[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega Chapter 94: Purple

Trevor set down his drink. "You’ve burned through seven engagents."

Dax spread his hands. "Which only proves I’m thorough."

Trevor narrowed his eyes. "It proves you collect exes like diplomatic knives and then complain when you get stabbed."

"It proves that they lied about being dominant ogas." Dax said, tilting his head.

"How can they lie about it?" Asked Lucas curious. "Isn’t it tested in a dical environnt?"

Dax glanced at Lucas then, the tilt of his head deliberate—like he hadn’t expected the question to co so directly. His fingers drumd once against the rim of his glass before stilling.

"It is," he said. "But results can be falsified. Especially in courts where dominant ogas are so rare, the pressure to pass is stronger than the truth."

Lucas frowned slightly. "Why would soone fake that? Wouldn’t the bond fail?"

Dax’s gaze sharpened—not unkind, but focused. "It does. Every ti. But by the ti it breaks down—when the child doesn’t co, when the bond doesn’t seal—people like are the ones held accountable. Not the ones who faked it to wear a crown."

Lucas processed that in silence.

Trevor’s voice ca in then, low and asured. "It’s why I refused every match Serathine arranged before you."

Lucas turned toward him slowly.

"I couldn’t bond with any of them. Not the way we’re supposed to," Trevor added. "And I wasn’t going to force sothing that would only rot from the inside."

Lucas set his fork down, appetite forgotten for the mont. "So it wasn’t just court pressure," he said, more to himself than anyone. "

"Yes," Dax said simply. "We can’t bond with submissive ogas. Our instincts reject it. It doesn’t matter how perfect the alliance looks on paper—our bodies won’t seal. And children? Impossible."

"And you think I’m—" Lucas hesitated, then corrected, "You know I’m the real thing."

Dax didn’t smile, but there was sothing quietly settled in his expression now. "I knew the second you walked into the hall."

Trevor’s jaw twitched slightly, like he wanted to growl but knew it would be undignified.

Lucas, anwhile, picked up his wine again, this ti more calmly. "So that’s what this has been about."

"Yes," Dax said without apology. "That, and the fact that I don’t like losing."

Lucas took a slow sip, then set the glass down. "You didn’t lose."

Dax’s brow lifted.

Lucas t his gaze evenly. "You just weren’t fast enough."

Trevor smiled into his drink.

And for once, Dax didn’t have a coback.

—

The tension around the table slowly shifted, not so much easing as redirecting. With the air cleared—or at least contained—Dax set his glass down and leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the obsidian table. He glanced at Trevor, and the spark that lit his eyes wasn’t personal anymore.

It was tactical.

"So," Dax began, the king slipping back into his armor, "about the Palantine northern front. You’re holding the ridge, but you’ve got three supply lines that are vulnerable to high-elevation interference."

Trevor didn’t miss a beat. "I rerouted two of them last month. We’re reinforcing the third with mobile outposts and doubling courier relays. You’ll see it in the briefing packet."

Lucas blinked. The words were clear. The interest was not.

Dax nodded. "Still risking a winter bottleneck unless you can push through the Glassen fork before the temperature drops. I assu you’re holding back until confirmation of Draxil’s treaty?"

Trevor tilted his head, calculating. "It’s 80% finalized. I want it signed before I redirect focus. But we’re preparing desert campaign protocols anyway. Minimal dependence on fixed routes. You’ve done that before."

"I wrote that doctrine," Dax said, almost fond. "But your fuel depots are going to be a weakness. Too centralized."

"I’m shifting to decoys and split storage," Trevor replied, tone clipped. "Not that you’d know. You’ve never fought a war with limited resources."

Dax smirked. "I am the limited resource."

Lucas, seated between them, stared into his nearly empty wine glass like it might rescue him. His brain had already wandered off three sentences ago. He blinked slowly, trying to follow sothing about scalable encampnts and phase-shifted artillery units, but it may as well have been alchemical poetry.

He tried to look interested.

He failed.

"Logistics," Dax was saying, "aren’t your strong suit, Trevor. Don’t deny it."

"That’s what Lucas is for," Trevor said dryly.

Lucas blinked. "I am?"

"You make sound tolerable during council etings. That’s half the battle."

"Flattery," Lucas murmured, "won’t make this discussion any less coma-inducing."

Trevor glanced sideways at him, and softened just slightly. "Tired?"

"No, I’m just trying to pretend ’split fuel depots’ is a taphor for sothing romantic."

Dax chuckled. "Unfortunately, no. Unless you consider siege weaponry a love language."

Lucas sighed. "I married a man whose idea of intimacy is reorganizing supply chains."

Trevor didn’t argue. He looked faintly smug.

"Tell you what," Dax offered. "We’ll finish this part quickly and then let you escape."

Lucas perked slightly. "There’s an escape?"

Dax raised a brow. "There’s always an escape. You’re just not supposed to know about it until you’re halfway through dessert and reconsidering your life choices."

Lucas, already drifting toward exhaustion, forgot about appearances and rubbed his face with both hands, fingertips pressing into his brow. The gesture was unguarded, tired, utterly human.

In the soft gold of the lantern light, the alexandrite on his finger flared to life—deep purple, the exact shade of dusk and old secrets. Then, as he lowered his hand, it shimred green, catching the light like it was breathing.

Dax went silent mid-sentence.

His gaze had locked on the ring, but not just for its craftsmanship.

It was the color.

The sa rare purple that lived in Trevor’s eyes.

And his.

Lucas didn’t see it at first. "What?" he asked, his voice roughened with fatigue.

Dax didn’t look away. "You look tired, and guilt is getting to . You should rest," he said, voice softer now. "I can bore Trevor with military reports until later."

His smile was faint, polite, almost playful but his eyes never left the ring.

Lucas followed the line of his gaze, then glanced at his hand. The alexandrite glowed softly under the lantern light, purple as dusk, violet as bloodline.

It ant sothing. Too much.

Trevor didn’t speak. His silence was the kind that wrapped around Lucas like armor—unshakable, sure.

Lucas stood, slow and smooth, not bothering to hide his exhaustion this ti. "Try not to declare war without ," he said dryly, with a faint nod to Dax.

Dax inclined his head, but said nothing. Not a joke. Not a farewell. Just a lingering look, a flicker of sothing deeper in the set of his jaw.

Windstone was already by the door, waiting like he had known the mont was coming.

Lucas crossed the room with practiced grace, paused at the threshold just long enough to glance back—and caught both of them still watching him.

Then he left.

Trevor’s eyes lingered on the door a mont longer before he picked up his glass again.

Dax reached for his own drink with a quiet sigh. "You gave Benjamin forty-two hours."

Trevor’s mouth twitched. "He should be grateful. I didn’t give him twenty."

Dax chuckled once, low and tired. "You always were a tyrant in love."