[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega Chapter 408: The first kick

The days passed without incident, deceptively peaceful.

Snow had settled deep over the Fitzgeralt estate, blanketing the terraces and driveways until even the usual hum of the city below seed distant. The manor ran quieter now, the press of guests and politics replaced by the faint rhythm of Windstone’s morning rounds, the occasional call from Serathine, and Trevor’s habitual silence over black coffee.

After the formal announcent of Lucas’s pregnancy, their public appearances had been reduced to almost none. Trevor’s office handled most affairs remotely, and the press, though restless, respected the palace-issued statent that "the Duke and Grand Duchess were focusing on their health and private affairs for the winter."

Privately, it ant the two of them could breathe.

The afternoon light filtered through the tall windows of the dining room, spilling warmth over polished glass and white linen. The long table, ant for thirty, was set for two. Windstone moved soundlessly in the background, refilling Lucas’s tea and adjusting the placent of a silver tray before stepping aside with his usual poise.

Lucas sat with one leg folded beneath him, dressed simply in soft grey knitwear that stretched faintly over his abdon. Across from him, Trevor was in shirtsleeves, collar undone, scrolling through a digital report on his tablet with the quiet of a man who refused to let the world slip out of his grasp.

"You’re not eating," Trevor said without looking up.

Lucas glanced at the half-finished plate in front of him. "I am. Just slowly."

"Slowly ans you’ve been staring at the sa forkful for five minutes."

"Exaggeration," Lucas murmured, though he set the utensil down anyway.

Trevor finally lifted his gaze. "You were working again last night."

"I was reading." The oga said, faintly indignant at his husband’s accusation.

"You were editing policy drafts."

Lucas’s lips curved faintly. "They were poorly written."

Trevor exhaled, setting the tablet aside. "You promised to rest."

"I’m sitting," Lucas countered.

Windstone, who was collecting the empty teapot, didn’t so much as glance up, but Lucas saw the corner of his mouth twitch, the closest thing to amusent the man ever showed during working hours.

Trevor noticed too. "Don’t encourage him, Windstone."

"Wouldn’t dream of it, sir," Windstone said smoothly, disappearing through the door with the sa efficiency he applied to all dostic diplomacy.

Left alone, the room softened around them, the fire low in the corner, the hush of snow against glass, and the faint scent of cedar and citrus from the candles Lucas had insisted on lighting earlier.

Lucas leaned back slightly. "You could delegate more, you know."

"I do."

"To whom?"

Trevor’s mouth curved, a rare flash of humor. "Windstone."

Lucas rolled his eyes but smiled. "You’re impossible."

Trevor was about to respond when Lucas froze. His breath caught, a small, startled sound that made Trevor imdiately straighten.

"What is it?"

Lucas blinked, then let out a soft, incredulous laugh. "He kicked."

Trevor’s expression shifted from alarm to sothing close to disbelief. "He... what?"

Lucas caught his hand before he could speak again, guiding it to the gentle rise beneath his sweater. "Here. Wait."

For a mont, nothing. Then there was a faint, undeniable push, a small movent similar to a heartbeat trying to et the world.

Trevor’s hand stilled. His eyes flicked down, dark and intent, as though he were seeing sothing sacred. "He’s strong," he said quietly.

Lucas smiled faintly. "Of course he is. He’s ours."

Trevor didn’t move his hand right away. His thumb brushed absently across the fabric, tracing the mory of that motion as if to commit it to skin and bone.

"You feel it?" Lucas whispered.

"I do." Trevor’s voice had gone softer, quieter. "He’s real."

Lucas tilted his head, amused by the awe threading through that calm. "You doubted ?"

"Never," Trevor murmured. "I just didn’t realize how much it would feel like this."

They stayed like that for a while, just the three of them beneath the steady snowfall, frad in the quiet hum of warmth and glass.

Windstone returned minutes later, only to pause discreetly at the door. He saw them, understood imdiately, and said nothing, simply adjusted the room’s thermostat by a degree, ensuring the warmth held, and retreated as silently as he ca.

Lucas caught the faint click of the closing door, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "He’s been watching over us more than usual."

Trevor’s hand was still resting on him. "That’s because he knows what matters."

—

Trevor didn’t let go of him for the rest of the afternoon.

He had dragged his chair close, too close, until his knee brushed Lucas’s with every small movent. The tablet lay forgotten; his hand had found a new occupation, resting over the curve of Lucas’s stomach, tracing lazy circles as if contact alone could keep the world from intruding.

"You’re attached," Lucas said at last, amusent flickering in his eyes.

"I’m thorough."

"You’ve followed from the kitchen to the study to the dining room."

Trevor’s voice stayed perfectly calm. "And?"

"And if I stand?"

"I stand with you."

Lucas exhaled through a laugh. "You’re impossible."

Trevor only humd, leaning closer, his breath brushing the side of Lucas’s neck. "Perspective is for people who don’t have sothing worth losing."

That silenced Lucas, just long enough for Windstone to reappear with tea. The butler’s timing was, as always, impeccable, and his composure equally so, despite the obvious scene before him.

"Would you like to move the tablet to your study, sir?" he asked smoothly.

"No," Trevor said without looking up. "We’ll stay here."

Windstone inclined his head, adjusted the thermostat, and withdrew, expressionless save for the faintest sigh at the door.

"You’re enjoying this," Trevor murmured when Lucas’s smile threatened to show.

"A little," Lucas admitted.

"Dangerous habit," Trevor said, brushing his lips just beneath his jaw.

Lucas’s breath caught and then the faintest movent stirred under Trevor’s hand. A small, sure flutter.

Trevor froze. "He kicked again."

Lucas’s smile softened. "He knows your voice."

Trevor’s thumb traced the spot lightly. "Of course he knows it, its our child."

Outside, the snow kept falling and for a while, neither of them spoke.