[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega Chapter 14: Measured by Power

Lucas narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "You an tailoring."

Sera’s grin widened, feline and unforgiving. "I an shopping, my dear. New shoes. New watch. A suit that screams unapproachable royalty."

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You want to parade like a peacock."

"I want you to walk into that ballroom and make every alpha in the Empire realize they’re ten years too late," she replied, already pulling her phone from the pocket of her robe. "And if you’re going to break hearts, you may as well do it in D’Argente silk."

"I already hate this plan."

"No, you don’t," she said sweetly. "You just hate not being in control. Luckily for you, that’s about to change."

Lucas leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

Coming of age. New title. Possible suitor.

And a tailor with strong opinions.

He was going to need more than ice cream to survive this.

—

There was a knock at the door. Polite. asured. David’s voice followed before Lucas could respond.

"Lady Serathine, the tailor has arrived. Along with representatives from House Worth and Ferseine for accessories, as requested."

Lucas groaned. "You invited the design houses?"

Serathine didn’t look up from her phone. "Darling, you’re going to be seen. From now on, you are the heir of the D’Argente house, and an heir of this house is always spoiled and pampered."

Lucas slid lower in his chair like a man awaiting execution, muttering sothing about fashion being a blood sport. He barely had ti to fully dread the onslaught when the doors opened with the grace of a military maneuver.

The first to enter was the tailor—a slender man in dove gray with a mouth that looked perpetually unimpressed. He swept into the room like a storm wrapped in silk, flanked by two assistants already carrying asuring tapes and fabric books.

"Lucas Oz Kilr," the man announced, not a question but a pronouncent. His eyes swept over Lucas, and his lips pressed into a line. "We’ll burn the entire wardrobe."

Lucas blinked. "Excuse ?"

"I am Evrin. I don’t excuse." Evrin clapped once. "Stand. Arms out. Shirt off if possible. We’re erasing your past one seam at a ti."

Lucas turned to Serathine, appalled. "Are you hearing this?"

She smiled. "Music to my ears. Evrin designs for royalty, presidents, and one particularly violent archbishop. He’ll do you justice."

Before Lucas could offer a biting retort, in swept the representatives from House Worth and Ferseine—one dressed in shades of silver, the other draped in rich wine-colored velvet. They bowed politely but wasted no ti opening velvet cases of jewelry, cufflinks, brooches, and heirloom tipieces.

"We’ve brought twenty-two watches," said the Worth representative. "Your wrist will decide."

"Gods," Lucas whispered. "What happened to normal life? To owning one pair of boots and being left alone?"

"You were abused and discarded in your old life," Serathine said without apology. "This ti, you will be seen. You will be powerful. And you will never beg for dignity again."

The room quieted. Even Evrin glanced up.

Lucas exhaled slowly, his muscles stiff as he rose from the chair.

"Fine," he said. "You want a spectacle? I’ll give you one."

Serathine’s eyes glead. "Good. Now pick a color. Black makes you look dangerous. Red makes you look powerful. But I think midnight blue will make you unforgettable."

Lucas turned to Evrin. "Make look untouchable."

Evrin’s mouth finally curved. "Darling. That’s the only kind of look I do."

The tension in the room shifted. Evrin had just begun circling Lucas with the sharp focus of a falcon sizing up its prey when David’s voice echoed again through the half-open door—this ti less formal, but edged with unmistakable warning.

"Lady Serathine. Forgive the interruption, but... Prince Lucius is here. He says he’s co to visit his aunt."

The air stilled.

Lucas froze, one arm halfway out of his shirt, fabric tangled around his elbow. He didn’t move; he didn’t breathe. Even the Worth and Ferseine assistants paused, their silk-wrapped hands suspended mid-gesture.

Serathine didn’t look up imdiately. She closed her phone with a soft snap, expression unreadable. Then, with a fluid grace that belied the danger suddenly pressing against the room like thunderclouds, she stood and walked to the center of the parlor.

"Did he bring a guard?" she asked David, her tone flat.

"One," David replied. "Unard. The prince insisted he ca as family, not royalty."

"Then let him in."

Lucas managed to free his arm from the shirt but kept the fabric close, half-shielding his chest.

—

The door opened.

Lucius stepped in like he owned the light.

Tall. Effortlessly poised. Dressed in an unbuttoned jacket of imperial navy, his collarbone visible, his silver pin of office glinting lazily under the chandeliers. His hair was deep obsidian, cut short, with striking blue eyes.

"Aunt Serathine," he greeted smoothly, bowing just enough to remain arrogant. "You look radiant."

Serathine didn’t smile. "Lucius."

His eyes slid to Lucas.

And lingered.

Lucas stood still, every instinct tightening under his skin.

Lucius, the second prince of the Empire, scanned the room with casual detachnt—until his gaze landed on Lucas again, more focused this ti. No flicker of recognition. No smirk of cruelty like the ones Lucas had endured from too many aristocrats with power and hands that bruised.

Just... curiosity.

"And you are?" the prince asked, his tone smooth but asured, as if cataloguing a new artifact rather than addressing a person.

Before Lucas could reply, Serathine stepped forward, her voice cool and composed. "My ward. Lucas Oz Kilr. He will be formally introduced during his coming-of-age ball."

Lucius’s brows arched slightly. "Your ward?"

"My heir, actually," Serathine corrected with just enough sweetness to burn. "I thought you might visit, so I moved up the tailoring session. We were just selecting his ceremonial colors."

Lucas stayed silent, watching him. This was the man the Empire praised as level-headed, diplomatic, and poised for greatness. The second prince was recognized for his strategic genius. Lucas had read about him in books. Official records, court gossip from his past life. But this—this was the first ti he saw him in flesh and breath and elegant arrogance.

"No one that should interest you," Lucas said, slipping his arm into the sleeve. "Just the body being used for embroidery samples."

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was sharp.

Lucius’s gaze flicked down, then back up to et his eyes with a flicker of amusent. "A modest answer. You must be new to court."

"I’m new to being asured for silk. The court, unfortunately, has been around much longer than my patience for it."

Serathine’s eyes glittered behind her fan, saying nothing, but Lucas could feel the approval radiating from her like a pleased storm. Evrin, still adjusting the drape of fabric over Lucas’s shoulder, snorted under his breath but kept working.

Lucius tilted his head, regarding Lucas as if studying the shape of an unfamiliar chess piece on a board he thought he knew by heart.

"Interesting," he murmured. "Very few people speak to like that."

Lucas gave a thin smile. "Very few people are protected by Lady Serathine."

Lucius let out a short laugh, quiet but real. "Fair enough."

Then, for a second, sothing flickered behind the prince’s eyes—sothing less polished, less imperial. A hesitation, or perhaps recognition of sothing he couldn’t quite na.

"Your na?" he asked finally.

Serathine answered before Lucas could. "Lucas Oz Kilr."

Lucius’s gaze narrowed slightly, the na clearly unfamiliar. "Kilr? Northern lineage?"

"Distant," Serathine replied smoothly. "His file has already been submitted to the imperial registrar. You’ll find it boringly proper."

Lucas could practically taste the mont Lucius made a ntal note to check the file himself. The kind of man who didn’t let threads dangle.

"Well," Lucius said, backing toward the door, hands folded behind him. "I hope my dear aunt didn’t forget, again, to invite to such an important event."

Serathine smiled—velvet and venom. "Would I dare exclude the Empire’s favored strategist? The Empress would faint."

Lucius’s grin didn’t reach his eyes. "Ah, yes. She’s already sent two ssages asking which heirs you’ve been grooming in secret. I was surprised to find only one."

"Surprises keep the court lively," Serathine replied. "And Lucas is quite... lively."

Lucas said nothing, pulling his sleeve fully into place, the motion sharp and deliberate. He didn’t need to insert himself. Not yet.

Lucius’s gaze returned to him. Direct. Curious.

"You have the posture of soone used to being watched," Lucius said mildly. "And the mouth of soone who doesn’t care."

Lucas t his eyes with a flat, unreadable look. "I was raised around wolves. They bite harder than courtiers."

Lucius’s lips twitched. "Good. Then you’ll survive your debut."

"He’s not debuting," Serathine cut in, folding her fan with a click. "He’s being announced. There’s a difference."

Lucius didn’t argue. Instead, he nodded toward Lucas once, as if making a ntal bookmark. "Then I’ll bring flowers. For whoever bites first."

And just like that, he turned and left, his polished shoes silent against the marble.

The doors closed behind him.

Evrin muttered under his breath, "That one’s born with a blade in his mouth."