[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 62: Everything But a Choice

Chapter 62: Chapter 62: Everything But a Choice

The Imperial Palace was many things: beautiful, fortified, and absolutely exhausting.

Duchess Serathine D’Argente had endured four hours of painfully slow council meetings that afternoon—most of them concerning trade adjustments and minor disputes between minor houses who didn’t understand the difference between territorial management and aristocratic whining. She was not impressed.

She’d handled grain logistics in Baye during an ether drought. She had hosted foreign dignitaries who couldn’t pronounce her title but wanted to marry her ward. She had once brokered peace between a coastal duke and a factory union leader before breakfast.

But this?

This was tedious.

Still, she remained poised, gloved fingers resting on the edge of the polished table, every movement calculated into grace. She did not sigh. She did not frown. She simply blinked, once, when the third delegate used the phrase "as is traditional in our house."

She was just about to offer a very polite suggestion involving a dictionary and a calendar when her personal comm-device gave a distinct, encrypted chime.

She didn’t move immediately—but her eyes sharpened.

Caelan.

The Emperor didn’t send idle messages. Not to her. Not after all these years.

She opened the message under the table.

From: C. Palatine

Subject: Immediate summons

Location: North Wing—Private Council Chamber

Note: No entourage. Now.

No title. No greeting. Just urgency.

Serathine stood without ceremony, offered a faint smile to the stunned council, and said, "We’ll reconvene another time. Or never, if the spirits are kind."

Then she turned and left before anyone dared ask a question.

—

Ten minutes later, she stepped into the North Wing.

The guards recognized her immediately. She didn’t have to speak. They opened the chamber doors with a silent nod.

Inside: a table lit by pale daylight and the glow of an imperial topography projection. The air was tense but quiet. A room for decisions, not discussion.

Caelan stood at the head—clad in formal black, his crown absent but his presence undeniable.

To his right: Sirius Alaric, firstborn and heir, every inch the Crown Prince. Sharp, steady, angry beneath the surface.

To his left: Lucius Thorne, the quieter blade of the two. Younger, colder, and more lethal in strategy than any of the court dared to admit.

Serathine entered without bowing.

"Your Majesty," she said simply. "Sirius. Lucius."

"Serathine," Caelan said. No warmth. Just focus. "We have a problem."

Her heels clicked once against the stone floor as she approached.

"We have a lot of problems," she replied, her voice smooth and dry. "Your Majesty has to be more specific."

Lucius gave the faintest twitch of a smirk.

Caelan didn’t rise to the bait. He nodded at Lucius, who handed her the sealed folder without a word.

She took it, opened it, and scanned its contents.

The silence was heavy, but not unexpected.

Inside the folder:

An article draft. Anonymous in source, but all too deliberate in aim.

A proposal—unsigned, but unmistakably Sahan.

And at the center of both: Lucas.

Serathine’s expression didn’t change, but her tone did.

"Dax."

Lucius confirmed it with a single word. "Yes. Why didn’t you tell us he’s dominant?"

Serathine’s eyes flicked toward him, sharp. "Because we found out yesterday night."

That landed like a quiet blow.

"Trevor found out more exactly and explained to Lucas what it means," Serathine said, already moving toward the nearest chair. "We didn’t want to escalate things; the engagement is already accepted by the palace, and Trevor being, himself, dominant was enough."

She sat, ungracefully, which for Serathine meant only that the motion lacked performance. The gesture was honest, tired. She peeled her gloves off one finger at a time like they’d personally offended her.

"The fewer people who knew, the better," she added flatly. "Plus, we knew that neither of you told us the entire truth. So we planned to keep this to ourselves. I assume the article is down already."

Sirius’s jaw tensed, but he nodded. "It is. But the rumors are spreading—and fast."

Lucius leaned forward slightly. "Dax is a decent man. But you know how dominants get when there’s even a sliver of hope they’ve found their match."

Caelan’s silence confirmed it.

He glanced at the flickering map projection still casting faint light across the table. "If he believes the match is viable, he’ll pursue it. Respectfully, at first. Then less so."

"You should have told us the moment you found out," Sirius muttered.

Serathine’s head turned slowly, her eyes sharp as cut glass.

"Oh, don’t give me that crap," she said, her voice low and clipped. "What would you do? What can you do now? Without Trevor—the only one Dax considers an equal—Lucas would’ve been packaged with a sparkling bow and sent to Saha the moment you knew."

The room went still.

Not out of offense, but because she wasn’t wrong.

Sirius stiffened, but didn’t argue. Lucius watched with the kind of stillness that usually meant he was recalculating ten different strategies behind the silence.

Caelan, for his part, remained unreadable. But his fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the table.

Serathine didn’t flinch.

"I’ve spent two weeks cleaning up the mess your court allowed to fester," she continued. "Lucas didn’t even make it through his first official dinner without being sized up like a market acquisition. And now I’m supposed to trust that once Saha moves, you’ll suddenly develop restraint?"

Caelan’s voice was calm, but iron beneath. "This is not a palace of fools, Serathine."

"No," she agreed coolly. "But it is a palace of priorities. And no one has made him one. Not until now."

A quiet, heavy acknowledgment that yes—if Trevor hadn’t intervened, if the engagement hadn’t already been sealed—Lucas would have been sent to Saha. Dressed in diplomacy. Wrapped in conditions and ceremonial language. Protected on paper, perhaps. But in essence?

Sold. Again.

Serathine didn’t soften. Her next words carved straight through the stillness, polished and cold.

"At least be honest with yourselves before we go further. Because Lucas has to lie to himself that he’s choosing Trevor. He’s not. This isn’t a choice; it’s containment. And his family, and this Empire, let a child down long before he ever became a political risk." View the correct content at NovelFire

No one responded immediately.

Even Lucius, sharp-tongued and unnervingly composed, looked away.

Sirius’s jaw clenched. Caelan remained still.

Serathine pressed on.

"Trevor will now be your ally publicly, not a neutral party. You get more than you bargained for. Deal with Misty, and I’ll make sure the engagement is on its way. Find out what she’s hiding, because that entire article reeks of her desperation."

Lucius’s voice was low. "You think she’s working with someone else?"

"I know she is," Serathine replied. "That leak wasn’t an accident. It was leverage. She was positioning him for a final sale, and she overplayed her hand."

Caelan gave a single nod. "We’ll take care of her."

"I’m counting on it," Serathine said. "Because I don’t want to waste another second here instead of defending a boy whom the Empire should have protected from the start."

And with that, she turned sharply on her heel and left the room.

Her gloves sat on the edge of the table, folded, forgotten, and far too clean for the kind of truth she had just left behind.