[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 67: Running from the Capital

Chapter 67: Chapter 67: Running from the Capital

Lucas let out a slow breath, more out of force of habit than frustration. The kind of exhale that said, if I speak, someone dies.

Probably both of them.

"Wonderful," he muttered, releasing Trevor’s hand only to rake his fingers through his hair. "My husband is threatening the imperial line, and my brother is quoting constitutional law like it’s a bedtime story. This is going great."

Sirius, clearly enjoying himself, reached for a second glass without asking. "You’re acting like this isn’t the most peaceful family gathering we’ve had in years."

"I barely know you. How much time passed from my adoption?" Lucas said, unbothered, his tone smooth as glass. "At most three months?"

Sirius’s smile didn’t falter, but something in his eyes shifted—just slightly. "Three months is enough in this house. Some people don’t survive longer." NovelFire

"That sounds like a threat," Lucas said, lifting his glass.

"It’s a fact," Lucius said before Sirius could reply. "You entered through Serathine. You stayed by obligation. And now you’re tied to one of the most dangerous men in the Empire."

Lucas took a sip of wine and set the glass down.

He glanced at Trevor, who was seated beside him, unmoving, silent, watching. Their hands were still intertwined. The rings caught the chandelier light like they had something to prove.

Lucas shifted slightly in his seat, just enough to catch the curve of Trevor’s jaw in profile.

"What did you say about North?" he asked, almost innocently.

Trevor turned his head slowly.

His eyes, purple with golden veins from the light, narrowed the way they did only when he was deciding whether to speak or destroy.

"Quiet. Far away from imperial heirs. And two hours of flight with my private jet. Say the word and we go."

Lucas’s mouth curved into something that could almost be mistaken for amusement, though there was no real humor in it—only the slow recognition of how absurd his life had become, and how calmly Trevor carried it like it was always meant to be his. "Two hours," he repeated, not as a question, but as something to anchor the moment, something to hold between them while the room, the palace, the Empire, receded like a tide that had never belonged to him anyway.

He hadn’t expected to feel this calm.

He hadn’t expected to still be holding Trevor’s hand, fingers linked loosely, skin warm, steady—no tremor, no sweat, no flash of cold fear clawing up the back of his neck like it used to when another alpha got too close.

He hadn’t expected the kiss to settle like that either—low and quiet, lodged behind his ribs like the beginning of something instead of the echo of something broken.

Lucas had waited for the recoil, the instinctive pullback, the edge of panic that had been trained into him over years of smiling at the wrong people and pretending they didn’t have teeth. But it hadn’t come. It hadn’t even stirred. The old panic remained exactly where it belonged, curled in the farthest corner of his mind, locked beneath layers he had no intention of peeling back tonight—not when the man beside him had given him every chance to run and hadn’t flinched when he didn’t.

"I can have the jet ready in fifteen minutes," Trevor said, voice low and even, not pushing, not asking, simply laying the option between them like it was fact and not an offer.

"You still need air clearance," Lucius said, smiling in that quiet, dangerous way that always meant trouble was coming in the shape of policy.

Trevor didn’t even blink. "Already secured."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "That’s not possible. Not without a direct override."

"I submitted it during the vows," Trevor said. He turned his head slightly, calm and deliberate. "Contingency clause twelve. House-level emergency protocol. It’s buried under guest list clearance and ceremony security."

There was a pause.

Lucas looked at him sideways. "You filed an air override in the middle of our wedding?"

Trevor met his gaze, unapologetic. "I plan ahead."

"Of course you do," Lucas said, mostly to himself. "Well, I don’t want to see the press, Misty, or—god forbid—Christian. North would do."

Serathine raised an eyebrow with ease, swirling what remained in her glass. "You know, the North isn’t that different from the Capital. They just have a tyrant instead of a parliament."

Trevor didn’t flinch. "At least I’m efficient."

"And terrifying," she added, without looking at him.

"It’s in my genes. Nothing you can do about it." He adjusted his cuff with casual ease, then glanced at her, almost as an afterthought. "Can you deal with Isabela Wright and Tom Walton tomorrow?"

Serathine’s expression didn’t shift, but something in her posture turned sharper.

"The tutors?" she said. "When did tutors scare me? I will deal with them and send you their news. If there are any."

Trevor gave a single nod, the kind that passed for gratitude in their language.

Serathine raised her glass for the last time that night. "Fly safe. Don’t start a war unless you mean to finish it."

Trevor’s hand found Lucas’s without effort. "I always finish it."

"Terrifying. Both of you," Sirius said, as he casually stole a pastry from Lucius’s plate.

Lucius didn’t even look up. "Touch my food again and I’ll revoke your diplomatic immunity."

"I’m the Crown Prince and your older brother," Sirius replied, unbothered, already reaching for another pastry. "Technically, I outrank your threats."

"You outrank furniture," Lucius said flatly. "Barely."

Trevor didn’t pause. "We’re leaving."

"Run while you still have dignity," Serathine murmured.

Lucas, already moving, glanced once over his shoulder. "They’re going to kill each other the moment we step out."

Trevor adjusted his coat, calm as ever. "They’ve tried. Hasn’t worked."

Sirius raised his glass in their direction. "Enjoy the North. Try not to freeze to death or destroy the manor."

"We make no promises," Lucas called back, his voice dry.

And then the doors opened again, and this time, no one stopped them.