Chapter 227: Chapter 227: Quiet at last
The lounging room was quiet, sun-drenched, and soft around the edges, its ivory walls muted to honey in the afternoon light. Long sheer curtains stirred faintly against the breeze filtering through the tall windows, casting faint, shifting patterns on the polished floor, shadows shaped like leaves, like lullabies.
Trevor was stretched out on the long settee near the window, one arm propped along the cushion, the other resting loosely around the cool glass of something amber and sharp. A tablet balanced on his thigh, open to reports laced with red-flagged names and court whispers, but his attention kept drifting.
Lucas was curled beside him, head in Trevor’s lap, hair fanned over the rich fabric like ash and silk spun gold where the sun touched it. One hand held the tablet he was reading, thumb skimming over headlines about their public marriage, phrases like Fitzgeralt heir claims imperial omega and From unknown to duchess in one season repeating with an almost comical obsession. His other arm hung relaxed over the edge of the lounge, fingers brushing Trevor’s knee now and then, absentmindedly.
"They think I was groomed," Lucas murmured eventually, not looking up. "Or that you drugged me. Or that I poisoned you."
Trevor took a slow sip from his glass. "You did poison me."
"Emotionally."
"You hid my cufflinks and made me walk into my own wedding with a pin through my lapel. That’s sabotage."
Lucas tilted the screen toward him so Trevor could see the headline: The Silent Omega: A Political Pawn or the Architect of His Own Rise? He raised an unimpressed brow. "They think I’m tragic."
Trevor reached down with his free hand and brushed a few strands of Lucas’s hair off his forehead, letting his fingers linger there. "You are tragic. In a beautifully efficient, socially ruinous way."
Lucas snorted but leaned into the touch, letting his tablet fall to rest against his chest. His eyes stayed closed. "Are we going to be like this forever?"
"What, admired and resented?"
"No. This." His voice softened. "You, me. Peace between disasters."
Trevor didn’t answer immediately.
He finished the drink instead, set the glass aside, and adjusted slightly, just enough to tuck a hand against Lucas’s shoulder and press a kiss into his hair, like a seal, a vow.
"Yes," he said finally. "Because I’m not letting anyone take you again. Not your past. Not the world."
The door creaked open with just enough sound to announce its opening.
Windstone stepped in with the dignified pace of a man who had once served monarchs and had long since stopped being impressed by any of them. A silver tray rested in one hand, holding a small glass teapot, two delicate cups, and a plate of sugared almonds that looked far too expensive for what they were.
He paused at the threshold for exactly one breath.
Lucas didn’t move.
Trevor didn’t glance up.
The sight of his employer lounging with an imperial omega sprawled luxuriously across his lap, sunlight gilding the room like a benediction, would have sent lesser staff into either silence or scandalized whispers.
Windstone, however, merely sighed and crossed the room.
"I see the paperwork is going well," he said, dry enough to age wine. With a precision born of decades of etiquette, he set the tray on the low table, straightened a spoon, and sat in the nearby armchair like it had personally offended him.
Trevor finally tilted his head. "You’re late."
"I’m retired," Windstone said. "Your grandmother is just pretending otherwise."
Lucas cracked one eye open, gaze flicking from the teapot to the butler’s resigned expression. "She’s already planning the presentation gala, isn’t she?"
"Planning?" Windstone echoed. "No. That implies time. She’s commissioning gowns, seating charts, and an entrance accompanied by a live quartet. There’s talk of doves."
Lucas groaned into Trevor’s coat.
Trevor smirked faintly, one hand still lazily threaded through Lucas’s hair. "I like birds."
Windstone arched a brow. "She wants them to fly out when you kiss."
Trevor’s hand paused. "...I don’t like birds that much."
Windstone ignored that. He poured the tea with slow, deliberate grace, as if the entire court weren’t on fire in the background. "Should I bring sedatives or fireproof gloves?"
"Bring a chair next time," Lucas murmured, eyes still half-lidded. "You’ll need it. She and Serathine want to fly to Saha after the presentation."
"Are they really going to declare war on Dax and train his omega?" Trevor asked skeptically.
Windstone didn’t flinch. He stirred the tea once, precisely, then set the spoon aside. "They’re calling it a ’refinement retreat.’"
Lucas blinked. "That sounds worse."
"They’ve already packed lace fans, court records, and a dueling invitation." Windstone lifted one teacup and handed it to Lucas without meeting his eye. "I believe the term Serathine used was ’disciplinary enlightenment.’"
Trevor leaned his head back against the couch, his expression hovering somewhere between dread and reluctant admiration. "They’re going to weaponize etiquette."
Lucas took a slow sip of his tea, the porcelain cup light in his fingers. "I think they already have."
Windstone reached for the second cup but paused. "That means we won’t see them for a while?"
"Not unless Dax begs for mercy early," Trevor murmured, reaching to shift Lucas’s tablet off his chest and set it aside. His fingers brushed along Lucas’s collarbone, casual and territorial. "And you know he won’t. He’ll try to outmaneuver them."
"Which means they’ll stay longer," Lucas said under his breath, sinking a little deeper into the cushions. "Long enough to redesign the palace and train Christopher to snarl with proper enunciation."
Windstone finally took his seat without waiting for permission. "So I’ll send their luggage ahead. And perhaps a message to the Sahan court advising them to invest in reinforced curtains. Lady Cressida has a fondness for dramatic exits."
Trevor made a noncommittal sound, the type that usually preceded scandal. "She’ll have her fun. But it’s Christopher who will decide if Dax survives this gracefully or at all."
Lucas glanced up at that, lips curving faintly. "He’s not as fragile as he looks."
"Neither were you," Windstone said mildly, sipping his tea. "But I still kept a sedative on standby."
Lucas let out a quiet laugh, curling one arm under his head and letting his fingers trail along Trevor’s knee again. "You’re not going to miss them, are you?"
Windstone didn’t blink. "Not even slightly."
Trevor raised his brows. "And here I thought you liked their flair."
"I like peace more," Windstone replied, setting his cup down with a soft, final clink. "And the odds of peace are higher when the women are at war somewhere else." He stood. "Call if they return early. I’ll need time to flee the continent."
Lucas closed his eyes again, letting the warmth of Trevor’s hand and the fading laughter settle around him like armor.
Outside, the curtains swayed in the breeze.
And somewhere far away, Dax probably sneezed.