[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 64: Five bishops

Chapter 64: Chapter 64: Five bishops

He turned his head. Looked directly at Trevor.

"Get married."

Trevor lowered his tablet with a kind of deliberate ease that didn’t match the sudden tightness in his shoulders, the way his posture shifted, like he was already running the numbers in his head and had come to a conclusion he didn’t quite expect.

Lucas didn’t look away. "Well, you wanted a chance. This is it. We can date after. Or make each other’s lives a hell."

Trevor blinked once, and a grin started to form, not surprised, not shocked, but entertained in that deeply dangerous way only Trevor could be. He traced his white teeth with his tongue, slow and deliberate, while his gaze settled on Lucas with a raised brow and a glint of something sharp and deeply amused in those violet eyes.

Serathine sat forward, her hands clenched in front of her as if she could still pull the conversation back before it completely left the bounds of sanity. "Lucas, this is a reaction. You’re angry, cornered; this is you trying to survive, not commitment."

"Of course it’s survival," Lucas said flatly. "You think the rest of this isn’t?"

Trevor leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight as if even the furniture was bracing for impact. He looked too calm for what was happening.

"Let’s do it," he said, tone smooth and maddeningly unshaken. "I’m sure there’s some heirloom ring buried in one of our family vaults that’s perfect for you. Or I can commission a custom one—your call."

He glanced at Lucas, that grin still lingering. "That is, if my bride has the patience to wait for it and not elope now."

"I thought in an hour," Lucas replied with a shrug, utterly unbothered. "I prefer custom-made. I don’t trust the taste of dead people."

Trevor laughed softly. "Long enough."

Serathine stared at them both, her eyes moving from Lucas’s bare hands to Trevor’s half-smirk and then to the space between them that had once been filled with excuses, hesitation, and protocol—but was now very clearly occupied by a decision, absurd and reckless as it was, sealed not with ceremony but with stubbornness and that shared look that said: we’re doing this, and no one can stop us.

She inhaled once. Deep. Measured. As if she could breathe sanity back into the room.

It didn’t work.

"You know what?" she said, standing with the grace of someone who had led diplomatic negotiations and assassinated character with a single sentence. "Let me prepare the papers."

She was already walking toward the door, muttering under her breath. "There’s a bishop who owes me a favor. Or five. He’ll officiate and he’ll do it tonight. If I have to blackmail him with those letters, so be it."

She paused in the doorway, heels clicking on polished marble, one hand resting on the frame like she needed to steady herself.

Then she turned back to them, exasperation replaced with something dangerously close to affection.

"I’ve officially given up on sanity," she announced. "Congratulations. I’m joining the two of you."

Lucas tilted his head. "As our witness?"

Serathine’s smile was sharp. "As your handler." NovelFire

Trevor glanced at Lucas, still grinning like a man whose day had gone off-script in the best possible way. "I think we’re getting married."

Lucas stretched, slow and unbothered. "I know."

—

Somehow, in less than two hours, Serathine had gathered five bishops.

Five.

No one asked how. No one wanted to. One of them looked like he’d been pulled straight from a wine tasting, another was still wearing his gardening gloves, and the youngest kept checking his pulse like he wasn’t sure if this was a dream or a bribe in disguise. They stood in a mismatched line, each holding a different edition of the ceremonial script, each radiating varying degrees of confusion, debt, and fear of Serathine.

The private hall had been cleared, perfumed, and re-lit. No decoration or staff waiting. Just enough space for a ceremony, a witness who looked like vengeance incarnate, and two men standing far too still in the middle of it all.

Lucas looked composed from a distance.

Up close, his hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his cuff, the movement precise but slow, like he was trying to keep something from slipping. NovelFire

His shirt was too crisp, too new, and smelled faintly of ironed silk and panic. The collar itched. His hair had dried messily despite the stylist’s best effort, and he’d refused powder, insisting if he was going to look exhausted in photographs, he might as well earn it.

Trevor, naturally, looked untouched by the chaos. Impeccable black suit, unbothered posture, cufflinks that matched Lucas’s, a quiet signal no one else would catch until it was already too late. He looked like he either planned the entire night or hadn’t planned at all and still came out ahead.

And Serathine—Serathine swept in ten minutes before the first bishop could flee, wearing a gold gown with a neckline high enough to assert dominance and a train long enough to make an exit feel imperial. It shimmered like war and wealth and perfectly timed rage.

"I had it made on impulse," she said, when Lucas stared. "And now I’m using it in the middle of madness."

The hall was private, too well-lit for secrecy and too elegant for sanity. Perfect.

"You’re shaking," Trevor said quietly, too low for anyone else to hear.

"I’m fine," Lucas muttered.

Trevor reached out without hesitation and took his hand. Not forcefully. Just long enough to still the tremor, to anchor. He didn’t say anything else—he didn’t have to.

Lucas didn’t pull away.

Trevor, in an act of weaponized boredom, had sent a message right before the ceremony started. Just two names—Sirius and Lucius—and a location.

Bring wine.

Ceremony in progress.

Lucas saw it. Stared. "You did not just invite the imperial princes to our elopement."

Trevor didn’t look up. "I did."

"I don’t even have cake."

"No one has cake," Serathine snapped. "We don’t have time for tradition. The one in purple is sweating through his robes."

"Pity."