Gregoris entered the suite quietly, careful not to make a sound, even though he knew Rafael could sleep through storms if needed.
The corridor lamps were turned low, obedient to the hour. Staff were gone from sight, trained well enough to understand that a duke who came home at night did not want questions, greetings, or the sound of someone breathing too loudly in the wrong place.
He slipped through the sitting room, through the short passage, and paused at the wardrobe door long enough to remove his shoes.
Not because he needed to.
Gregoris could move in boots across marble without a sound if he wanted. He'd done it for years. He could cross a battlefield of glass and leave it intact.
But tonight was for Rafael.
So he held the dress shoes in his hand and stepped into their bedroom barefoot, silent as a thought.
The room smelled like sleep that had been attempted and refused.
