household staff, from the footmen to the butler, kept their comments to themselves.
Below stairs, of course, it was a different story entirely. Without either brother asking a thing of anyone, servants were streaming up the stairs in a steady, unbroken flow.
Man and woman, young and old — every one of them pretended to be going about some errand while sneaking a look at the change that had come over the highest-ranking Primrose currently in residence at the townhouse. They’d drift past Ivan with a sidelong glance, then almost certainly sprint back down the stairs — only to relay the news to whoever was gathered below: that the second young master’s beard and sideburns were gone, every last bit of them.
Ivan had returned home clean-faced. It was a rough job for now and would need a servant’s touch to be fully finished, but the shaggy fringe that had hung low over his forehead was cleared away, and he’d parted ways with the curling, puffed-out beard and sideburns. Eugene cast one satisfied look over the result and let out a long sigh, shoulders rising and falling with it.
“What a day.”
“Indeed. My brother has clearly still lost his mind. There’s simply no other explanation.”
Ivan muttered it like a complaint meant for no one in particular, and Eugene let it go entirely without responding.
From the moment they’d left Atrian to the end of the carriage ride home, Ivan had asked him repeatedly — are you getting a headache, do you feel faint — over and over without stopping. Eugene did have a slight headache, a mild dizziness, and a trace of fatigue — but he was, in every meaningful sense, perfectly fine. And quietly rather pleased with himself about the small thing he’d managed to accomplish today.
Eugene set Ivan aside entirely and turned his mind back to Lucian Highwinter, whom he’d met at Atrian. No matter how he thought about it — appearance score, out of ten, one hundred. A face that was nothing short of a perfect sculpture. He was a little put off by the shamelessness and the slick, oily ease of the man — but conversation-wise, Eugene had the sense that they’d actually get along rather well.
“Eugene. You don’t actually think the Duke will really summon you, do you?”
Whether Eugene’s thoughts had shown on his face, or whether there was some thread of connection that came from being brothers after all — Ivan asked the question as though he’d read what was going on inside Eugene’s head. Eugene tilted his head sideways and looked at Ivan with undisguised dissatisfaction.
“Is there a reason I shouldn’t think that?”
“…That sounds very much like you’d go, if he called.”
“Exactly right.”
“Oh, Eugene. What has happened to you.”
Eugene answered without a moment’s hesitation, and Ivan flung both arms straight up toward the ceiling. His movements were as theatrical as a stage actor’s, and he darted glances about as though checking for an audience — though there was no one but Eugene. Every time he brought up Lucian, Ivan lowered his voice and cleared his throat as though someone might overhear.
“With all due respect — ahem — Duke Lucian Highwinter — ahem — isn’t he precisely the sort of nobleman you used to despise? No, more than that — one could say he is the very pinnacle of that type.”
“Tell me more. In detail. What sort of person is Lucian Highwinter, exactly — leave nothing out.”
The moment Ivan opened on the subject, Eugene sank deeper into the sofa and turned his full attention toward him. He needed more information about Lucian.
Ivan looked at Eugene for a long moment, then set about considering where to begin — thinking through how to explain things in a way that would make sense to a brother whose mind had, for all intents and purposes, reset. Setting aside the more tangled political dimensions for now, Ivan began by telling Eugene about the family into which Lucian Highwinter had been born.
