"EXCUSE ?!!!!!"
Lucien’s shriek shot through the Armoire Estate like a banshee on fire. Birds took off from the trees. Sowhere, a maid dropped a tray. Faelan calmly wiped his spectacles on his sleeve like this wasn’t the beginning of a national crisis.
"I said," Faelan repeated, very slowly, "you are—possibly, probably—pregnant."
Lucien’s mouth flapped open like a fish pulled out of noble waters. "But—but—but I’m a beta! A man! With nothing down there to—how?!"
Faelan didn’t even flinch. "My lord, don’t forget that n can get pregnant too."
Lucien sputtered. "Yeah... yeah, but Oga males—and—and there is no oga male in this world! They’re like unicorns or common sense in the court! And I’m—I’m a beta! A boring, useless, politically irrelevant beta! The most excitent I’ve had in three months was stubbing my toe on a chair last month!"
"Exactly why this is very concerning," Faelan muttered, then sighed and began rummaging through his dical kit. "Which is why, my lord, I’m going to run so tests. Proper tests. Magical and physical and spiritual, just in case your ancestors are playing a prank from the grave."
"Great," Lucien said, clutching his forehead. "I’m the Empire’s first dically impossible scandal."
"Think of it as making history," Faelan offered.
"I wanted to make history by being the first Armoire to retire at thirty-five and drink wine in Virelle until my liver gave out," Lucien groaned. "Not by spontaneously reproducing with no clear... input!"
Faelan drew a vial of blood with the practiced precision of a man who had no ti for noble hysteria. "My lord, we do all know how people get pregnant. You’re talking like—"
"I... had a one-night stand?" Lucien choked out, blinking like he’d just seen a ghost with his face.
Now it was Faelan’s turn to pause, brow raised.
Lucien looked mortified. "But—I don’t rember anything! Not a na, not a face—nothing! Unless I was drugged—or possessed—or abducted by rogue fertility spirits—"
Faelan calmly packed his instrunts. "Maybe, my lord, you should try to recall what happened over the last fifteen days. I’ll run the tests and return when I have answers."
Lucien clutched the edge of his desk like it might sprout legs and run away too. "You’re just going to leave here?! With this ticking womb of mystery?!"
Faelan paused at the door, sighing through his nose. "I will co back tomorrow with the reports, my lord."
"Wait!" Lucien called, his voice cracking like a boy in his second puberty.
Faelan turned with a raised brow. "Yes, my lord?"
Lucien hesitated, voice small. "Can... can you please keep it a secret? Just between us?"
There was a mont of silence. Then Faelan’s lips quirked in the ghost of a smile. "Of course, my lord."
And with that, the physician disappeared down the hall, leaving Lucien alone with nothing but panic, a throbbing headache, and a rapidly growing existential crisis.
Lucien stared blankly at the door.
Silence.
Then, very slowly, he looked down at his stomach, placed a hand over it like it might start glowing, and whispered, "Pregnant...?"
He scoffed.
"It’s a fucking joke," he muttered.
Then laughed. A little too loudly.
"HAHAHAHAHA! Faelan must’ve mistaken my indigestion for divine conception! Of course! I probably just swallowed air while sleep-eating again!"
He paused. Eyes twitching.
Then let out a guttural scream and face-planted into the nearest cushion.
"AAAGGGHHHHHHHH! IT BETTER BE A FUCKING JOKE!"
He rolled off the couch and landed on the floor with the grace of a stunned goat.
"This is a straight novel! A straight novel!" he yelled at the ceiling like it owed him answers. "I transmigrated into so sword-and-corset het fantasy fluff! There were boob taphors in Chapter two! WHO THE HELL GREENLIT A SIDE QUEST INTO BL PLOTLINE?!"
He crawled back to his bed like a soldier returning from war and dramatically flopped on top of it, limbs spread wide in defeat.
"I’m not going to panic. Nope. I’m not." His voice wobbled. "I’ll just nap. Nap solves everything. I’ll wake up and Faelan will say, ’Oh my lord, turns out you just had gas.’ And we’ll laugh. And I’ll never eat midnight cheese again."
His stomach gurgled ominously.
Lucien froze.
"...Please no."
He sprinted for the ornantal vase and vomited with the enthusiasm of a man betrayed by fate, biology, and plot twists.
He stumbled back to bed, looking ten shades paler and emotionally bankrupt. Blankly, he tucked himself in like a corpse at a noble funeral.
"If... if I’m pregnant..." he whispered hoarsely, staring up at the canopy like it would offer him answers. "Whoever you are... you better be rich... gorgeous... and very, very sorry."
Then he burst into tears again. Not the elegant kind—no, it was full, ugly crying with snot, hiccups, and the occasional "Why eee?"
And thus began Lucien’s descent into hormonal hell—day one.
***
Imperial Palace—Throne Room,
The air inside the Imperial Palace was stiff with formality, thick with the ever-present scent of incense and old power.
Boots echoed against the pristine marble floor as Grand Duke Silas stord through the gilded halls like an irritated hurricane in human form. Attendants scurried to the edges of the corridor, giving the tempest of a man a wide berth. The chill in the air wasn’t from the palace’s age—it was from the glacial fury wrapped in crimson eyes and a trailing, dark coat that swished behind him like the flag of a dood rebellion.
"Why the hell am I being summoned again?" Silas muttered, his voice low and venomous. "Does he think I’m his private errand boy?"
The towering double doors of the throne room creaked open with a ceremonial groan.
Silas stepped inside, boots landing hard against the floor. His crimson gaze locked onto the man sitting lazily atop the imperial throne, draped in navy and white-gold robes like he belonged in a painting.
Emperor Adrian Soleil.
Silas sighed like a man being asked to babysit a dragon. "Your Majesty," he said, bowing just low enough to qualify as polite. Barely.
Adrian tilted his head, a soft, amused smile tugging at his lips. "Can’t you greet with your heart, just once? For old tis’ sake?"
Silas scoffed and marched forward, his voice flat. "You keep dragging here every single day for no reason. Greet you with my heart? I don’t have a heart for you."
Adrian placed a hand to his chest in mock pain. "You wound ."
"I hope I do," Silas snapped. "Now tell why I’m here before I turn around and leave."
The emperor’s playful deanor dimd. He exhaled, resting his elbows on the armrest. "I called you here for an ergency."
Silas straightened, posture sharp. "Ergency?"
Adrian nodded solemnly and gestured to a sealed report beside the throne. "There’s been an incident in the city. A troubling one."
"What kind of incident?"
"Last night," Adrian said, voice low, "another body was found."
Silas’s brows drew together. "Body?"
Adrian stood and descended the steps of the throne, handing the docunt to him. "It’s not the first. A pattern’s erging. Oga won. Black hair. They go missing overnight and are discovered the next morning. Always near public parks."
Silas froze. "You’re saying—"
"Yes," Adrian said grimly. "I believe we have a serial murderer in the capital."
A heavy silence settled between them as Silas flipped through the report, eyes narrowing at the grueso details and eerie consistency of the cases. His jaw clenched.
"How many victims?"
Adrian’s tone darkened. "Six. That we know of."
"Gods," Silas muttered, fingers tightening around the parchnt. "This bastard’s been hunting for weeks... and no one noticed?"
Adrian’s expression was stony. "We noticed. Too late. But I refuse to be later."
Silas looked up, crimson eyes flaring. "We need to alert the nobles. All of them."
Adrian nodded. "Exactly. I want an ergency summit. From the lowest baron to the captains of the city watch. Everyone will be summoned."
Silas let out a slow breath. "And what do you want from ?"
The emperor smiled faintly. "To scare them into obedience, of course."
Silas rolled his eyes. "Fine. But when this is over, I’m going on a two-month vacation and pretending none of you exist."
Adrian chuckled. "You say that every ti."
"One day, I’ll an it."
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