[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega Chapter 88: A Ring That Changes With the Light

Lucas blinked. "Wait—Dax?"

Trevor leaned back, letting the breeze stir his hair. "We were close. People used to assu we’d end up together just because neither of us married and we worked too well together. It didn’t help that we used to share quarters on diplomatic trips and—well, we were young, dangerous, and attached at the hip. You can imagine the stories."

Lucas stared at him. "You’re telling I’m married to the Grand Duke of the North and the King of Saha was your almost-boyfriend?"

Trevor looked far too calm. "I’m just saying if we showed up together in Saha for a week, they’d probably call it a honeymoon."

Lucas narrowed his eyes. "Is this your idea of flirting?"

"No," Trevor replied, but his grin was undeniably fond. "This is my idea of asking if you’d like to travel with . Dax is too smart to make trouble while you’re beside . And if I’m going to argue over old secrets and borderline war contracts, I’d rather have you there pretending to be blissfully married and slightly terrifying."

Lucas was quiet for a beat.

"And if I say yes?"

Trevor’s voice dropped just enough to be serious. "Then I’ll make sure the guest wing in the Sahan palace is sealed, the guards are handpicked, and your favorite breakfast gets flown in."

Lucas glanced down at the tablet again, fingers hovering. "Alright. Let’s go to Saha."

Trevor raised a brow. "Just like that?"

Lucas looked up, a smile tugging at the edges of his lips. "I like ruining the narrative."

Trevor laughed. "That’s my duchess."

Trevor was just about to lean in—sothing wry and probably inappropriate already forming on his tongue—when the unmistakable sound of polished shoes on garden stone announced the approach of soone who didn’t know the aning of perfect timing.

Windstone.

He walked with the grace of inevitability, perfectly composed despite the spring warmth, and carrying a velvet-lined case as if it contained state secrets instead of jewelry. His expression was serene, but his eyes carried the distinct glint of soone who had witnessed things.

"Apologies for the interruption," he said smoothly. "But I co bearing two items of considerable importance."

Trevor raised an eyebrow. "Please tell one is coffee."

Windstone gave him a look. "Your rings."

Lucas blinked. "Already?"

"They were completed early this morning," Windstone replied, presenting the case like a holy relic. "Blessed shortly after dawn. Delivered directly to with a letter, two receipts, and a formal declaration of burnout."

Trevor took the box but didn’t open it yet. "And Benjamin?"

"Alive," Windstone said. "But unwilling to see anyone. He collapsed approximately twenty-three minutes after the second ring was sealed. Forty-one hours of continuous work. No sleep. One broken engraving tool. Two sacrilegious threats to the clergy. A successful bribe involving a loose ruby and a third bishop who owed him a favor."

Lucas’s mouth parted. "He did all of that in forty-one hours?"

Windstone handed Trevor an envelope with a dramatic flap. "And sent this invoice. It includes labor, ergency consecration fees, emotional trauma, replacent tools, and a very large surcharge labeled ’because Trevor made do it.’"

Lucas made a strangled noise. "My na’s not on the contract—"

"No, but your taste is," Windstone said dryly. "He described it as dangerously elegant under pressure and then passed out in a chair with gold dust on his face."

Trevor chuckled and finally opened the case.

Inside, nestled in storm-dark velvet, were the rings.

They weren’t identical—but they weren’t ant to be. Each had been crafted not to reflect each other, but to hold one another. Matched by design, bonded by intention.

Lucas’s ring was platinum, sleek and graceful, the inner band etched with the D’Argente crest in fine gold filigree. But at its center was the detail that drew the eye and the breath: a carefully set Alexandrite, faceted to catch and transform light.

It shimred as Lucas tilted it, shifting between deep teal and steel blue—until the sun hit it just right, and the color turned violet.

Trevor’s violet.

Trevor stilled for a mont, gaze flickering to the stone.

"I thought Benjamin chose that," he said softly.

Lucas’s voice was quiet but steady. "I asked for it."

Trevor looked over at him, sothing unreadable in his expression now—too many things being said all at once without a single word spoken.

"I wanted sothing that would change with the light," Lucas added, glancing down at the ring as he slipped it onto his finger. "But never lose that color. I thought... if I had to wear sothing that marked this marriage, it should remind what I chose."

Trevor didn’t speak at first.

He just exhaled, slow and almost too soft to hear, then reached for his own ring, a darker band of platinum and silver, etched with mirrored lines of Lucas’s crest, spare in design but unmistakably personal.

They didn’t need the bishop this ti.

Windstone, watching with the disciplined restraint of a man who had seen too much, gave a nod of approval. "I’ll mark the registry as complete. Benjamin is in recovery—he has asked not to be spoken to unless by divine ssenger or delivery service. He sends his regards, his receipt, and his disdain."

Trevor smirked. "Did he say anything else?"

"Yes," Windstone said with mild regret, handing over the pale gold-embossed invoice like it might bite. "He said, and I quote, next ti, give a week and fewer feelings to work with."

Lucas snorted. "That’s generous of him." He reached for the envelope, already suspicious. "I’m curious—how much did he ask?"

Windstone didn’t blink. "Do you want the real number or the emotionally adjusted version?"

Trevor raised an eyebrow. "There’s an emotionally adjusted version?"

Windstone sighed. "Yes. It’s the one that doesn’t include the surcharge for ’emotional whiplash due to sudden sapphic energy,’ whatever that ans."

Lucas stared. "We’re not even won—"

"He was delirious by hour thirty-two," Windstone said dryly. "He also listed ’spiritual injury caused by violet gemstones and intimacy’ and ’creative betrayal by clients with superior cheekbones.’"

Trevor glanced at the final total and gave a low whistle. "He could buy a vineyard with this."

"He probably will," Windstone muttered.

Lucas rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself, tracing his thumb along the violet glint of the Alexandrite. The stone shimred in the afternoon light—cool teal, then steel gray, then that familiar violet, deep as dusk and impossible to ignore.

"Three million each," Windstone said casually, as if discussing the price of fresh pears.

Lucas nearly choked. "What? Did he dig the gem himself?"

"No," Windstone replied, entirely unbothered. "But he did threaten to throw it at a bishop when the blessing ceremony was delayed. Apparently, ecclesiastical resistance adds to the market value."

Trevor humd, amused. "Did he itemize the threat?"

"He did," Windstone said, flipping open the ledger. "Right under ’custom emotional inlay’ and just above ’rage engraving—hand-chiseled during mild breakdown.’"

Lucas looked at Trevor with a blank stare. "You let him have a breakdown while engraving my ring?"

Trevor shrugged. "He said it made the lines more dramatic."

"It sparkles when I breathe," Lucas muttered, staring at his hand like it had personally betrayed him. "Three million..."

"Art costs," Windstone said flatly. "Especially when it’s rushed, blessed by five bishops, and powered by mutual pining and ruinous aesthetics."

Trevor leaned back with a smirk. "Still worth it?"

Lucas glanced down again. The Alexandrite glead violet.

"...Yeah," he said softly. "Still worth it."