Chapter 221: Chapter 221: Gossip
Trevor didn’t argue. The smile he gave Lucas was brief and wicked, the kind that didn’t belong in morning light but suited him anyway. Then he stood.
"Come on," he said, offering his hand again. "We need to change. Your brothers are due in an hour."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "And Caelan?"
"Gone. Left before sunrise. There was a matter in the capital requiring imperial theatrics."
Lucas took his hand with a sigh, rising from his seat with the kind of learned ease that only came after deciding that today wouldn’t destroy him, at least not before dessert.
Trevor led him down the corridor, fingers still loosely interlaced, the kind of casual touch that said everything too plainly for court etiquette. But no one in the manor dared to comment. Not after what happened to Jason.
The suite was quiet when they entered. The windows had been opened just enough to let in the breeze, and the bed had already been made. Lucas sat on the edge for a moment, then reached for the jacket Trevor had chosen for him, navy with a discreet thread of silver along the inner seam, a color that matched his eyes when he wasn’t tired.
"You do realize," Lucas muttered as he buttoned the front, "that if Sirius starts interrogating me again about what I wrote, I’ll fake a nosebleed and leave."
Trevor adjusted his collar, smoothing the lapel. "I’ll block his path with a legal update. He hates paperwork more than violence."
Lucas smirked faintly, then reached for his ring, still sitting on the bedside tray, polished and carefully arranged. He slid it onto his finger with the same care he had for his love of Trevor.
A knock came at the door. An attendant entered, trying his best to not have visual contact with any of them.
"The guests have arrived, my lords."
Lucas exchanged a glance with Trevor. "Let’s go be diplomatic."
"Let’s go be terrifying," Trevor corrected with a straight face.
—
The dining hall wasn’t large by noble standards, intimate, almost, but it held weight. Paintings older than any current kingdom lined the walls. Crystal caught the light from the tall windows. And in the center, a table already set with enough silver and cut fruit to feed diplomacy.
Sirius was already seated. He looked like he always did: too polished for someone with battlefield instincts, his expression somewhere between amused and mildly put-upon. Lucius, beside him, was already halfway through a plate of sliced pears, pretending not to notice.
"You’re late," Lucius said without looking up.
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "You’re already eating."
"I was starving," Lucius replied. "You’re dramatic."
Trevor sat without the usual formality that was expected of imperial family members. "Gentlemen."
Sirius’s gaze swept over them once, and something about his smile sharpened. "So," he said, reaching for his glass. "Are we discussing the assassination attempt, the northern border violations, or your decorative corpse in the east wing first?"
Lucas took his seat calmly, unfolded his napkin, and said, "Let’s start with the weather."
Lucius didn’t even blink. "It’s hot," he said, stabbing another slice of pear. "There. Weather discussed. Can we move on?"
Sirius gave him a faintly exasperated look before turning his attention back to Trevor. "We received word last night. The northern lords are pushing again. Dax’s name is being used like a hammer, and half the court is convinced he plans to marry into their line next."
Trevor reached for his glass with the unhurried calm of someone who’d already predicted the entire conversation. "Let them. Dax just found a dominant omega; he would be busy making him stay."
Lucius almost choked on his coffee. "He what?"
Trevor didn’t flinch. "Dominant omega. Stunning, sarcastic, and smarter than him, apparently. The poor bastard doesn’t stand a chance."
Lucas raised a brow, folding his hands under his chin. "And here I thought I was the Empire’s most difficult omega."
"You were," Trevor said dryly. "Now you have competition."
Lucius looked genuinely disturbed. "Are we absolutely sure it’s real? Not a hostage? Or a hallucination?"
Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose like he’d been waiting for this moment to arrive since birth. "Knowing Dax and how butthurt he was that Serathine preferred Trevor more, I assume the poor man is hostage in his villa."
"He is from last night. The staff told us that he gave the omega a chance to run," Trevor added mildly, as if this were a weather report and not psychological warfare dressed in courting rituals.
Lucius stared at him. "He gave him a chance to run?"
Lucas tilted his head. "Was this before or after dinner?"
"Before," Trevor replied. "He wanted to see if the omega was serious about leaving."
"And?" Sirius asked, sipping his wine like this was somehow his problem too.
"And we all know that Dax lied; that man is going to have ten layers of security just to make a point."
Lucius looked like he might actually get a headache. "So the King of Saha is nesting."
"Don’t say that word," Sirius muttered.
Lucas blinked, deadpan. "Why? Because it’s true, or because it triggers your latent trauma?"
"Both," Sirius said, without flinching.
Trevor set his glass down with deliberate care. "It’s already circulating. The northern courts are on fire. Dax names no consorts, no heirs, and now suddenly he’s locked down a dominant omega. They think this is their window. Some already sent gifts to Fitzgeralt manor, thinking it was ours."
Lucas arched an eyebrow. "And?"
Trevor smiled faintly. "We sent them back. Windstone enclosed a note that read: Wrong war. Wrong palace. Try again."
Lucius coughed hard enough to nearly stab himself with a pear slice.
Sirius looked unimpressed. "Let me get this straight. After seven failed engagements, three diplomatic ruptures, and at least one incident involving a duel and a poisoned corsage, Dax finally found a real dominant omega?"
"Yes," Trevor said dryly. "And this time, the omega is real. The poor bastard intervened at yesterday’s ceremony, thinking Dax would actually drink the poisoned wine, Christian’s gift to me, apparently."
Lucius stared at him. "You mean that scrawny thing in black who looked like he was about to bolt the second someone asked him his name?"
"That would be him."
"And Dax let him live?"
Lucas cut in, tone dry. "He didn’t just let him live. He told him to stay."
"Which," Trevor added, swirling his wine like he wasn’t about to drop court-shattering gossip, "is the Sahan version of a marriage proposal."
Sirius groaned, setting his glass down with a bit more force than necessary. "That man is a diplomatic minefield. Do you know how many northern houses are going to lose their minds when they realize they can’t throw daughters, or sons, at him anymore?"
"Oh, they already have," Trevor said calmly. "Rumor in Saha is that one of the ducal houses sent their third son dressed as a handmaiden just to get past the front gate. Dax threw him in the river."
Lucius wheezed. "Please tell me that’s true."
"It’s Dax," Lucas muttered. "Even if it’s not, it sounds enough like him to be believable."
There was a pause, the four of them seated in sunlight and absurdity, the weight of the Empire stretching around them like distant thunder, and still somehow, they found a moment to laugh. Quiet, sharp-edged amusement.
Then Sirius sobered. "Is the omega safe?"