[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 128: Slow morning

Chapter 128: Chapter 128: Slow morning

Lucas didn’t move.

Not even when Trevor’s breath lingered hot against his skin, not when the weight of that last sentence settled between them like something alive. The bond pulsed in his chest like a second heartbeat, calming him.

But before either of them could speak again, a soft, unmistakable knock echoed through the suite’s heavy door.

Once. Then twice. Then, after a brief pause, the door creaked open just enough for a familiar voice to slip through, polite and sharp and entirely unimpressed.

"If you’re both clothed, I’m entering."

Trevor groaned into Lucas’s neck, his voice muffled and full of despair. "Why is he like this?"

"Because one of us has a spine," Windstone replied dryly, stepping into the room with the unhurried precision of a man who had seen far, far worse and had the emotional fortitude to neither flinch nor comment unless absolutely necessary. "And frankly, I’ve seen you in worse positions."

Lucas didn’t even pretend to hide the smirk that ghosted across his lips. "Worse positions?"

Windstone didn’t blink. "I’ve known him a long time, my lord. There are archives."

Trevor groaned into Lucas’s neck. "He means lies."

"I mean medical records and trauma reports," Windstone replied, stepping into the room like it didn’t reek of bond-scent and poor decisions. "I’ve treated this man for everything from stress fractures to a dislocated shoulder sustained during a diplomatic event. You don’t want the details. You just need to know I’m unshockable."

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "What exactly were you doing at a diplomatic event?"

Trevor grumbled. "My best."

Windstone was already setting down the black case and tablet with the kind of grace only decades of patient suffering could produce. "I brought medication. Anti-inflammatories, topical analgesics, and an IV packet in case your brilliant strategy of ’sweat it out’ backfires."

He handed a vial to Lucas, his expression unreadable. "For the soreness. You’ll be feeling it for a while."

Lucas took it, slightly surprised by the neutrality in Windstone’s voice—no prying, no awkward curiosity, just professionalism and that signature aura of I have seen worse and had to mop it up myself.

Trevor sat up with a groan, cradling the side of his neck. "Are you here to scold us or sedate us?" NovelFire

"Both," Windstone said crisply. "And to confirm that yes, you’ve survived your own instincts. Congratulations. You didn’t die."

Lucas glanced at him, half-wry. "That a common concern?"

"With Trevor?" Windstone snapped the med kit shut. "Always."

Trevor flopped back on the pillow, already pouting. "He’s very dramatic for a butler."

"I’m a butler, a medic, and the only person on this continent who remembers what your blood pressure used to look like before you decided celibacy was a personality trait."

Lucas stared. "Was?"

Trevor grunted. "He’s embellishing."

"I’m not," Windstone said. "And now that you’ve gone and claimed someone, your vitals are tanking like a soldier on leave. You’re lucky you didn’t fracture anything."

Lucas blinked, still clutching the electrolyte packet, and briefly considered smothering his husband—and now mate—with the nearest pillow. Not out of malice. Just as a medically supervised act of public service.

Trevor, of course, looked pleased with himself. Or as pleased as a man could look while slumped shirtless against a mountain of pillows, hair a mess, jaw bruised, and very obviously not in full command of his own limbs.

"I didn’t fracture anything," Trevor said with the tired dignity of someone who wasn’t entirely sure that was true.

"You’re also not the one who can’t stand without groaning," Lucas muttered.

Windstone didn’t even blink. "That makes you the stable one in this relationship. I’d consider praying." View the correct content at NovelFire

Trevor, still half-draped in sheets like a man post-rescue, post-battle, or possibly post-delusion, gestured vaguely in Lucas’s direction. "He’s in a worse state than me."

Lucas turned slowly, mechanically, like a man doing the math before committing to murder. "You bit me."

Trevor shrugged. "Gently."

"I can’t sit."

"That’s not entirely my fault."

"You locked us together for over an hour."

Windstone, who had seen battlefield injuries handled with more dignity, opened his tablet and started typing notes without looking up. "I’ll clear your schedule here and leave you two alone. I can’t take this new love nonsense. Call me when you’re ready to eat—preferably after you’ve remembered how shirts work."

Trevor raised a hand from the sheets, half-hearted. "Love is a strong word."

Lucas didn’t miss a beat. "So is ’functional,’ but here we are."

Windstone didn’t even blink. "Noted. Updating your bond file as ’emotionally unstable, verbally competent.’ Shall I include ’danger to linen surfaces’ or would that be redundant?"

Lucas, to his credit, simply stared at him.

Trevor grinned, unbothered. "You’re jealous."

"I’m exhausted," Windstone said. "Which is what happens when you run a household, monitor your vitals, and have to witness the fallout of your first full-bond event in ten years. You, Trevor, are the reason I no longer believe in happy endings."

"I thought that was your divorce."

Windstone looked up, deadpan. "My ex-husband still sends me wine. You send me medical emergencies and passive-aggressive sighing."

He turned to leave, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves with deliberate precision. "I’ve rescheduled your post-flight briefing, canceled the appearance at the Saha Institute’s luncheon, and moved the security meeting to tomorrow morning. That gives you approximately forty-eight hours to recover, reflect, and, for the love of all that is holy, hydrate."

Lucas watched him walk to the door like a storm wrapped in fine wool.

"Do you think Serathine knows?" he asked, not accusingly. Just... carefully. Like the words might tilt something if they came too quickly.

He shifted his gaze to Trevor.

Trevor met his eyes, steady.

"I think she had her plans," he said, and his voice was too even—too carefully measured. "That she wanted to shield you. And I was warned to be just a designer’s scarecrow by your side for the Gala."

Lucas blinked, slow.

The words weren’t bitter.

Not entirely.

But there was something in the way Trevor said just—the flatness of it, the way it scraped against his throat like it didn’t quite fit. Like it had once hurt more than he let on and never stopped entirely.

Lucas shifted, ignoring the protest from his muscles.

"She told you that?"

Trevor gave a humorless shrug.

"She is a harpy, after all," he said, voice dry with the bite of someone who knew exactly how much damage a woman like Serathine could inflict with nothing but a raised eyebrow and a politely worded threat. "But she respected your decisions. And I’m glad for that."

Lucas studied him for a moment, head tilted slightly, as if weighing the words.

Then, calm, precise, he said, "You do realize she’s going to find out you called her that."

Trevor blinked. "What, harpy? I call that to her face. We have a love-hate relationship."

Lucas arched a brow. "It’s because you snatched the mansion from the Capital before her?"

"Yes."

Lucas stared. "You bought real estate out of pettiness."

"I bought it because it had better insulation than anything else on the registry," Trevor replied with too much poise. Then, after a beat, "And because I saw her name on the appointment list for the next showing."

Lucas blinked. "You waited for her to show interest and then made an offer first?"

Trevor tilted his head. "Would it be worse if I told you I paid in full, same day?"

Lucas pressed a hand to his face. "You two are impossible."