[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 173: The plan is moving

Chapter 173: Chapter 173: The plan is moving

Lucas took a slow sip of orange blossom tea and seriously considered leaping off the balcony.

They were seated at an ornate glass table on the sun-drenched terrace of Le Verité, one of Palatine’s most exclusive brunch venues. Everything sparkled. The cutlery. The water glasses. The people. Even the toast shimmered suspiciously, like it had been lacquered with edible gold leaf. And most likely it was.

He hadn’t so much sat down as been installed, Cressida’s perfectly manicured hand pressing firmly to his back as she guided him to his seat between a duchess with no eyebrows and a viscount who smelled like an aftershave with thunder in its name.

Across from him, Cressida smiled with the serene confidence of someone who had never once considered losing a war, social or otherwise. She sipped her champagne, patted his knee under the table like he was a well-behaved lapdog, and said in a voice just loud enough to be heard by their immediate surroundings:

"Lucas has been so very busy lately. Invitations are flooding in. The Emperor himself requested tea, you know. Of course, we’re still deciding whether the date aligns with our calendar."

Lucas nearly choked on a piece of melon.

Several heads turned. Subtle gasps. One woman actually fanned herself.

Cressida didn’t even blink. "Of course, he’ll go. I would never deny the Emperor a private audience with my grandson-in-law. But really, one mustn’t appear too available."

Lucas, still chewing, made a faint noise of protest that could have meant "help" or "run," depending on the angle.

A countess leaned forward, smile glossy and carnivorous. "And how is married life, Your Grace? You look so flushed lately. Radiant."

"I’m recovering from a fever," Lucas said flatly.

Cressida placed her hand over his with just enough pressure to remind him she could and would carry this brunch without his help. "He means emotional fever. Young love, you know. So consuming."

Lucas’s eye twitched.

He could feel the heat of eyes on him from every direction, curious, calculating, and entirely too interested in the exact angle of his cravat. The urge to bolt was steadily rising.

If he timed it right, he could clear the hedge line behind the terrace, dive into a maintenance corridor, and disappear into the back alleys of the fashion district. He had money. A burner phone. He could be out of Palatine by dinner.

"...and of course, we will be hosting the wedding’s final blessing ceremony at the Fitzgeralt estate," Cressida said, her tone as smooth as the chilled champagne in her glass. "We’ve invited only the most tasteful officials. No clergy. We want the tone to be celebration, not absolution."

Lucas blinked. "No clergy?"

Cressida’s smile was pleasant, but her eyes were ice. "Not after they refused to cooperate. Let them sulk behind their marble altars. They’ll come crawling once Fitzgeralt funding stops pouring into their little sanctuaries."

She patted his knee again, deceptively gentle. "Don’t worry, sweetheart. We know exactly where to pull."

Lucas chuckled under his breath, the sound quiet but genuine. Of course they refused. And of course, Trevor had already responded in kind. He could feel it now, like a pressure shift in the air, like distant thunder. His mate was moving.

There was no need to interfere.

Trevor would clean the path ahead of him without a single word spoken.

Lucas took another sip of tea and tilted his head toward the white-laced countess across the table, who was very clearly listening in.

"How tragic," he said lightly. "To be so spiritual and yet miss the Empire’s most beautiful wedding."

Cressida didn’t laugh, but the corner of her mouth twitched with approval.

A beat of silence followed, broken only by the soft clink of cutlery and the practiced murmur of upper nobility pretending not to eavesdrop. Somewhere to his left, someone whispered "no clergy?" like it was blasphemy wrapped in scandal.

Good.

Lucas adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, then leaned slightly toward his grandmother-in-law. "Will Serathine be attending the wedding?" The question was meant to elicit responses for the audience rather than for himself.

Cressida’s expression didn’t change. "Of course. She won’t miss it. Not now. And not after what she received this morning."

Lucas stilled just enough to notice it in himself. "What did she receive?"

Cressida’s voice was quiet. "The truth."

Lucas blinked slowly.

Trevor.

’Of course. He sent the memories out.’

He set his teacup down with precise care, the motion giving nothing away. "And how did she take it?"

Cressida’s smile returned, slow and bright and utterly unforgiving. "Like a mother who just realized someone tried to destroy her child."

Lucas hummed. "That explains the earthquake I felt around two hours ago."

Cressida’s eyes glinted. "Mm. That wasn’t Serathine."

Lucas glanced up from his teacup, brow raised. "...It wasn’t?"

She set her glass down with deliberate elegance. "That was Dax."

Lucas blinked. "Dax? As in, the King of Saha?"

"The very one," Cressida said lightly. "He received the full file. Names, locations, and events. Everything."

Lucas went still, fingers curling slightly around the handle of his cup. "And you’re telling me this during brunch?"

"Where better?" she said, voice crisp with amusement. "Everyone important is here. And no one dares ask why I look so pleased."

Lucas sat back, the weight of the moment settling into his spine. "So he knows."

"He knows," Cressida confirmed. "And he is not the type to sit quietly with that kind of knowledge. I imagine at least one intelligence agency is already trembling. You know how close his relationship is with my Trevor."

Lucas’s gaze drifted across the terrace, where nobles were busy pretending they weren’t listening. The countess with the lace gloves had stopped mid-bite. A duke two tables over was suddenly very interested in his watch.

"Should I be worried?" he asked.

"No," she said simply. "Trevor has already positioned the right pieces. Dax will move as he always does, loudly, quickly, and with every intention of making a point. He waited for a good reason to raid the temples."

Lucas exhaled. "And Serathine?"

Cressida smoothed a wrinkle from her napkin. "She read the curated version. Less blood, more betrayal. But she’s not waiting anymore. She sent a letter this morning."

Lucas tilted his head. "To whom?"

"Trevor," Cressida said. "And the clergy. She gave them a deadline."

Lucas narrowed his eyes. "A deadline?"

"A very polite one," Cressida added. "But she used the words ’formal reparation.’ Which, in Serathine’s language, is just short of preparing the shovel."

Lucas let out a quiet breath. "I suppose this is the part where I ask what I should do."

Cressida gave him that smile again, satisfied and lethal. "You smile. You shake hands. You let them think you’re untouched by all of this. Because the more calm you appear, the more they panic."

Lucas nodded once. "And if someone brings up the clergy?"

She reached for her champagne. "Just tilt your head and look disappointed. It’s more effective than outrage." Correct content is on NovelFire

Lucas laughed softly, then leaned in just enough for only her to hear. "I really wasn’t ready for this war."

Cressida sipped her drink without looking at him. "Sweetheart. No one ever is. But we win anyway."