Cecil took the shirt but made no immediate move to put it on. "You're showering too."
"Yes."
"I thought you intended to suffer nobly and remain dressed in ruined dignity."
"I intended not to re-enter an academy hall smelling like a private scandal."
Cecil's mouth curved. "A pity. It might have improved the faculty's focus."
"It would have killed the weaker ones."
"You underestimate academic resilience."
"I do not. I've met academics."
That pulled a quiet laugh out of Cecil just as Frederik stepped past him and into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly enough to signal that this phase of the afternoon would proceed under military timing, not princely improvisation.
His shower was exactly what one might expect from a man with Gregoris for a father and an active grudge against wasted minutes: fast, efficient, and brutally practical.
He left no room for the kind of distraction Cecil specialized in manufacturing out of steam, proximity, and a complete lack of shame.
