[His smile freezes in place, realizing his misstep. His mechanical eye contracts, a flicker of panic in the other. Diplomat mode takes over, and Lucien puts his hand to his heart and bows at the waist, half-bracing himself for this dream to shift to a nightmare. Her mention of Dawn is somewhat comforting. She is nothing like the High Lord he knows, but he has friends in Dawn at least.]

Duchess. My mistake. I am Lucien, seventh son of the Autumn Court and Emissary of Spring. [He gives her his Full Title, and has yet to realize how misplaced those words are here] Your forgiveness is a gift I will remember, madam.

[He can feel her power more clearly as she approaches, and inwardly curses himself a little more for mistaking her as anything less than royalty. Sure, the power feels very different, foreign, but the breadth of her power would easily rival that of any High Lord. It is a little terrifying to have his back to her, especially wounded, like it is now, but he knows that to turn would be even more rude.]

[The tension in his shoulders eases slightly at her touch, finding another unlit candle to focus on. Lucien lifts his arm, flicks his wrist, and the candle springs to life with a flame. It shudders for a moment, but takes. He exhales in satisfaction]