[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega Chapter 225: Protection

The salon chosen for the eting was one of the quieter ones, elegant, narrow, too formal for casual gatherings, and too intimate for full diplomatic sessions. It was the kind of room where history lingered in the tapestries, and silence felt sharpened by legacy.

Lucas entered without knocking. Neither woman looked up at the sound of the door.

Serathine was by the window, a wine glass in hand, her red curls pinned into an artful sweep, erald earrings catching the light like knives. Cressida sat near the hearth, draped in lilac silk and pearls that clinked as she reached for her tea, the curve of her mouth already edged with disappointnt.

"You’re late," Cressida said without looking at him.

"I’m exactly on ti," Lucas replied, closing the door behind him. "You’re early. Again."

Serathine took a sip, smiled into the glass, and finally turned. "At least you haven’t run."

"Yet."

Cressida’s eyes narrowed. "Don’t tempt , boy. I’m in a generous mood."

"That’s new," Serathine said idly. "What happened? Did your butler survive the week?"

Cressida exhaled through her nose like it was an effort not to break sothing porcelain. "He had the gall to correct on seating charts. Twice."

Lucas walked further into the room, taking the chair that wasn’t offered but clearly expected. "The horror."

Serathine smirked into her wine. "You married into it. Your sympathy ans nothing."

"Good," Lucas replied, folding his hands neatly in his lap. "I didn’t bring any."

Cressida set her teacup down with just enough force to make the saucer rattle. "Let’s not start with attitude, Lucas. You may have survived the wedding, but you have to return to the capital for the official presentation and the private eting with Caelan."

"How did you find out about it?" Lucas asked, suspicious about the two won’s sources.

Cressida smiled, but it wasn’t warm, it was the kind of smile that ca with land deeds, assassination rumors, and silk-lined daggers. "I didn’t find out, dear. I was inford. There’s a difference."

Serathine let out a low hum, swirling the wine in her glass as she watched the exchange unfold like a play she’d already seen once before. "Which ans she’s already made her counter-offer to the palace before you even picked up your coat this morning."

Lucas’s brow twitched. "Trevor didn’t ntion anything."

"That’s because he was trying to spare you ten minutes of royal migraine," Serathine said, tone dry. "Caelan doesn’t summon people. He orchestrates them."

Cressida lifted her cup again, this ti with precise elegance. "And if you’re his son, with a title you didn’t ask for and a country already whispering about your bloodline, you don’t get to sit that eting out."

Lucas’s spine straightened slightly. "I don’t want the title. I don’t want to be recognized as a prince."

Cressida didn’t blink. "And yet here you are, married to a duke, heir to a duchy, and carrying royal blood through two veins. The palace is going to ask questions, Lucas. We want you prepared before they do."

Lucas’s spine straightened slightly, a familiar resistance flaring in his posture. "I don’t want the title. I don’t want to be recognized as a prince."

"We know," Serathine said, calm and imdiate, moving away from the window. Her heels were silent against the rug as she approached the table and set her empty glass down with careful precision. "And you won’t be. Not unless you ask for it, and even then, it would be an uphill climb."

Cressida nodded, pearl rings glinting as she lifted her tea again. "Sirius is crown prince. Lucius follows. The line is secure. The court doesn’t need another royal heir. But it’s not about need, Lucas. It’s about appearances. Caelan wants to see the boy he ignored. And the Empire wants a narrative it can digest."

Lucas’s gaze darkened. "So they want proof. Papers. Blood. Data they can twist into a clean ending."

"Which," Serathine said, settling into the seat across from him, "is exactly why we’ll write the ending."

Cressida placed her cup back into its saucer, no longer feigning disinterest. "We’ll handle the official conversation with Caelan. He owes both of us more than a polite audience; he won’t risk a scandal when his empire’s finally stable."

Serathine smiled, sharp and dry. "We’ll give him sothing to swallow. Not a prince, not a threat, just a relative. A quiet match. Enough shared blood to silence the whispers, but not enough to crown you."

Lucas frowned faintly. "How?"

"A genetic test," Cressida said simply. "Refined. Credible enough to confirm a connection, but inconclusive where it matters."

"Just enough to imply that Misty lied," Serathine added smoothly, leaning back in her chair. "And since she’s unofficially missing and officially dead by execution... well, dead people don’t argue. And if she does sohow crawl out of whatever sewer she’s kept in..." her smile curved like a blade, "we’ll kill her again. A pleasure, really."

Lucas didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "You’re both remarkably calm about this."

"Darling," Cressida said, folding her hands, "If we can’t do this much, then what is the point in having power and titles?"

Serathine gestured lazily toward the window, the light glinting off the rings on her fingers. "And we don’t hand Caelan a new son just because he finally looked up from his throne and noticed you exist. If Trevor weren’t who he is, you would’ve ended up in the sa place Misty tried to send you. Better dressed, better fed, but still sold. Still owned."

Lucas arched a brow, lips twitching. "You make it sound like Dax is worse."

"He is," Serathine said flatly. "Especially for you."

Cressida didn’t disagree. She stirred her tea once, watching the liquid swirl. "For whatever oga he’s parading now, maybe it’ll be different. Maybe not. But you?" She looked up, sharp and unblinking. "He’d never have let you breathe without a collar. No matter how much you’d hate it."

Serathine tilted her head, her tone turning thoughtful but no less dangerous. "Dax respects protocol when it suits him. And when it doesn’t, he reshapes it. The people beside him don’t get the luxury of choosing which rules to follow. They follow him. Or they fall."

Lucas sat back, gaze cool. "Then I suppose I’m lucky."

Cressida smiled over the rim of her teacup. "You’re not lucky, dear. You’re married to soone worse."

Lucas blinked. Then laughed, quietly, genuinely. "That’s not comforting."

"It’s not ant to be," Serathine said, amusent curling in her voice now. "It’s ant to remind you who protects you. And why we won’t let anyone else try."