[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega Chapter 130: Grandmother

The door beside Lucas opened like a storm before any of them could speak.

A man stepped out of the suite he had paid for, fought for, and, unfortunately, forgot to ward against idiocy.

Trevor.

Hair damp, sleeves rolled, collar still unfastened at the throat. He moved like a man who had dressed in silence and fury, one hand dragging a cuff through the last remnants of linen steam, the other already curled into sothing just shy of threat.

He stopped just behind Lucas.

Trevor’s gaze moved once across the hallway, Cressida first, then Dax, then back to his mate.

He didn’t speak.

The silence hit the floor like sothing heavy.

Dax, of course, broke it. "Good morning, darling. You’re late to the inquisition."

Trevor didn’t look at him.

His voice, when it ca, was too calm to be kind.

"What exactly is this?"

Lucas didn’t turn, but Trevor saw the tension anyway—contained, invisible to most, but not to him. His mate stood barefoot in the corridor, exposed and bandaged, holding his ground like he hadn’t just endured thirty hours in bed with a man built like war. There were shadows under his eyes, faint but there. The aftermath of heat still clinging to his movents.

And still, they had co.

Cressida t Trevor’s gaze without blinking. "I ca to see who you married."

"You could’ve waited a day."

"I waited almost a month." Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. "I’m not here to attack you or Lucas. I didn’t know you bonded just yesterday. I do have tact, after all."

Trevor’s expression didn’t shift, but sothing behind his eyes cooled further, tempered now by clarity rather than rage.

Lucas, beside him, finally looked at her directly. "Are you... his grandma?" He asked while pointing at Trevor. "The one playing cards with war criminals?"

There was a beat of silence.

Trevor groaned, quiet and imdiate. "Lucas."

Cressida blinked. Once.

Then she tilted her head, as if re-evaluating her entire approach. "I haven’t been convicted."

Lucas nodded. "That’s not a denial."

Dax let out a sound suspiciously close to a wheeze.

Trevor muttered sothing under his breath and ran a hand down his face like he was already regretting every life decision that led to this exact mont.

Cressida’s expression didn’t change, but her mouth twitched, just faintly.

"I suppose real introductions are due," she said, voice composed, words deliberate. Her eyes never left Lucas’s face. "Yes. I’m Lady Cressida Fitzgeralt, Dowager Marchioness of Ardent Vale. The one and only living grandmother of this specin."

She motioned vaguely toward Trevor, as if he were sothing inconvenient she hadn’t had ti to return.

Trevor didn’t react.

Lucas blinked, slowly. "That explains a lot."

Dax choked on a laugh and didn’t even try to hide it this ti.

Cressida’s gaze narrowed, not in displeasure, but in the sa way one might assess a blade and find it sharper than expected.

"And you," she said, "are Lucas D’Argente. Serathine’s ward. The quiet scandal of two courts. Marked, bonded, and barefoot before noon."

Lucas smiled, faintly. "It’s been a productive week."

Cressida nodded once. "We’ll discuss your spine over tea. I suspect it’s steel, but I’d like to confirm."

Trevor made a sound that wasn’t quite a sigh and not quite a curse.

Dax clapped his hands once, all faux delight and zero helpfulness. "Wonderful! Shall we gather around porcelain and psychological warfare, then?"

Cressida was already turning toward the garden corridor.

Trevor glanced down at Lucas, still holding his hand. "You sure you’re up for this?"

Lucas tilted his head. "She likes . She only compared to a scandal and implied I was weaponized. That’s affection, isn’t it?"

Trevor didn’t answer. He just kissed his temple once, like it might help.

—

Lucas had changed into sothing more appropriate.

Court-cut linen, dark and clean-lined, ironed by Windstone himself in a fit of despair. He had even put on shoes.

House shoes.

He wasn’t ready to be entirely polite.

The walk to the Garden Salon was quiet, except for the occasional flick of Dax’s comntary and Trevor muttering prayers in a language that was either antique Palatinian or pure spite.

By the ti they arrived, Cressida was already seated.

Of course she was.

She had taken the most advantageous chair—half in the sun, facing both exits, with a clear view of every tea tray and every expression. The table had been shifted slightly to the left. The seating arrangent had changed from a casual arc into sothing closer to an interrogation panel. Subtle.

Trevor’s preferred chair was gone. Replaced with a lower one.

Lucas’s seat had a back to it, but no cushion.

Windstone stood off to the side, holding the teapot like it was a diplomatic relic from a forr war. His face was unreadable, but the way he poured told the story.

Lucas didn’t hesitate.

He sat first.

Chose the seat directly across from Cressida, crossed one leg over the other, and rested his hands calmly in his lap.

Cressida smiled, like she was already impressed and too proud to admit it.

"Much better," she said, reaching for her cup. "Though you look like soone who could ruin a reputation with a single sentence."

Lucas gave her a thin smile. "That’s what I’ve been told."

Dax settled into the only chair not strategically placed. It squeaked. He didn’t care.

Trevor arrived last. He didn’t sit. Not right away.

Instead, he moved behind Lucas and refilled his cup first—before even touching his own. Then he sat to Lucas’s left, one leg angled out, as if blocking half the table from reaching him.

"And why are you still here?" Trevor asked, not bothering to look at Dax. The question wasn’t venomous, just edged with the kind of irritation that only ca from being in the proximity of your brothers. Only Dax wasn’t his brother—not by na. Just by the shared history of surviving palace floors, near-executions, and long gas in the dark.

Dax smiled into his cup like it was a mirror. "To provide moral support."

Trevor didn’t even blink. "From the man that gave a deadline to claim Lucas?"

There was a beat. Not loud. But enough to shift the air.

Cressida turned her head, slow and exact. "What?"