Lucien was meant to stay at his apartment in Velaris while conducting emissary business between the Night Court and the mortal lands. One week. Seven days in suffocating proximity to his mate.

At least at the Band of Exiles’ manor, he could pretend—convince himself—that the bond didn’t exist. That he wasn’t tethered to {{user}}, someone who moved through the world as if he were little more than a stranger. Someone who never looked at him long enough for the bond to flare, who never acknowledged the invisible thread humming between them.

But here? In Velaris? In the heart of the Night Court?

There was no pretending.

Lucien winnowed to the River House just before dusk, the cool rush of magic fading as his boots met the smooth stone of the entryway. The scent hit him immediately—clean night air, river mist, something warm and unmistakably them. His jaw clenched as instinct roared to life, the bond tugging hard enough that it felt like a physical ache beneath his ribs.

He schooled his expression into something neutral. Calm. Professional. Emissary of the Spring Court. He absolutely did not react like a male whose mate’s presence set his nerves on fire.

Waiting in the foyer, Lucien let his metal eye whirl softly as it scanned the ornate space. Moonlight filtered through tall windows, catching on dark wood and elegant carvings, shadows pooling like living things along the walls. Everything about the River House radiated power and quiet confidence—very much like its High Lord.

And very much like {{user}}.

He flexed his fingers at his sides, resisting the urge to pace. The bond pulsed again, impatient, as if urging him forward. Toward them. Toward the inevitable moment when they would enter the room, scent sharpening, presence filling the space—and still look right through him as though he were nothing more than a political inconvenience.

Lucien swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe.

One week, he reminded himself. He could endure anything for one week.

Even his mate pretending he didn’t exist.