[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega Chapter 295: Trophies and patience

For the first ti, Dax’s laugh wasn’t low or careful. It was rich, unrestrained, carrying that particular timbre that made lesser n fold their shoulders without knowing why. "Pastries," he echoed, savoring the word like a threat disguised as indulgence.

"Yes. Did you two make up?" Lucas asked, his voice mild, almost innocent.

"That shouldn’t interest you."

Lucas’s lips curved faintly. "Dax, you’ve read my mories from the past life; there was no Christopher in them, not with you. His brother Andrew Malek got to be part of the Blacks, and I’m sure they either hid him or gave him to soone else."

Silence pressed down the line, heavy as stone. When Dax finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of crown and kingdom, every syllable asured like a verdict.

"You presu much, Lucas. You were so away from the world in your past life that anything could happen without you knowing. I gave Christopher ti, that is all you need to know."

Lucas exhaled softly, not quite a laugh, more the sound of a man amused at being checked without ever conceding. "Ti, hm? You make it sound like patience is your strongest virtue."

"Patience," Dax replied, smooth as obsidian, "is not a virtue. And I do not waste mine."

Lucas tipped his head against the pillow, green eyes glinting in the glow of the phone screen. "Then you won’t waste it on either."

A low hum, neither agreent nor denial, slid through the line. "You gamble because you think I’ll indulge you, Lucas. And perhaps I will. But rember, Christopher is the reason I stay amused, not you."

"You really know how to hurt soone’s feelings," Lucas said mockingly.

Dax’s chuckle slid down the line, smooth as dark wine. "If you had any, perhaps. But I suspect you treat wounds as trophies."

Lucas tipped his head, lips curving wider. "And you treat trophies as prisoners."

"Careful," Dax murmured, velvet over steel, the kind of voice that could charm a court while gutting its ambition. "I never mistake what belongs to for a prize. Christopher is not so conquest. He is the line I will not allow you to cross."

The silence after was asured. Dax had given no room for play, no space for Lucas to wedge another barb. He had drawn the boundary, and he had done it with the kind of authority that required no threat to enforce.

Lucas exhaled softly, not laughing this ti, but the gleam in his green eyes remained sharp. "Lines are ant to be tested, Majesty."

"And kings," Dax replied, voice steady and smooth as silk drawn tight, "are ant to remind you when to stop."

The call ended with that final note, leaving Lucas staring at the ceiling, lips curved faintly, as if even being checked by a king was a kind of victory.

"You know too well, Dax," Lucas murmured into the quiet, the faint curve of his lips caught sowhere between admiration and mischief.

The line had already gone dead, but the weight of the king’s voice lingered, like a hand still pressed at his throat long after its owner had withdrawn.

Lucas rolled onto his side, phone slipping from his hand to the sheets, the cedar-scented fabric brushing against his skin where Trevor had leaned earlier. His chest rose with a slow, steady breath, but his eyes glead in the dim light, sharp and bright with satisfaction. He had pushed far enough, but not too far. He had tested the edges, and the king had drawn his line clearly.

That was enough.

The phone buzzed again, but this ti not with a flood of frantic ssages from the family chat. A different na lit the screen. Christopher.

Lucas’s smirk softened, sothing more genuine flickering behind his expression. He swiped to accept, his voice gentler when he spoke. "You heard?"

There was a pause on the other end, the kind of silence that wasn’t avoidance but careful thought. Then Christopher’s voice ca, steady but edged. "I heard enough. You shouldn’t make the centerpiece of your gas, Lucas."

Lucas closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose. "It wasn’t a ga. You needed help from soone that knows both Palatine and Sahan’s etiquette and you needed your family safe. Don’t get wrong, Dax won’t do them any harm, but others will; that’s why Dax let Mia in our house."

There was a rustle on the line, the faint scrape of fabric as if Christopher had shifted in his chair. When he spoke again, his voice was steady but undercut with sothing harsher. "And you decided all that for ?"

Lucas’s lips curved faintly, though his eyes stayed closed. "I decided nothing. I only reminded the king what was already true. You’re safer with him than without him. And so is your sister. You know it as well as I do."

Silence answered him at first, taut and unyielding. Then Christopher’s voice ca, sharper now, laced with the kind of defiance that had no room for diplomacy. "I didn’t choose any of this, Lucas. Not the palace. Not Dax. Not your sches. And if it were up to , both you and your king could go to hell for all I care."

Lucas opened his eyes at that, staring up at the darkened ceiling, but he didn’t interrupt.

Christopher’s breath hitched faintly, but his tone only hardened. "You all talk about safety, about inevitability, about lines I should be grateful for. But none of you understand; I’ve been stripped of everything that made Christopher Malek. My na, my choices, my life. And now you want to smile and act like it was so blessing?"

His words rang hard through the receiver, leaving the kind of silence that was followed by a final warning.

Lucas exhaled slowly, the sound quieter this ti. For once, he didn’t try to twist, or soothe, or bargain. He only murmured, "Then tell him that yourself."

And when the call ended, Lucas let the phone drop to the sheets, cedar clinging to the air, his expression unreadable in the dim glow.