[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 185: Wedding preparations

Chapter 185: Chapter 185: Wedding preparations

Trevor’s office was dim, the heavy curtains drawn halfway against the afternoon sun, enough to keep the heat out, not enough to kill the tension.

Windstone stood by the bookshelf like a sentinel dressed in tailored restraint, hands clasped neatly behind his back. His expression was unreadable, though the faint crease between his brows had not left since Trevor stepped into the room.

The call had already connected.

On the polished screen embedded in the center of Trevor’s desk, King Dax of Saha reclined into view, framed by ivory stone columns and violet drapery that looked almost theatrical against his pale hair and violet eyes. Like a shadow of Trevor, taller, looser in posture, but cut from the same cold silk.

"Still alive?" Dax drawled, sipping something dark from a crystal glass. "I expected you’d be half-devoured by matriarchal ambition by now."

Trevor smirked with the conscience of a man that let his spouse be a victim of couture. "They’ve reached the final phase. Color-coordinated war. Lucas’s fitting is complete."

Windstone let out a very quiet breath, almost too dignified to be called a sigh.

Dax raised a brow. "And?"

Trevor tapped a file on the desk. The screen split, showing a full-body holographic still of Lucas in the final suit, the wine red, the violet, and the gold threads catching the air like scripture. Trevor said nothing.

Dax sat up slowly.

"Well," he murmured. "You let Evrin go feral on him."

"I let Lucas wear something that belongs to this house."

Dax tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "Good decision. How is our friend Jason?"

Trevor leaned back in his chair with a faint groan of the leather. "He is hovering near my property."

Dax went still, the amusement bleeding from his expression like wine spilling onto marble.

"I see," he said, voice colder now. "So the ferret’s already burrowed in. Tell me you’ve clipped his leash."

Trevor’s fingers tapped once against the armrest. "Not yet. He hasn’t made his move. He thinks we haven’t noticed him. That’s useful... for now."

Windstone cleared his throat politely. "We’ve intercepted three transmissions since he arrived at the manor. Two encrypted, one routed through the palace’s dormant registry. Christian’s signature was embedded in the first. The clergy one... is cleaner."

"Too clean," Trevor added. "We traced it back to the old Dominion Temple Archives. The unregistered channel."

Dax swore, softly, in a dialect few outside Saha still recognized.

"Do you think it’s linked to Faceless Agatha?" he asked.

Trevor nodded once. "It has the fingerprints. We are on the right path, but they didn’t seem to give up, not even after Misty’s declaration."

Dax leaned forward on his screen, glass forgotten. "Then Lucas is still the target."

Trevor’s jaw flexed, a single pulse beneath skin too calm for what sat behind it. "He always was. Caelan has an interesting plan to bring them forward. He let Misty’s security be lax enough to convince Odin or Agatha to make a move. Either to take her, which she seems to fear, or her daughter."

"Cruel, he is using a teenager." Dax said with a dangerous smile.

"You would do worse."

Dax chuckled, but there was no humor in it, only teeth. "Of course I would. But I’d call it strategy, not cruelty."

Trevor didn’t rise to the bait. He just sat still; the silence around him was carved so finely it could’ve been part of the room’s design.

"Ophelia’s under watch," he said. "Two guards, one special agent, and a rotating perimeter of palace loyalists. She doesn’t know, and Misty hasn’t figured it out yet. She’s too focused on saving herself."

"And if Faceless Agatha comes for the girl?" Dax asked, voice like polished glass.

"Then we’ll know who still answers their summons."

Dax tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something darker than amusement. "Well, I do wonder if they’ll act at the wedding. From what my informants gathered, the clergy is furious with House Fitzgeralt for declaring the rupture. Word is, they’re calling it sacrilege wrapped in silk."

Trevor’s expression didn’t shift, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "Cressida called it overdue. Said she’d rather drink acid than bow to the ’money-suckers in robes.’ Her words."

Windstone cleared his throat delicately. "She did, in fact, say it while sipping wine. From a goblet engraved with the old ecclesiastic crest."

Dax barked a laugh. "Poetic. So we have an angry cult, a disgraced mother, a sacrificial daughter, a marked omega with too many secrets, and a noble wedding bursting at the seams with power and surveillance."

"Exactly," Trevor said. "All the ingredients for exposure. The kind that forces hidden hands into the light."

"And what happens," Dax said slowly, leaning forward again, "if Lucas is the one who draws them out?"

Trevor was silent for a beat too long.

Then, quietly, "Then they’ll realize too late that they never planned for him."

Dax’s gaze sharpened. "Do you think he’d be willing to bait them directly?"

Trevor exhaled through his nose. "If he knows, he’ll offer. Which is why I haven’t told him."

"Protecting him?" Dax asked.

"No," Trevor said, his voice a shade colder. "Respecting him. He already carries too much. If I give him this, he’ll shoulder it all." NovelFire

Windstone, voice calm, added, "And he’ll do it without blinking. Because he thinks it’s his fault he survived the first time."

Dax was quiet for a moment, then nodded once. "Then you’re right to hold it."

He reached for his glass again, swirling the dark liquid absently. "But you’ll need to be ready. If Agatha or Odin moves at the ceremony, you’ll be fighting on two fronts."

Trevor looked at the feed of encrypted reports scrolling on his secondary screen. "Let them come."

Dax smirked, his violet eyes narrowing with sharp approval. "Ah yes, the infamous Fitzgeralt security web: half algorithm, half paranoia, entirely yours."

Trevor’s expression didn’t shift. "It’s not paranoia if they’re actually trying to infiltrate my home."

Windstone allowed himself a subtle nod. "We’ve upgraded the detection systems around the estate. Motion heat maps, biometric filters, and neural-frequency scrambling in the chapel perimeter. Anyone who isn’t pre-cleared won’t make it past the gate without triggering a response."

"And if they spoof the IDs?" Dax asked.

"They’ll have to mimic Lucas’s unique biometric imprint exactly," Trevor replied, tapping the polished desk once. "And cross-match that against layered voice, scent, and micro-expression data, all within five seconds. Anything less will lock the entire building down."

Dax gave a low whistle. "You’re not securing a wedding. You’re fortifying a throne room."

Trevor’s eyes stayed on the screen, encrypted reports still flowing. "Let them try. You’ll be there. So will Serathine, the imperial family, and Cressida. It’s the safest and the most dangerous place on the continent."

He paused, fingers drumming again, once, twice, measured. "And more importantly, they’re on my territory. I would be genuinely impressed if even one of them makes it to the garden without tripping a silent alarm."

Windstone added, evenly, "The last time someone tried, the kitchen lights flickered and every doorknob in the west wing locked for seven hours."

Dax barked a laugh. "Let them come to steal a prince and choke on the reception hors d’oeuvres."

Trevor didn’t smile. But his gaze lifted from the screen, and it was quiet steel.

"If they touch him," he said, "I won’t need to lift a weapon. This entire estate is one."

Dax raised his glass. "To ceremony and sabotage."

Trevor’s voice was soft, but final. "To Lucas."

And this time, even Dax didn’t joke.