[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 129: Airborne Wrath

Chapter 129: Chapter 129: Airborne Wrath

The flight to Saha was smooth. Unfortunately.

She had been hoping for turbulence—something to mirror the fury currently anchored in her chest. But no. The sky was perfect. The tea was hot. The pilot was polite. And she was furious.

"Landing in twenty-eight minutes, ma’am," the steward said, bowing slightly, unaware that her silence was a blade honed over decades of diplomacy and vengeance.

"Lovely," she said, folding the napkin on her lap with the precision of someone imagining it was her grandson’s ridiculous marriage certificate.

Her fingers twitched.

Trevor was going to suffer.

Not in the grand, theatrical way of banishment or estate seizure—please, she wasn’t his mother’s side of the family. But in the quiet way. The real way. The way that meant redecorating every inch of their home with paintings she picked, organizing a real wedding in front of the most judgmental branch of the royal family, and dragging him to six tea appointments with social queens until his ears bled from praise and passive aggression.

And as for the omega—

She exhaled.

She hadn’t seen him yet. Windstone said, "Lucas is quiet but sharper than you’d expect," said, "don’t let his age fool you." She trusted Windstone. Which only made it worse. If even he—her most cynical, most judgmental, most emotionally dead companion—liked the boy, then she was running out of excuses.

And over everything the boy was Serathine’s ward.

But Trevor should’ve told her first.

Her gaze sharpened as the pilot’s voice crackled through the intercom.

"We’re beginning descent into the Saha Palace airspace. Clearance confirmed."

"About time," she muttered, rising with the grace of someone who’d once stolen a queen’s thunder just by entering the room. She straightened her cuffs, adjusted her brooch—family crest, left shoulder—and stepped toward the window, peering down at the sprawling marble terraces and lush gardens below.

Dax’s palace.

The private jet touched down on the tarmac with the grace of something too expensive to be questioned and too well-funded to be delayed. Within moments, the imperial guards stationed at Saha’s diplomatic terminal stood to attention, the palace convoy already aligned in a silent line of black sedans. But no one moved to open the door.

They were waiting. Everyone was waiting.

And then she descended.

Lady Cressida Fitzgeralt, Dowager Marchioness of Ardent Vale, the living embodiment of "you should’ve known better," stepped onto Saha’s sun-drenched landing strip like she was arriving to reclaim a throne. Which, arguably, she was. Her heels struck the concrete with the crisp authority of a gavel, her silver hair swept into an immaculate twist that somehow looked more intimidating than a crown. She didn’t wear black, but deep navy and amethyst, like mourning and royalty had called a truce just for her.

The heat barely touched her.

Even the sun, in its arrogance, seemed to draw back slightly as she passed.

The guards bowed. The staff bowed. The palace aides bowed. And still, none of them moved fast enough.

The lead officer took a single step forward, clearly handpicked for appearances—tall, sharp-jawed, and exactly the kind of beta men liked to assign to impressive women when they didn’t want to look afraid. "Welcome to Saha, Dowager Marchioness. His Majesty King Dax—"

"I know where I’m going," she said.

The poor boy blinked. "Of course."

She was already walking.

Of course he would be here.

She already smelled trouble—floral and expensive and alpha.

And she wasn’t wrong.

Because the moment she stepped out of the sleek imperial jet and onto the sun-warmed stone platform, Dax was there. Leaning against a pillar like a bored god, violet eyes full of amusement and a smirk that should’ve been outlawed during daylight hours.

"Well, well," he drawled. "Did you come to steal your grandson back?"

She didn’t pause. Didn’t blink. Just kept walking until she was close enough to pat his cheek with the kind of maternal fondness reserved for enemies in polite society.

"If I wanted him back, Your Majesty, you wouldn’t be able to stop me."

Dax laughed. "That’s why I missed you."

"I didn’t say I missed you."

"You never do." He offered his arm. "Shall we?"

She took it.

Reluctantly.

"Tell me," she said as they descended the steps toward the side entrance, "do they know I’m here?"

Dax smiled like a man about to witness arson. "No."

"Perfect."

The palace doors opened before them.

The guards posted at the entrance snapped to full attention, but she didn’t acknowledge them. Not because she didn’t notice, Cressida never missed a detail, but because she was too busy counting the flaws in the entrance arrangement.

The lilies were wilting. The drapery was too modern. And someone, somewhere, had used citrus oil on the floors.

"You’ve redecorated," she said, slicing the words in Dax’s direction like a scalpel.

"Palace renovation," he said innocently. "New aesthetic. Minimalist."

"Heresy."

"You sound like Serathine."

She paused mid-stride. "If you ever say that again, I’ll have your tongue delivered to her in a thank-you box."

Dax looked delighted. "You really missed me."

She didn’t answer.

Because just then, a side door opened.

And Lucas stepped into view.

There was a thin white bandage peeking out from the neckline, nestled high at the back of his neck. It caught the light as he moved, obvious, unapologetic.

Fresh.

Which meant the mark was still healing.

Which also meant—no one had warned him she was coming.

’Trevor’, she thought savagely, ’you absolute menace’.

Lucas looked up and saw her. Then moved his eyes to the man beside her.

Just a long, measured stare at the smug king who had no shame whatsoever in disturbing a freshly bonded couple and bringing a storm to their doorstep like it was a dinner invitation.

Dax smiled, lazy and unbothered.

Lucas didn’t, but bowed with elegant movements like he wasn’t ravaged just the night before.

"Your Majesty, I didn’t know you had a hobby of disturbing honeymooners."

Cressida choked on a breath she would later insist was a cough.

Dax looked delighted.

"I make exceptions for the entertaining ones," he replied, all grin and violet-eyed mischief. "And you, Lucas, are very entertaining."

Lucas straightened. "Should I be flattered or concerned?"

"Why not both?" Dax offered.

Cressida turned sharply. "You brought me into this palace like it wasn’t actively hosting a bonding recovery. Are you trying to start an international incident?"

"Oh, absolutely," Dax said. "But I thought I’d let you deliver the first strike."

Lucas exhaled once through his nose, subtle, measured. The kind of response that made her pause. View the correct content at NovelFire

Not flustered. Not offended. Just observing.

Cressida narrowed her eyes at him again. This boy had been bonded for less than a day and still had enough venom in him to challenge Dax of Saha without even raising his voice.

Her lips twitched.

’Oh no.’

She was starting to like him.