[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 68: Evrin Dax

Chapter 68: Chapter 68: Evrin Dax

King Evrin Dax stood at the edge of the west-facing terrace, where dusk painted the sky in shades of bronze and blood, and the early summer breeze whispered through the velvet drapes. The terrace was framed by carved sandstone pillars, gilded at their crowns and draped in dark green silk.

Behind him, the palace of Saha rose in domes layered with blackstone and gold filigree, balconies crowned with traceried latticework, and arches resting on thick columns of ivory marble veined with copper. Wide walkways ran between suspended gardens and quiet fountains, their echo softened by courtyards designed to mute every sound except footsteps and declarations.

It was a city within a city, strategically elevated and surrounded by terraces that opened into formal chambers, long galleries, and private halls meant for negotiations dressed as dinners and wars that began with etiquette.

Dax wore black tonight, embroidered along the cuffs in muted gold. Draped over his left shoulder was a shawl woven with ancient motifs, a symbol of rulership passed between generations, like a curse folded into brocade. His long white hair was bound back at the nape, sharp against the contrast of dusk. And his eyes—violet, cold, reflective—had been described once as the kind of color you only see when you’re drowning.

He was waiting. And Caelan had not replied.

The message had gone out before sunrise, sealed with the personal cipher and routed through three diplomatic channels—one official, one private, and one they both pretended didn’t exist. Dax had expected a response by midday. He had tolerated silence until dusk. Now, the evening air carried nothing but the scent of polished stone, slow-burning fragrance oil, and the weight of something withheld.

The sound of approaching footsteps was soft against the inlaid mosaic floor, but not soft enough for him to not hear them.

Tyler Bell stepped onto the terrace with the precise deference of a man who knew the rules of proximity in a kingdom built on silence. He didn’t speak until Dax glanced at him, just once.

"The profiles, Your Majesty," Tyler said, offering the tablet wrapped in leather and gold clasps. "I’ve narrowed it to three."

Dax didn’t take the device.

"Speak."

Tyler stood straighter, his dark suit crisp against the backdrop of carved archways and low-burning sconces.

"Amelie of Hanover. Eighteen. Omega. Noble line, but politically quiet. Recently orphaned. Hasn’t appeared in court since her mother’s funeral."

Dax’s eyes didn’t shift. "Irrelevant."

"Catherine Harrell," Tyler continued. "Border-born. No recent records. Technically qualifies by medical profile but lacks the dominant markers."

"She’s a name they added to confuse the search."

"Yes, sire." A pause. "The third is Lucas Oz D’Argente."

Now, Dax’s gaze turned.

White hair caught the last slant of light. The shift was small, but Tyler noticed.

"Legally adopted into House D’Argente three months ago," Tyler said. "Under Serathine."

Dax’s gaze lingered now, a slow calculation forming behind his violet eyes.

"Go on."

"Before that," Tyler continued, "records are fragmented. No clear trace of parentage; there are data only for his mother and former guardian—Misty Kilmer—and her daughter, Ophelia Kilmer. No official birth certificate. No father listed. School enrollment was inconsistent. Medical records are thin. All threads point south."

Dax’s mouth didn’t move, but the air around him seemed to still.

Tyler shifted his weight slightly. "His file was sealed shortly after a medical reassessment and an unregistered transfer from the southern provinces. The reassessment was flagged but buried. No listed physician. No escort. No signature from the regional registrar."

He paused, just long enough to weigh the next sentence.

"She is now being sued by Christian Velloran. For forgery and breach of contract."

That earned Dax’s full attention.

"Christian," he said slowly, as if repeating the name might sharpen its meaning. "Velloran’s eldest?"

"Yes."

Tyler didn’t fumble the next part.

"Misty sold Lucas to him as a mate."

A long silence stretched between them.

"And then?"

"She added a second buyer to the original contract," Tyler said, his voice quieter now. "Christian was never informed. The clause was coded and time-released—meant to activate if Christian and Lucas failed to produce a child by the age of twenty-five."

Dax said nothing.

"We’re still investigating," Tyler added. "The second buyer was listed under a coded designation. The encryption is old, but not foreign."

Dax turned away from the terrace railing, the lines of his coat shifting with him. "Then someone wanted him twice."

"It appears so. Now he is the heir of House D’Argente and engaged to Trevor Ariston Fitzgeralt." NovelFire

Tyler didn’t soften the words. He knew better.

Dax stood still for a long moment, the lamplight from the hall catching on the embroidery at his cuffs. His expression didn’t change, but something colder settled behind his eyes. That particular stillness that preceded strategy. Or violence.

"He’s not just protected," Dax said at last. "He’s elevated."

"Yes."

"And Serathine gave her name for it."

"She did."

Dax’s jaw tightened. "Which means Caelan approved."

"We have no proof."

"Don’t insult me."

Tyler lowered his gaze.

The king stepped forward, into the glow of the inner hall, sandstone walls carved with ancestral history, flanked by statues too old to smile.

"He was sold," Dax said quietly, like reciting a prophecy no one wanted fulfilled. "Then stolen. And now... placed."

"Yes, sire."

Dax stopped in front of the central map, Saha at the heart, the empire etched in gold across black marble. His fingers hovered over the northern coast.

"They gave him to Trevor," he said, as if the idea was still settling. "A dominant. From a military house. Loyal to no one but himself."

Tyler spoke carefully. "You think Fitzgeralt doesn’t serve Palatine?"

"I think he chooses what to serve," Dax replied. "And right now, if the boy is dominant, he may choose him."

He looked back over his shoulder, expression unreadable.

"That makes him dangerous."

Tyler nodded. "What would you like to do?"

Dax’s voice came quiet.

"I want to know what Lucas is worth. Find everything about him—family, history, teachers, neighbors. Anyone who saw him. Anyone who stayed quiet. Dig until you know what they’re afraid of."

Tyler gave a crisp nod. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"I want a full report by the end of the week. I want records, witness accounts, and sealed transcripts if you have to steal them."

"If there’s a gap?"

"Then fill it with someone’s blood," Dax said, already turning from the hall.

Tyler didn’t flinch.

The study doors closed behind the king, soft and deliberate.