[Imperial Palace—Private Bathing Chambers, Morning Drizzle]
The imperial bath was, objectively speaking, more ridiculous than any bathtub had a right to be.
It wasn't a tub—it was a pool carved from shimmering moonstone, large enough to host a small musical. Tiny golden koi fish swam lazily through warm, lavender-scented water, like unpaid extras in a royal spa commercial. Rose petals floated on the surface, looking confused about their purpose.
In the center of all this luxury…
Lucien slept.
Floating.
Half-draped on the smooth edge of the tub, like a very elegant drowned poet. His head lolled gently to the side, dark curls damp and sticking to his cheek. Both of his hands rested lightly on his belly—his favorite sleeping position lately, as if protecting a barely-there secret from an invisible draft.
Tiny bubbles popped around him in leisurely intervals.
A baby duckling (where did that come from?) paddled past his elbow with the attitude of someone who owned the palace.
