[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega Chapter 81: The disoriented cousin

They continued down the corridor in perfectly engineered silence—polished floors, motion-sensitive lights, and that soft scent of aged paper and expensive wood that only ca from a wing untouched by casual visitors.

Alistair followed, several steps behind, like a man walking through a mild fever dream. His mouth opened twice. Nothing ca out.

Trevor said nothing.

Lucas definitely noticed.

Windstone, as always, walked like he had seen worse and was waiting for the next installnt.

They stepped into a long gallery-style space, lined with wall-length windows and a private collection of books that hadn’t been disturbed in years. The air was still. Not dusty—Windstone would never allow that—but heavy. Preserved.

Alistair stopped just inside, still trailing behind like he hadn’t fully re-entered reality. "You two keep saying things like they’re normal."

Lucas trailed a finger along the edge of a shelf, expression unreadable. "They are. For us."

"You," Alistair said, pointing, "are a dominant oga."

"Correct."

"You married my cousin."

Lucas shrugged. "He looked bored."

"You’re also the Emperor’s son."

Lucas paused.

Then turned, ever so slowly. "Technically, yes."

Alistair staggered a step back and sat down on the nearest antique bench like it might help. "You said that so casually. Like, ’oh, and by the way, I’m also a highly explosive diplomatic landmine.’"

Trevor folded his arms. "It changes nothing."

Alistair gaped. "It changes everything. That’s not just bloodline leverage; that’s imperial succession."

"I don’t want the throne," Lucas said, too calmly.

"That’s good," Windstone murmured, "because Sirius would have a breakdown."

Lucas shrugged. "I never thought about it. I didn’t have ti. Did I tell you that all of this happened in... three months?"

Alistair just stared at him.

"Three," Lucas repeated, holding up the fingers like he was counting missed therapy sessions. "From the palace’s first file on to the proposal, wedding, sealed identity, public confusion, and a fake honeymoon itinerary I still haven’t read."

Windstone added helpfully, "I wrote it. You’re going to hate it."

Lucas continued, deadpan. "Sowhere in the middle of all that, I also beca soone worth locking down half a military estate over. So no, I haven’t had ti to think about the line of succession or whether or not Sirius cries when he’s mad."

"He does," Trevor muttered.

"Trevor," Lucas said flatly. "That’s private family information."

Trevor raised an eyebrow. "You’re family."

Lucas turned to Alistair, who still looked like he’d aged five years since the hallway. "You okay?"

"No," Alistair replied, voice hollow. "Absolutely not."

Windstone handed him a bottle of still water from his coat. "You’re doing better than most of the advisory board."

"I was not briefed for this," Alistair muttered.

Lucas crossed his arms. "Neither was I. How much more is there to this mansion?"

Windstone, already two steps ahead and perfectly composed, replied, "We’ve covered forty percent."

Lucas stared at him. "Forty?"

"There’s an underground wing we haven’t entered," Trevor added. "And the greenhouse complex."

Alistair looked like he might sit down again. "Why do you have an underground wing?"

Lucas pointed at him. "That. That right there. That’s the correct level of disbelief. I need you to keep that energy. I’m losing my grip on what’s normal."

"It was designed for security redundancy," Trevor said.

Lucas held up a hand, palm out. "You know what? I don’t want to know."

He turned toward the annex, eyes half-lidded with the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that only ca from consecutive political surprises and a literal hidden marriage.

"We’re married," he continued. "I have my entire life to find out."

Alistair, still vaguely traumatized, muttered, "That sounds like a threat."

Lucas didn’t even look back. "It is."

Windstone unlocked the annex door with a soft chi and a final click, stepping aside with all the solemnity of a man opening the vault to soone’s very well-curated emotional trauma.

Trevor reached for the handle. "Ready?"

"No," Lucas said. "But I know you’re going to open it anyway."

Trevor didn’t deny it.

The door opened.

The air inside was still and filtered, temperature controlled. Not sterile, exactly—but curated. It slled faintly of old paper and cedar wax polish. Lights rose slowly in recessed panels, illuminating high shelves, two sealed cabinets, and a long glass case in the center of the room.

Alistair stepped in after them. "This doesn’t look like storage."

"It’s not," Windstone said. "It’s a containnt archive. Everything in here is tied to the estate’s legacy. Things the previous generation wanted forgotten, buried, or saved for the right eyes."

Lucas stood still. "And I’m the right eyes?"

Trevor looked at him, steady. "You’re mine."

A beat.

"Terrifying," Alistair said from behind them, voice dry and muffled like he was already halfway planning his escape route.

Lucas didn’t even turn around. "You’re still here?"

"I’m emotionally trapped and afraid to touch anything," Alistair muttered. "This room feels like it sends legal notices."

"It does," Windstone confird.

Trevor walked forward, past the long glass case in the center. "This was built by my grandfather. He didn’t trust the archivists. Said mory was only loyal if you locked it down."

Lucas followed slowly, gaze skimming the case. "And you kept it?"

"I didn’t erase anything. Just added my own locks."

Inside the glass, papers lay in orderly stacks—thick folders bound in silk string, handwritten letters sealed with crumbling wax, a faded photo in black and white tucked against the velvet-lined base. Lucas didn’t touch it. Not yet.

His eyes drifted across the display until they landed on sothing small, glinting faintly under the light at the far right.

He pointed. "Is that a crown?"

Trevor didn’t even blink. "Yes. You can have it if you want."

Lucas exhaled. "No, thank you."

He turned to face Trevor fully now, the weight of the room pressing against his shoulders like mory, like prophecy.

"Can we end the tour here?"

Trevor searched his expression for a mont, then gave a single, quiet nod.

"Of course."

Windstone, already tapping at his tablet to cancel the next two scheduled room entries, didn’t comnt. But Alistair—still hovering near the threshold—breathed out like soone finally allowed to stop holding it together.

"Praise be," he muttered. "I didn’t want to see the sub-basent archive of forgotten titles anyway."

Lucas walked past the glass case without looking down again.

Trevor fell in beside him silently.

And for the first ti since they’d started, no one rushed to fill the silence.