[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega Chapter 360: Not. A. Word

It started with a sound Windstone had never heard from the master’s suite before, an abrupt, muffled thud, followed by the distinct noise of running water and a noise that could only be described as displeased retching.

For a man who had once endured diplomatic banquets, military inspections, and Trevor’s teenage years without so much as blinking, it took quite a lot to rattle him. Still, he set his newspaper aside with a long-suffering sigh, muttering, "And here I was, hoping for a quiet morning."

He knocked once, out of habit more than necessity. "My lord?"

From inside ca a strained but very firm, "Don’t co in. It’s fine."

Windstone raised an eyebrow, though his tone stayed unhurried. "Ah. Fine. That very specific brand of fine usually ans the opposite."

Another groan answered him.

The door opened suddenly.

Lucas appeared in the doorway, pale but upright, one hand gripping the doorfra as though it might decide to run off without him. His green eyes were sharp despite the clammy sheen on his skin. "If you tell Trevor," he said, voice dangerously calm, "I will exile you to Cressida’s estate for a month."

Windstone’s mouth quirked, utterly unfazed. "Cressida’s estate? Harsh. I was thinking more along the lines of the sumrhouse and a week of my impeccable company, but your generosity knows no bounds." He folded his arms with the practiced, indulgent air of a man who’d seen worse and kept a bottle of ergency calm in his pocket.

Lucas’s jaw tightened. "I an it."

Windstone tipped an imaginary hat. "I heard you the first ti. Consider suitably chastened. Now, do you need anything that can be summoned without summoning an army?"

Lucas blinked, breath hitching. For a sliver of a second the anger skinned off and sothing like embarrassnt glimred beneath. "Tea. Plain. And crackers. And soone to stand between and Trevor if he so much as thinks of cedar."

"Right away." Windstone’s voice held that soft, teasing patience of an indulgent uncle calm, annoyingly competent. He paused at the door as Trevor appeared in the corridor, shirt hanging open at the throat, hair damp from the shower, and concern already written across his face.

"What’s happening?"

"Your oga has decided to reenact a small shipwreck in the bathroom. It’s morning sickness. You may proceed with the very quiet hovering protocol." Windstone supplied smoothly, setting a hand on Trevor’s arm with mock severity

Trevor blinked. "Morning sickness?"

Windstone sighed, long-suffering and amused all at once. "Yes, the glamorous consequence of your marital enthusiasm, my lord. Congratulations... you’ve officially graduated from ’expectant husband’ to ’designated hand-holder and fetcher of bland carbohydrates.’"

Trevor stared past him toward the open door, voice low with worry. "Is he..."

"Alive," Windstone cut in dryly. "Displeased, but alive. And he’s threatened exile should you emit so much as a hint of cedar, so I suggest you breathe like a polite human until further notice."

Trevor’s mouth twitched, torn between exasperation and affection. "Understood."

Windstone patted his shoulder. "Good lad. I’ll fetch supplies before he decides to weaponize the porcelain fixtures."

He disappeared down the hall, leaving Trevor to face the battlefield alone.

Lucas hadn’t moved far, he was leaning against the counter now, a cool cloth pressed to his face. When he heard Trevor’s steps, he groaned. "Tell you didn’t bring your pheromones in here."

"I didn’t," Trevor said softly, hands raised in mock surrender. "Unscented and unard."

Lucas lowered the cloth, glaring through damp lashes. "Good. Because I swear, if you sll like a forest, I’ll find a way to burn it down."

Trevor’s lips curved faintly. "Noted. You look beautiful, by the way."

Lucas gave him the most unimpressed stare a nauseous oga had ever managed. "You have a death wish."

Before Trevor could respond, Windstone returned, balancing a tray like a man carrying sacred relics: tea, lemon slices, plain crackers, and, because it was Windstone, a perfectly folded napkin and a bowl of candied ginger that glead like small jewels.

"Tea," he announced. "dicinal, unoffensive, and steeped in regret. Crackers for stability. Ginger, in case you wish to pretend the world is still edible."

Lucas blinked, montarily distracted. "You’re scarily prepared for this."

Windstone smirked. "I’ve seen a few pregnancies in my ti. Usually ends with one of you crying and the other trying to cook. I’d like to avoid the latter."

Trevor glanced at him. "aning?"

"aning," Windstone said patiently, "if you step foot in that kitchen, I’ll personally notify Her Grace."

Lucas snorted, a weak, pained laugh, but real. He accepted the tea with shaking hands and took a slow sip. "You will have to choose who to inform first: Serathine or Cressida; that is death in itself," he murmured, though the edge in his voice had softened.

Windstone straightened, entirely composed. "Indeed, my lord, but that is a parental responsibility, not mine. I have survived many things in this household, but informing either the Duchess or the Marchioness of a pregnancy before they are officially told would not be among them. I prefer to live a little longer."

Trevor looked faintly horrified. "You’re saying we have to tell them ourselves?"

"Precisely," Windstone said smoothly. "And preferably at a safe distance from fine porcelain, breakable heirlooms, or emotionally unstable servants. The last ti Cressida received unexpected family news, the greenhouse didn’t recover for a week."

Lucas coughed into his tea, choking on a laugh. "Didn’t you forget about Serathine?"

Windstone tilted his head, his voice unflappably calm. "She will simply look at you until you start confessing everything you’ve ever done wrong, and then hug you so tightly you’ll forget you were ever terrified."

Trevor groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "So... slow death by Cressida or emotional asphyxiation by Serathine. Excellent."

Lucas smiled faintly into his cup. "I suppose we’ll die together, then."

Windstone nodded approvingly. "A romantic end. I’ll begin the preparations for the announcent once you’ve regained your color."

Lucas’s lips twitched despite himself. "Windstone."

"Yes, my lord?"

"Not. A. Word."

Windstone placed a dignified hand over his heart. "I am a vault. A very elegant, well-inford vault. Rest easy."

And as he swept out, the sound of his low chuckle trailed behind him , dry, fond, and just mischievous enough to make both Trevor and Lucas wonder how long they really had before the duchess and the marchioness sohow found out anyway.