Once inside the building, Sebastian decided it was an excellent time to clarify Jennifer's preferences. This included everything from staffing hours to whether three o'clock suited her for afternoon tea.
Jennifer found this deeply confusing. But then again, life in this building had been confusing ever since she became its landlady.
Sebastian had just thanked her and wished her a good day when the front doors slammed open with a force that could have knocked a lesser person flat.
Light poured in behind the newcomer.
And while god rays always seemed to favor Sebastian in the lobby, the man standing in the doorway looked as though the heavens had personally arranged the lighting.
Tall. Imposing. Hands clasped behind his back. Shoulders rigid. Eyes an icy steel-blue that seemed capable of auditing souls.
Sebastian stepped forward immediately and bowed.
"My Lord Duke."
"Explain."
The voice was low, controlled, and perfectly measured — like a cathedral bell tolling in the dead of winter.
Jennifer froze.
So this was Duke Chevon. Prince Angus's uncle.
The family resemblance was unmistakable — the golden hair, the sharp jaw, the aristocratic nose. But where Angus radiated earnest sunshine, his uncle felt like winter at high noon. Bright. Blinding. Merciless.
"You are aware," Duke Chevon said, each word precise, "that my nephew has relocated a quarter of the palace staff."
"Yes, Your Grace," Sebastian replied smoothly.
"And he now resides here?"
The duke's gaze swept the lobby.
It could have been worse, Jennifer thought defensively. Last night it had been a largely empty room decorated with Nimbus' horse poop. She wisely said nothing.
"And who," the duke asked coolly, "is this?"
Jennifer realized with horror that she was the only person not bowing. Even the warrior wolf by the lift had straightened like a cadet under inspection.
She swallowed.
"Ah… I'm Jennifer."
Sebastian spoke smoothly beside her. "This is Ms. Jennifer Margaret Lee. The landlady."
Jennifer did a double take on that. Why did he know her full name?
Then something changed.
The duke's jaw tightened.
"Did you say… Margaret?"
The temperature in the room shifted.
The ice fractured.
Heat flooded in.
His eyes darkened — not softer, not kinder — but alive. Focused. Intense.
Jennifer's heart slammed into her ribs.
She had never, in her entire life, been addressed as Margaret, or addressed in that tone at all.
Sebastian intervened smoothly. "His Highness has just departed for a college event."
Jennifer had, briefly, forgotten Sebastian existed.
The duke's gaze cooled slightly.
"You mean to say," he said crisply, "that my nephew spent an obscene sum constructing a private residence… in order to inhabit this shoebox?"
"It was worse last night when Nimbus—" Jennifer began.
Sebastian made a microscopic head movement.
Too late.
"—when Nimbus pooped in the lobby," she finished weakly.
Silence.
The duke's eyes lowered to her again.
This time, his voice softened.
Dangerously.
"I do not believe," he said, "that I was informed about livestock."
Her knees went weak.
"It's not livestock," she rushed. "It's a horse. And horses poop. And it's temporary. And the prince made a friend. And they went to campus together."
The duke's brow shifted — barely.
"And that commoner girl?"
Sebastian must have realized it would be better to answer before Jennifer did, "She has left for the foreseeable future, your grace."
"Are you suggesting," he said slowly, "that my nephew moved here… made a friend his own age… and is no longer chasing after that commoner girl like a love sick puppy?"
Jennifer nodded.
"…His horse also pooped in the lobby," she whispered again, because apparently self-sabotage was her brand.
A pause.
"And you probably shouldn't be calling Mia a commoner girl. It's not very nice." But Jennifer had said this in a very small voice.
Then, something unexpected.
The duke exhaled.
"So. My nephew lives here."
His voice had changed again — less frost, more ember.
"I suppose," he continued, "since matters have progressed this far, there is little to be done. He may remain."
Jennifer blinked.
"But," he added, "I will visit. Frequently."
"Why?" she blurted.
Sebastian closed his eyes briefly.
The duke hesitated — just once.
"Well. Obviously it is to… to…"
He paused.
The sentence appeared to abandon him.
"Your Grace means to supervise His Highness more closely," Sebastian supplied.
"Yes," the duke said immediately, marble composure snapping back into place. "It is precisely that."
He turned toward the door.
Then paused.
"I shall return."
No, please don't.
And then he was gone.
The lobby felt several degrees cooler.
Jennifer's knees wobbled belatedly.
Sebastian guided her toward a nearby settee.
"You did well," he said gently.
"I kept talking about horse poop." Jennifer bemoaned.
"Most women," Sebastian replied, "swoon and lose consciousness in his presence. You did commendably."
"You just liked it that I said poop in his face, didn't you?" Jennifer accused.
"Yes, my queen." Sebastian smiled.
Jennifer stared at the door.
"Is he always like that?"
Sebastian's expression grew carefully neutral.
"The duke," he said, "can be… intense."