Then footsteps.
One pair.
Measured. Calm. Echoing power.
When Dezyne stepped into the hall, the air itself bowed.
He was tall, clothed in a deep crimson coat embroidered with black runes older than the empire. His hair was silver-white this time but faintly darker at the roots, and his eyes, cold violet, glowing faintly like enchanted amethyst, swept across the hall with an unreadable expression.
But none of that mattered.
Not compared to his face.
Lucien's heart stopped.
Because standing on the polished marble floor...was Devon.
Or someone who looked exactly like him.
The same jawline, the same dark lashes, the same subtle curl at the end of his hair. Even the way he inhaled, quiet and controlled, reminded Lucien of how Devon breathed when he was annoyed.
Lucien's legs nearly gave out. He gripped the gold rail of the staircase to steady himself.
"What..." he whispered to no one. "How?"
