[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega Chapter 326: Protocol Break

The microphones picked up the herald’s voice as it rolled across the sound system, clean and crisp:

"Today we recognise before the Empire and its court the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess Fitzgeralt..."

The flash of caras stuttered like heat lightning from the press gallery at the back. Above the polished marble floor, tall LED panels threw a soft wash of light over the imperial crest. The hall felt less like a cathedral than a high-stakes press conference staged inside a palace, but the tension was the sa, with the murmur of dignitaries, the asured clicks of photographers repositioning, and the sll of perfu over fresh wiring.

Mia shifted a half-step aside just as they’d practiced, the rose-quartz dress moving like a ribbon of light against the pale floor. She clasped her hands neatly in front of her, smile composed, eyes alive and scanning, part lady-in-waiting, part comms officer making sure nothing went wrong onstage.

Lucas adjusted his weight to the other foot, ready for the next cue, the formal address, and the signed docunts, when movent at his side interrupted the rhythm.

Trevor.

Instead of turning toward the dais as planned, the Grand Duke dropped smoothly to one knee before him, the violet of his eyes catching the light like a blade unsheathed. A ripple went through the hall, a whisper like a breeze crossing a wheat field. Even Mia’s breath caught.

In Trevor’s palm lay a ring in a gold box, heavy platinum, with the seal of Fitzgeralt worked in dark enal and fine gold filigree, Benjamin’s signature craft. From the edge of the crowd, Benjamin himself was watching, his grin as wide as a cat’s. The entire court might be shocked, but he knew a good piece of theater when he saw it.

Lucas’s heartbeat spiked hard enough to make the edges of the LED panels blur. This wasn’t on the run sheet. Not in the prep mos, not in the rehearsals. Every lens in the hall was on them, microphones hot, the murmuring of dignitaries turning into a low hiss of speculation. He could practically feel the headlines drafting themselves in the press gallery: Grand Duke proposes again onstage; Protocol broken, and the Empire stunned.

Trevor’s voice carried just enough to reach the first rows without losing its intimacy. "You’ve walked every corridor of this palace as my partner," he said, the platinum ring catching the wash of light. "Walk this one as the Duchess who carries my seal."

Mia’s fingers twitched once on her dress before she caught herself, rose-quartz pleats flaring slightly as she took a deliberate step to fra the shot. Her smile didn’t falter, but her eyes flicked from Trevor to Lucas like a live broadcast producer making sure the feed didn’t cut.

From the imperial dais, Caelan’s expression was unreadable, but Aysha’s brow lifted by a fraction. Sirius leaned forward with a flash of teeth, clearly enjoying the chaos; Lucius’s gaze swept over Mia and then back to the stage, quick and asuring.

Lucas inhaled slowly, the sound swallowed by the microphones. He bent at the waist just enough that only Trevor could hear. "You’re insane," he whispered, his voice flat but his green eyes sparking with a bite of humor. "This wasn’t in the plan."

Trevor looked up, the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. "So things aren’t ant to be in the plan," he murmured back. "Let them watch."

For a heartbeat the world narrowed to the cool weight of the ring in its box and the heat of Trevor’s palm, the flash of caras stuttering like lightning. Then Lucas straightened, chin lifting, every inch of him shifting from a startled man to the unflappable figure the Empire had co to watch.

Lucas reached down and closed his fingers over the box. The platinum felt cool against his skin, absurdly solid under the hot lights. He didn’t even glance at the dais or the photographers; his green eyes stayed on Trevor as he lifted the ring out and slid it onto his own finger with a slow, deliberate motion. The whisper of the crowd spiked into a low, stunned hum, flashes popping like a storm.

"I guess that makes it official," he said lightly, his voice carrying over the microphones, the corner of his mouth quirking. "Though you realize this ans I can’t elope with you later?"

Trevor’s answering grin was quick and wicked. "We could still try," he murmured just loud enough for the nearest press to pick up, violet eyes bright under the LEDs. "Imagine the headlines."

"Please," Lucas drawled, turning his head slightly toward the caras as though including them in the joke. "I think we’ve already given them enough copy for a week."

Laughter rippled through the hall, breaking the hush. Even Sirius let out a bark of amusent; Aysha’s lips curved by a fraction; Benjamin, at the back, actually applauded once, delighted with his own chaos.

Lucas let the mont hang just long enough before he reached down, caught Trevor’s wrist, and pulled him smoothly back to his feet. "Up," he said quietly, though the microphones caught the dry amusent. "We still have a ceremony to get through."

Trevor rose, adjusting his cuff with the sa calm he used at board etings, sliding seamlessly back into the scripted procession at Lucas’s side. Mia exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing a fraction as she stepped back into position, rose-quartz pleats whispering against the polished floor.

The herald’s voice ca again, unflappable as ever. "By decree of His Imperial Majesty, the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess Fitzgeralt..." The words rolled on, now threaded with the electric buzz of a hall that had just seen protocol rewritten live.

Lucas stepped forward when cued, Trevor half a pace beside him and Mia gliding just behind, exactly as they’d drilled for weeks. Only now the choreography had a charge to it, the quiet ripple of dignitaries rising, caras angling, and lenses hunting for the shot that would fra this day in the news cycle. The LED panels above them cast a soft glow over the imperial crest, catching on the platinum band now visible on Lucas’s hand.

"—present themselves before Their Imperial Majesties," the herald concluded.

At the top of the dais, the imperial family stood in a clean line of modern formality. Caelan in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that made his streak of white hair look deliberate; Aysha serene and razor-sharp at once. Sirius in navy, hands clasped loosely behind his back, a flash of teeth that said he was still enjoying the unscripted drama; and Lucius, darker, stiller, eyes montarily on Mia before sliding back to his father.

The murmuring subsided as the four approached the foot of the dais. Lucas stopped at the marker, green eyes level and unflinching, Trevor mirroring the stance beside him. Mia pivoted gracefully to her assigned position, the rose-quartz gown flaring like a spill of light against the pale marble, tablet held flat at her side.

The herald’s voice dropped to its closing cadence. "In the presence of the Emperor, the Empress, the Crown Prince, and the Second Prince, let the titles of Grand Duke and Grand Duchess Fitzgeralt be affird."

A low, controlled applause began from the gallery, a sound less like celebration than like a wave breaking, and the caras snapped in a staccato rhythm, capturing the mont that would lead every broadcast and front page by nightfall. Above it all Lucas stood with Trevor’s seal heavy on his finger, protocol neatly back on track but no one in the hall forgetting how it had just been rewritten.