[BL]Reborn as the Empire’s Most Desired Omega

By the next morning the private wing had lost the heavy, honey-thick air of heat. The nest in the wardrobe was half dismantled, shirts folded back into piles by Windstone's discreet hand. Lucas sat cross-legged on the bed in one of Trevor's sweatshirts, hair still damp from a shower, scrolling idly through messages on his phone. The platinum band on his finger glinted each time he flicked the screen.

Trevor came in from the balcony with two mugs of coffee, barefoot, sleeves rolled up. He set one down in front of Lucas and perched on the edge of the mattress. "You're awake early," he said.

Lucas took the mug and studied him over the rim, green eyes curious. "Why did you change your mind?" he asked quietly. "You've been saying for a year I was too young, that we had time."

Trevor chuckled under his breath, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Because you asked again," he said. "Because this time you didn't ask like it was desperation. You asked like it was what you wanted."

"That's it?" Lucas's brow arched, green eye glinting.

"That, and…" Trevor gave a small, self-deprecating smile. "Even in heat and rut, nothing's guaranteed. We could try a dozen times and still have to wait. It's not a switch you flip; it's luck and timing. You might not be pregnant at all."

Lucas blinked at him, then without a word reached for a pillow and lobbed it at his head. It hit with a satisfying thump, sending a drift of cedar scent into the air.

Trevor laughed, catching the pillow before it slid off the bed. "What was that for?"

"For killing the mood," Lucas said, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Trevor dropped the pillow back into his lap, still chuckling. "You asked. I answered."

Lucas sipped his coffee, eyes glinting. "Next time you could just say 'because I love you' and leave it at that."

Trevor leaned over and pressed a kiss to his hair. "Duly noted," he murmured, his laugh still warm against Lucas's ear. Then, more practically, "For good measure, though, you're still having a check-up in a week. Labs, scans, the whole thing."

Lucas tipped his head back, groaning. "You're already turning this into a project."

"Call it planning ahead," Trevor said, unbothered. "Whether you're pregnant or not, I want a doctor telling me you're healthy."

A discreet throat-clearing came from the doorway. "Speaking of planning ahead," Windstone said, appearing with his usual silver tray, "shall I begin drawing up lists for nursery staff?"

Lucas looked at him over the rim of his mug. "You're supposed to groan at our domestic bliss, not draft an org chart."

Windstone did, in fact, groan, but it sounded suspiciously like suppressed amusement. "I'm groaning and drafting," he said dryly. "Someone has to prepare for the possibility of a little Fitzgeralt running down these halls."

Trevor raised an eyebrow. "You seem a little too interested in the prospect."

"I've run this household for twenty years," Windstone replied, setting down the tray. "I'm invested in its future. Also, I make an excellent godfather."

Lucas choked on a laugh, nearly spilling his coffee. "You two are impossible," he muttered, but the smile at the edge of his mouth gave him away.

Trevor reached across and took the mug from his hands before he could spill it. "That's why you married me," he said.

Lucas leaned back against him, the platinum band catching the morning light. "No," he murmured, eyes glinting. "I married you despite it."

Windstone shook his head, but there was a rare, genuine curve to his mouth as he retreated from the room, already making mental notes. In the quiet that followed, Trevor rested his chin on Lucas's shoulder, cedar a steady undertone. "One week," he said softly. "Check-up, then we'll see."

Lucas closed his eyes, finally relaxed enough to smile. "Fine. One week."

—

A few hours later the manor's private wing was no longer the quiet cocoon it had been that morning. The scent of cedar and honey had thinned to a soft trace; Lucas's skin no longer prickled, his mind no longer a haze of instinct. He had showered, dressed in a soft shirt and trousers, and even answered a few messages. For the first time in days, he felt like himself again.

Which made the present situation all the more irritating.

He was sitting in the sunlit salon with Mia on one side and Lucius on the other, both talking at once. Mia was leaning forward, waving a tablet with some article open; Lucius, perfectly composed, was countering her point with icy calm. The sound of their voices ricocheted off the high ceiling until it felt like a meeting of rival news anchors rather than a conversation.

Lucas pinched the bridge of his nose and counted silently to ten. Then to twenty. The thought of defenestration crept in at twenty-five.

Trevor, lounging against the doorframe with a coffee in hand, raised an eyebrow at the sight. "You look like a man plotting a murder."

"I'm considering throwing them both out of the window," Lucas said flatly without looking up. "It's a long drop. Maybe they'll calm down on the way down."

Mia broke off mid-sentence, eyes widening. "Lucas!"

Lucius's mouth twitched as though fighting a smile. "That would be…an unorthodox conflict-resolution technique," he said dryly.

Lucas turned his head just enough to glare at them both. "You two have five minutes to stop turning my sitting room into a debate stage, or I'm relocating you to opposite wings with no Wi-Fi."

Trevor bit back a laugh, cedar curling warm in the doorway. "He's serious," he told them, sipping his coffee. "He's been hormonal for days. This is him in his post-heat form. He's savage."

Mia sank back into her chair, muttering. Lucius inclined his head in faint concession. Lucas exhaled slowly and sat back, green eyes narrowing. "Good. Now, start again. One at a time. Like adults."

The room went blessedly quiet for a heartbeat, and Lucas allowed himself a thin smile. "See? No windows needed. Yet."