[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 89: Diplomatic Thirst Traps and Violet Eyes

Chapter 89: Chapter 89: Diplomatic Thirst Traps and Violet Eyes

"We’re going to Saha," Trevor said casually, like he was announcing a trip to the vineyard and not to a kingdom known for political theatrics and fondness for war.

Silence followed.

Birds chirped. The estate cat sneezed somewhere in the hedge, deeply unimpressed.

Windstone blinked. Once. Twice. "I see."

"You don’t," Lucas said flatly. "He decided this five minutes ago."

"Correction," Trevor offered. "I decided it this morning. I’m just choosing to share it now."

Windstone’s jaw tensed exactly once before relaxing into its usual, terrifying calm. "Naturally. Why plan when you can destabilize foreign relations before lunch?"

Lucas made a sound that was probably laughter, or a quiet cry for help.

"We leave in a week," Trevor went on, as if this were all very normal. "Schedule the convoy. No Crown aides. No borrowed guards. Only our people. And seal the guest wing in the Sahan palace before we arrive—Dax will understand."

Windstone didn’t respond right away. He just looked at Lucas. Then back at Trevor. Then back at Lucas, who was still wearing a slightly oversized academy shirt from a wardrobe that had last been fashionable when Trevor was fifteen and emotionally invincible.

"You’ve been here three days," Windstone said, voice slow and surgical. "He hasn’t finished the estate tour. He doesn’t have an official wardrobe. You’ve barely explained tax filings. And now you want to waltz into the most volatile royal court on the continent for what I can only assume is a honeymoon-slash-threat display?" NovelFire

Trevor nodded. "Correct."

"Brilliant," Windstone muttered. "Shall I prepare the diplomatic documents in scented ink or blood?"

"Lucas is wearing my clothes from when I was thirteen," Trevor added, like that helped.

Lucas exhaled slowly. "I have a wardrobe at Baye estate."

"Yes, and a kingdom at war," Windstone replied. "How charming. I’ll inform the staff. And the undertaker."

He turned, muttering something under his breath about imported fruit, velvet blankets, and diplomatic stupidity, and began walking back toward the manor with a pace that could only be described as professionally vengeful.

Lucas watched him go, then turned back to Trevor, eyes narrowing.

"So," he said slowly. "Dax."

Windstone stopped walking.

Lucas didn’t glance at him. "What should I know about him? Because Serathine looked ready to stage a fake engagement just to keep him away from me, and I’d like to know why everyone suddenly thinks I’m in danger of being claimed like a seasonal tax break."

Trevor’s posture stiffened, just slightly.

"Dax is a dominant alpha," he said carefully. "Older than me. He took control of Saha seven years ago during a period of unrest and held onto it with equal parts strategy and blood."

Lucas’s brow twitched. "Comforting."

"He doesn’t have a consort," Trevor went on. "No children. No official heir. And Saha doesn’t inherit power—it earns it. Through war, loyalty, or bonding."

Windstone returned with the slow pivot of someone who had too many opinions and not enough coffee. "And if he could make a bond with someone like Lucas, it would end half of his succession problems and double his leverage against the Empire."

Lucas frowned. "He sent a message to Caelan."

Trevor nodded once. "He didn’t say your name, but he didn’t need to. He sent it right after Misty’s article."

"After everyone learned I’m a dominant omega," Lucas said flatly.

"Yes," Windstone said. "And before anyone publicly claimed you. Which made you not just rare, but available." View the correct content at NovelFire

Lucas folded his arms. "And now we’re going to Saha."

Trevor’s voice remained calm. "He invited us, which in free translation is an order."

Lucas inhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing with the precision of a man calculating not if a situation would go up in flames—but when, and whether he should bring wine to watch it burn.

"Right," he said. "So let me recap, just to be sure I haven’t suffered a head injury."

Trevor raised an eyebrow.

Lucas held up a hand, ticking off fingers. "One: I’ve been here three days. Two: I’m still wearing clothes from your tragic adolescence. Three: I haven’t met half the estate staff, and four: I just found out the King of Saha may or may not have submitted a diplomatic thirst trap to my father."

Windstone made a strangled sound and promptly turned it into a very judgmental throat clear.

Lucas wasn’t finished.

"Five," he said, ticking off the last finger, "we are now leaving in one week for a diplomatic ’honeymoon’ to a country known for theatrical threats, political executions, and gilded cushions with spite embroidered into the seams. Have I missed anything?"

Trevor considered it. "I’d say that covers the essentials."

Lucas exhaled. "Of course it does."

Windstone pinched the bridge of his nose like he was experiencing psychic trauma. "Do I even want to know what you’re planning to wear?"

Lucas tilted his head. "The coat fits."

Windstone looked to the sky. "So did the gallows."

Trevor looked positively unrepentant. "We’ll need travel documents with minimal visibility, priority crossing through the border wards, and a pre-cleared escort at the Sahan side. I don’t want to give Dax time to arrange a reception committee. Or worse—a ball."

Windstone gave him a look that could curdle glass. "Do you think he won’t throw one anyway?"

"He’ll wait," Trevor said dryly. "He enjoys suspense."

Lucas blinked. "He enjoys suspense? I’m not a serialized novel."

"You’re rare," Trevor said evenly. "And he’s strategic. He’s not interested in scandal—he’s interested in leverage. If he gets a look at you in person, he’ll know he lost before the game even started."

"Flattering," Lucas muttered.

"You did choose the stone to match my eyes," Trevor pointed out, entirely too pleased with himself.

Lucas glared. "Because I liked the color. Not because I wanted to make every major ruler in the region question their life decisions."

Windstone, who had returned just in time to hear that line, paused mid-scroll through his tablet. For a man who rarely smiled, the expression that crept over his face could only be described as deeply entertained.

"Well," he said, adjusting his cuffs with unhurried precision, "Evrin Dax has the same eyes as Trevor."

Silence.

Trevor blinked.

Lucas blinked back.

"I’m sorry," Lucas said flatly. "Would you care to repeat that?"

"Violet," Windstone said lightly. "Same shade. Same glare. Less patience. Some have called it a coincidence. Others," he added, glancing meaningfully at Trevor, "called it foreshadowing."

Trevor closed his eyes. "Windstone."

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"Please do not imply to my spouse that he accidentally forged a matching engagement ring with a foreign king."

"I didn’t imply it," Windstone replied, perfectly serene. "I confirmed it."

Lucas slowly lowered his hand, staring at his ring like it had betrayed him. "So what I’m hearing," he said carefully, "is that I accidentally proposed to both of you."

Trevor let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. "Only one of us signed the paperwork."

"Yet," Windstone murmured.

"Windstone," both said at once.

He gave them a satisfied nod and turned, adjusting the list on his tablet. "I’ll make sure we pack something intimidating and coincidentally irresistible. You’ll need it for the dinner. And probably the aftermath."

Lucas pressed his face into his hands. "This is not a diplomatic trip. This is psychological warfare."

Trevor smiled. "Then we’re well-prepared."