The predawn chill still clung heavily to the cobblestones of the lower courtyard, painting the shadows in deep, bruised shades of charcoal and silver. The palace was wrapped in an eerie, exhausted stillness—the quiet before the storm of a royal wedding day.
Elian woke up very, very early, disentangling himself carefully from Lucien's sleeping embrace without waking the Duke. He slipped on a dark woolen cloak, pulled the hood low over his brow, and made his way silently down the winding back staircases. Every footstep was measured, his breath pluming softly in the freezing morning air as he navigated toward the secluded backyard gate.
