Chapter 366: Chapter 366: Let’s run.
Lucas woke slowly.
It was the kind of waking that felt reluctant, like surfacing from a warm tide he didn’t want to leave. The light filtering through the curtains painted soft patterns over the bed, and somewhere nearby, the city was already alive. But here, in the stillness of Serathine’s guest suite, time felt suspended.
He didn’t open his eyes right away. He could hear Trevor’s voice low and controlled, with that faint curl of amusement that meant he was either charming someone or annoying them on purpose.
"...Tell him if he names the child after you, I’ll exile you both."
’Ah, he’s talking with Dax. Then he is set on annoying the king before coffee.’
He buried his face deeper into the impossibly soft pillow, letting the muffled rhythm of Trevor’s voice drift through the quiet. He couldn’t catch every word, but he didn’t need to. The tone said enough: amusement, a trace of affection, and that smug calm that came after Trevor won an argument no one else knew they were having.
When the call finally clicked off, Lucas shifted slightly, his voice rough with sleep but unmistakably unimpressed. "You really can’t help yourself, can you?"
Trevor turned, smiling the way men did when they were absolutely guilty and entirely unrepentant. "Good morning to you too."
Lucas groaned, pulling the blanket higher. "You called Dax."
"Correct."
"Before coffee."
"Technically, during." Trevor leaned against the window frame, utterly at ease. "It’s barely eight. And Dax is usually awake by six in the morning, Saha’s hour."
Lucas cracked one eye open, giving him a look that could have wilted lesser men. "You do realize he’s going to turn this into an international event, right? By noon the Sahan press will be printing speculative baby names and timelines for ’royal alliances.’"
Trevor’s mouth curved into that dangerous, self-satisfied smile that made Lucas’s blood pressure rise. "Let them try. Dax is not the kind of man that would take the announcement from us."
"You like watching me suffer," Lucas muttered, sitting up and rubbing his face. His hair was a soft, rumpled halo in the morning light, his voice still heavy with sleep. "Did he at least pretend to be surprised?"
Trevor shook his head, moving closer until the bed dipped under his weight. "No. He said it was about time. And then he congratulated us."
Lucas blinked. "That’s... uncharacteristically sane of him."
Trevor smirked. "He’s married now. It’s making him soft."
Lucas gave him a flat stare. "He’s not married. He’s barely letting Christopher attend anything without eleven alpha security after him."
Trevor hummed, clearly amused. "Domesticity looks good on him, even if it’s enforced."
Lucas scoffed softly, reaching for the glass of water on the bedside table. "If you call that domesticity, then you’re redefining the word to include captivity." He took a small sip, the coolness easing his throat, then looked up at Trevor again. "Did he threaten you at least once?"
Trevor smiled faintly, a glint of pride in his eyes. "No. But Chris stole his coffee halfway through the call. That’s threat enough."
Lucas couldn’t help it, a quiet laugh slipped out, soft and tired but genuine. "Good. Someone has to keep him in check. I can’t afford another scandal involving royal breakfast wars."
Trevor’s grin widened, lazy and infuriatingly pleased with himself. "You say that, but you’re smiling."
"I’m laughing at the fact that you and Dax sound exactly alike when you’re being smug," Lucas said, setting the glass back down.
"That’s impossible. He’s more dramatic."
"Barely."
Trevor leaned forward, resting one knee on the mattress as his hand brushed the blanket away from Lucas’s face. "You’re not denying it."
"Because I’m too tired to argue," Lucas muttered, even as his lips twitched. "And you’re not getting points for waking me up with royal gossip."
"News," Trevor corrected. "Historic, even."
"Annoying," Lucas said flatly. "And completely predictable." He slumped back against the pillows, green eyes narrowing. "Now, let’s get to the important stuff. We are in Serathine’s mansion and she is with Caelan, how much time do you think will pass until he comes after us?"
Trevor’s expression shifted, that faint flicker between amusement and calculation that always meant his mind was already several moves ahead. He leaned back slightly, one arm braced on the headboard, watching Lucas with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
"Depends," he said at last. "If Serathine actually tells him, we have maybe three hours. If she lets him find out on his own, thirty minutes."
Lucas groaned, dragging a pillow over his face. "Perfect. I was hoping for an easy morning before the imperial hurricane arrived."
Trevor’s laugh was low, genuine. "You know he likes you, right?"
"I know, he makes it obvious," Lucas said, voice muffled through the pillow.
Trevor chuckled softly, shifting closer until he could nudge the edge of the pillow aside. "Then what’s the problem?"
"The problem," Lucas said, finally lowering the pillow just enough to glare at him, "isn’t Caelan. It’s Sirius and Lucius. Caelan will come in, ask his questions, give one of those long speeches about legacy and responsibility, and then leave me in peace. But his sons..." He trailed off with a sigh, eyes closing briefly. "They’ll turn this into a strategic operation."
Trevor laughed quietly, the kind of low, indulgent sound that said he already agreed but was far too entertained to admit it. "Ah yes, the elder princes of overreaction. How could I forget?"
Lucas groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face. "You didn’t see them last time. Sirius lectured me for breathing too much pheromone-rich air, and Lucius tried to make me sign a health decree for omegas under thirty."
Trevor grinned. "They care."
"They hover," Lucas corrected flatly. "They hover, they plot, and they weaponize concern like it’s imperial policy. I could sneeze, and by evening, half the court physicians would be on the steps of the D’Argente mansion asking for samples."
Trevor tilted his head, amused. "So, your plan is to escape before they mobilize?"
"Exactly," Lucas said, sitting up and fixing him with a look that was far too sharp for someone who’d been asleep ten minutes ago. "I love them, but I’m not spending the next seven months being treated like a fragile heirloom. Sirius will lecture me about the sanctity of royal bloodlines, and Lucius will schedule strategy meetings ’for my peace of mind.’"
Trevor smirked. "And what will you do if they show up before you leave?"
Lucas exhaled slowly, expression unchanging. "Pretend to be asleep."
That earned a genuine laugh from Trevor. "You’re serious."
"Absolutely." Lucas’s tone was matter-of-fact. "I’ll pull the covers over my head and let Serathine handle them. She’s the only one they fear."
Trevor moved closer, brushing his knuckles over Lucas’s knee. "You know they’ll find out soon anyway."
"I know," Lucas muttered. "Which is why I’d rather be in our mansion when it happens. Somewhere they can’t just drop by with a platoon of imperial physicians and an entourage of concerned secretaries." He gave him a sidelong look. "I love them, Trevor. I do. But they love me like a shared imperial project, not a person."
Trevor’s voice softened. "That’s not entirely true."
Lucas gave a faint, wry smile. "It’s not entirely false, either."
Trevor hummed, leaning back slightly, his eyes gleaming with quiet mischief. "Well, if it helps, I already had Windstone file the Fitzgeralt travel notice under ’private estate maintenance.’ They’ll assume it’s about renovations."
Lucas blinked at him. "You’re terrifyingly prepared."
"That’s why you married me," Trevor said, tone unapologetic.
Before Lucas could retort, a sharp, familiar tone buzzed from Trevor’s phone on the nightstand, the kind of alert that didn’t bode well. Trevor reached for it lazily, glanced at the screen, and sighed.
Lucas narrowed his eyes. "What now?"
Trevor turned the screen toward him. Two unread messages. One from Sirius, one from Lucius.
Sirius: You’re at Serathine’s mansion. Don’t leave until we talk.
Lucius: Mother says Serathine looks smug. Explain.
Lucas groaned, collapsing backward onto the bed with a muffled curse. "Let’s run."