[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 65: Chaotic Wedding

Chapter 65: Chapter 65: Chaotic Wedding

The youngest bishop cleared his throat. Loudly. Twice.

Serathine didn’t blink. "Begin."

He fumbled the first line. "We are gathered here—uh, today, in... union... sanctioned by..."

Lucas tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable. Trevor, ever supportive, offered the man a deadpan nod as if to say, you’re doing amazing; please, for the love of god skip the intro, which only made the poor bishop’s voice crack harder.

The bishop flushed, glanced down at the page again, and attempted to continue with dignity he absolutely did not possess.

"...sanctioned by—by law, tradition, and the blessed oversight of the Imperial Faith, we, uh, witness the binding of..." View the correct content at NovelFire)

His voice faltered when he looked up and realized Trevor was watching him with all the patience of a man who could have bribed him but chose not to. Just to see if he’d break on his own.

"...the binding of Lucas Oz Kilmer D’Argente and Trevor Fitzgeralt, in... holy, um, matrimony."

"Trevor Ariston Fitzgeralt and Lucas Oz D’Argente," Trevor corrected, with the patience of a saint and the tone of someone who once ended a business negotiation by smiling and bankrupting the other party in under ten minutes.

The bishop visibly recalculated his life choices.

"Right. Yes. Of course," he mumbled, shuffling papers that were already sweat-stained and crooked. "My apologies, Lord Fitzgeralt. Lord D’Argente."

Lucas didn’t flinch at the title. He merely tilted his head in mild agreement, as if to say, see, even he knows now, while his fingers tapped twice against the hem of his shirt—nervous energy dressed as poise.

Trevor looked down at him.

Then back at the bishop.

"I assume we can move on to the vows," he said with a tight smile. "Unless you’d like to check the pronunciation of ’I do’ as well."

One of the other bishops, the oldest, stepped forward and gently took the script from the younger one with the air of a man saving a colleague from a burning building. "Let me," he said.

"Do you, Trevor Ariston Fitzgeralt," the elder bishop intoned with proper dignity, "swear to take Lucas Oz D’Argente as your bonded partner—through duty, sovereignty, and inevitable scandal?"

"I do," Trevor said. Smooth. Immediate. Like he’d been waiting for this line all his life and already owned the copyright.

The bishop continued. "And do you, Lucas Oz D’Argente, swear to take Trevor Ariston Fitzgeralt as your—"

"I do," Lucas said, just as firm, and then added, "Can we fast-forward the rest before one of them dies of a stroke?"

The bishop gave a single nod, looking vaguely like he might be next. "Then present the rings."

A pause. "Please tell me you do have rings."

Lucas turned to Trevor. Trevor turned to Lucas.

Trevor opened his mouth to lie with confidence.

Serathine cut in first.

"They do," she said crisply, already reaching into the inner pocket of her gown—yes, it had pockets, of course it had pockets—pulling out a narrow velvet case with the nonchalance of a woman who planned a wedding and a coup at the same time.

She handed it to Trevor with regal finality. "Don’t drop them. They’re older than both your family trees."

Lucas blinked. "You brought rings?"

Serathine arched a brow. "Darling. I brought five bishops. What did you think I forgot—snacks?"

Trevor opened the case, revealing two rings: slim platinum bands, etched with a sigil that hadn’t graced court papers in fifty years, from a house long gone, but respected still. Not flashy. Not new. Prepared.

"These were made for a different wedding," Serathine said, almost idly. "That never happened. Thought it poetic."

"Are they cursed?" Lucas asked.

"Only if you cheat. Or wear them while committing tax fraud."

Trevor looked down at them for a beat. "You had these ready."

"I had them cleaned this morning," Serathine corrected. "I have capable people that shined them for the last two hours."

The bishop cleared his throat, peering down at the rings Serathine had provided.

"These... will need to be blessed formally. By rite. Typically in advance."

Trevor didn’t blink. "They’re placeholders."

The bishop shifted again, clearly flustered. "Placeholders or not, the rings still require sanctification by a clerical registrar. That’s protocol."

Trevor didn’t even blink. "These are ceremonial."

He looked at the older bishop with a glare that sent shivers down the spines of the God servers—a look that threatened violence and bloodshed if the ceremony took longer than another five minutes.

"They’ll hold for tonight," Trevor said, his voice smooth but cold enough to frost glass. "The actual rings are being finished this week. Appointment’s already booked at the Cathedral Registry. Thursday at noon. Under both our names."

The bishop, who had once performed a coronation without blinking, nodded as if this was completely normal and not a power move disguised as logistics.

Lucas turned his head slowly. "You booked it already?"

Trevor didn’t look at him. "You said, and I quote, ’Get married.’ There was no mention of delay." NovelFire

One of the younger bishops looked like he might cry.

The eldest bishop, recovering with professional grace, accepted this declaration like it had been carved into marble. "Then these shall be sanctified as a symbolic seal—blessed not for permanence, but for intention."

Serathine folded her arms and gave a delicate hum. "Don’t be shy, Bishop. Tell them how rare a hand-blessing rite is. Last I recall, it was used for wartime unions.

Lucas shot her a look. "Comforting."

The bishop stepped forward, lifting the small phial of ceremonial oil. "Then by oath of law and the free consent of both parties..."

Trevor reached for Lucas’s hand first. Laced their fingers with confidence that didn’t waver. His thumb brushed against Lucas’s pulse. Grounding. Firm.

The bishop poured a small drop of oil across their knuckles.

"...these hands are joined in bond, until the rite is completed in full."

The scent that rose from the oil was sharp and clean. Sandalwood, iron, and something older—like burnt sage or sun-warmed marble.

Lucas didn’t flinch. But he didn’t look away, either.

Trevor’s voice was low enough that only Lucas heard it. "We finish this properly. No loopholes. No room for doubt."

Lucas’s lips twitched. "You just want to see me in the cathedral."

"I want to see you wear the ring I designed."

The bishop cleared his throat once more. "No force shall undo what was freely chosen."

He stepped back. "You may now kiss the groom."

Lucas, distracted with watching Trevor’s mouth, blinked. "Wait, already—?"