[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega Chapter 69: The Grand Duchess Arrives

The descent was smooth. Too smooth, if Lucas was being honest.

He hadn’t expected the estate to have a landing strip. And not just a cleared field or so vaguely reinforced patch of grass—but an actual, paved private runway, trimd by manicured hedges and discreet floodlights, like sothing out of a royal military compound trying to pass for a family vacation ho.

He stared out the window as the wheels touched down, and the estate unfolded beneath the wingtip—black stone and golden light, sharp architecture frad by dark pine and symtry. The kind of place built to impress diplomats and intimidate in-laws.

He turned his head, his gaze cutting toward Trevor.

"You have a runway."

Trevor unbuckled his belt, calm as ever. "It’s efficient."

"It’s excessive."

Trevor didn’t argue.

Outside, the landing team moved with quiet precision—two attendants, one ard escort, and a vehicle already waiting at the edge of the platform. The sky was still tinged with the final color of twilight, but the estate was lit as if it had been expecting royalty. Or war.

Lucas didn’t speak as they stepped down the stairs and into the open night. The air slled clean. Cold. Expensive.

By the ti the car pulled up to the main entrance, the staff was already in place.

Two lines.

Perfect posture.

Trevor stepped out first. Lucas followed, sharp eyes scanning the layout with practiced detachnt.

At the front stood a man he didn’t recognize but instantly categorized—tall, silver-grey hair, pale green eyes, posture carved out of obedience and quiet command. The ring on his hand bore the Fitzgeralt crest, not as jewelry, but as authority.

"Welco ho, Master Trevor," the man said, his voice firm but not raised.

Then he looked at Lucas.

"Grand Duchess," he said, and bowed.

Lucas blinked once, slowly trying to understand what was implied with the rank. He was comfortable enough to call Trevor by his na, but used the grand title for him. Lucas narrowed his eyes.

"That’s a title."

"It is yours," the man said simply.

Trevor didn’t interrupt.

Lucas adjusted the cuff of his coat. "And you are?"

"Windstone Nolan, Your Grace. Butler to House Fitzgeralt. The staff have been briefed on your arrival and are at your disposal."

"I see."

Trevor glanced sideways, just once. "Would you like to see your rooms?"

"No," Lucas replied. "I want to see what you’re hiding."

Trevor didn’t smile.

But Windstone did. Just barely.

Windstone’s bow had barely ended when Lucas felt the silence tighten around them again—thick with expectation, but not from the staff.

From Trevor.

Lucas turned his head, watching him through the soft glow of the overhead lanterns—his coat perfectly in place, his ring catching the light like it belonged there.

"It’s late," Trevor said, his voice low and asured. "We’ll keep tonight simple. A formal presentation to the staff, then dinner."

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "And here I thought I was being kidnapped."

Trevor smiled softly. "Not tonight."

He took a step forward, just close enough for his voice to drop further, quiet enough for only Lucas to hear. "You haven’t eaten. Neither have I. Wine doesn’t count. We’re going inside."

Lucas looked past him toward the estate—wide doors already open, chandeliers burning in quiet gold behind thick glass.

"You want to et the staff," he said, still not moving.

Trevor nodded once. "You’re the Grand Duchess now. This house needs to see you. Then it will follow you."

Lucas tilted his head. "Follow ?"

"Or fear you." A pause. "Sa result."

Behind them, Windstone had already begun to speak quietly with one of the attendants, issuing instructions without glancing away from the pair in front of him. Nothing was rushed. Nothing was out of place.

Lucas sighed. "Fine. Introduce to your army. Then feed . In that order."

Trevor offered his arm and Lucas took it.

—

The main hall of the Fitzgeralt estate was too large for the hour—polished stone floors echoing with every step, velvet drapes drawn back to reveal moonlight streaking across carved archways and black marble. The staff had already assembled. Thirty in total, dressed in house colors, flanked by the crest of House Fitzgeralt above the central hearth: a gold sword crossed with a hawk in flight.

Lucas took in the symtry, the scale, and the absence of sound.

Not a single person spoke.

Trevor stopped a pace ahead of him, nodding once toward Windstone, who stepped forward without hesitation.

"This," Windstone said, clear and firm, "is Lucas Oz D’Argente, Grand Duchess of House Fitzgeralt."

Lucas blinked once, lips curling into sothing that wasn’t quite a smile but close enough to sting. "And I thought my na would change again after the wedding."

Trevor didn’t miss a beat. "Serathine made it clear she wouldn’t give her consent if I did."

Lucas let out a quiet sound—half breath, half amusent. "She still thinks she owns ."

"She does," Trevor replied. "But only on paper. You are still the D’Argente heir."

Windstone, standing precisely one pace behind, said nothing. But his eyes didn’t shift from Lucas, and sothing in the way the rest of the staff adjusted their stances made it clear they were already processing the dynamic. Power recognized itself.

Trevor looked at the attendants, his tone unraised but unmistakable. "I hope your training won’t go to waste in favor of personal opinions."

He didn’t blink.

"Lucas is my spouse. And duchess of this house. You will respect him, or you’ll die trying to subvert his authority."

The silence that followed was not uncertain; it was absolute.

Windstone bowed, deeper this ti. "Understood, Master Trevor."

Lucas didn’t speak, but the slight tilt of his head carried enough. He wasn’t used to being defended aloud. Not like that. Not in front of an audience that would take it as gospel.

For the first ti, there was nothing left for him to say.

The staff bowed in silence, a single movent precise enough to echo. Windstone dismissed them with one look, and they disappeared down the corridor like they’d been trained to do it in their sleep.

Lucas stood still a mont longer.

Trevor didn’t rush him. He never did.

"Shall we eat?" Lucas asked, his voice calm.

Trevor nodded once. "Co."