Chapter 371: Chapter 371: Gods, I love you
By the time Trevor reached Lucas’s office, the evening light had cooled into the faint blue of twilight. The rain had stopped completely now, leaving faint streaks across the tall windows, the scent of wet stone drifting in through the narrow crack Windstone had opened "for air circulation."
The door opened quietly; Trevor never needed to announce himself. He was still in his crisp grey shirt from the meeting, the top button undone but everything else immaculate. Gold cufflinks caught the lamplight, matching the discreet ornament pinned to his collar, the Fitzgeralt crest newly adorned with Cressida’s seal. A gift from his grandmother the day after they escaped, combined with emotional manipulation to allow her to visit more than Serathine. Trevor burned the piece of paper on which the message was written, but kept the seal out of spite.
Lucas looked up immediately. The sight of Trevor like that, sharp lines, faint exhaustion, and that particular calm he wore after a long meeting, made something in him loosen. "You look like you just declared a minor war," he said.
Trevor shut the door behind him. "I might have. The board tried to redefine the shipping tax clause. It was... educational."
Lucas tilted his head. "For them?"
"Obviously."
Trevor crossed the room, his movements effortless, and leaned down to kiss the top of Lucas’s head before pulling up the spare chair beside the desk. "You didn’t rest," he said without looking, eyes flicking over the open folders.
"I did," Lucas protested, reaching for a pen. "I just... relocated my resting to a more productive setting."
Trevor’s gaze fell on the half-empty tin of biscuits. "You’re eating those again?"
"They’re the only thing that doesn’t cause an uprising," Lucas said defensively. "The baby’s declared war on flavor."
Trevor leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, gold catching faintly against his wristwatch. "Windstone’s been glaring at the kitchen staff like they’re personally responsible for that."
Lucas smiled faintly, eyes on the paper but voice lighter. "He’s loyal. Terrifying, but loyal."
Trevor studied him for a moment, blanket sliding off one shoulder, pen tapping absently against the contract, that quiet stubbornness etched into every motion. Then, softly, "You look better."
"Everyone keeps saying that," Lucas murmured. "It must be a conspiracy."
Trevor reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from Lucas’s forehead. "Maybe it’s just true."
For a moment, the room was still, with just the rustle of paper and the faint ticking of the clock. Then Lucas sighed and said, far too casually, "Caelan called."
Trevor’s hand froze midair. "He called?"
Lucas nodded, biting the corner of a biscuit. "Wanted to congratulate us on the title."
Trevor’s expression shifted subtly, his amusement fading into wary alertness. "And?"
"And he knows."
"Knows what?" Trevor asked, though his tone suggested he already had a very bad feeling.
Lucas gave him a look over the rim of his cup. "About the baby."
Trevor blinked. "You told him?"
"Not intentionally," Lucas said, frowning as he set the cup down. "It slipped out."
"How," Trevor said slowly, "does one accidentally tell the Emperor of the Empire that they’re pregnant?"
Lucas waved the question off. "He asked how I was feeling; I said dizzy, then I said something about throwing up from nerves, and... well... he’s not stupid."
Trevor pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling through his teeth. "Of course he isn’t."
"Don’t give me that look," Lucas said, feigning indignation. "It’s not like I told him on purpose. And honestly, he took it well."
Trevor lowered his hand, giving him a skeptical look. "Define well."
Lucas shrugged. "He congratulated me. Said he’s proud of us. Told me to stop eating prehistoric biscuits."
Trevor blinked. "...He what?"
Lucas’s lips twitched. "He said, and I quote: ’Try to eat something that wasn’t baked before the revolution.’"
Trevor stared at him for a long second before laughter broke through, low and helpless. "I can’t believe you made Caelan of Palatine lecture you about food."
Lucas smiled despite himself. "I didn’t make him. He volunteered."
"Of course he did," Trevor said, still laughing. "Now he’s going to call every day to make sure you’re eating fruit and sunlight."
"I can handle that," Lucas said mildly. "What I can’t handle is Serathine finding out he knows. Because then she’ll think I told him first."
Trevor leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, amusement still ghosting his lips. "You’re worried about political order in the announcement hierarchy?"
"I’m worried about surviving my mother," Lucas corrected.
Trevor reached over and took his hand, turning it palm up, thumb tracing slow circles against his skin. "She’ll forgive you. Eventually. Especially when she sees how smug you’ll look with her grandchild."
Lucas rolled his eyes, but the smallest smile broke through. "You’re confident."
Trevor’s tone softened. "Always."
For a while, neither spoke. The evening settled around them, soft light spilling across the desk, the faint hum of distant rain gutters, and the quiet weight of contentment that neither of them had quite learned to name.
Then Trevor said, quietly but certain, "Caelan knowing isn’t bad, Lucas. He’ll protect you."
Lucas looked at him, the lamplight catching faint gold in his eyes. "I don’t need protecting. I have you."
Trevor had a smug grin on his face. "I know. But it doesn’t hurt to have an empire on our side."
Lucas let out a quiet laugh, the sound low and warm. "You make it sound like we’re going to war."
Trevor leaned closer, pressing a brief kiss to his forehead. "You’re growing my heir. It’s all the same thing."
Lucas groaned, half-laughing. "You and Cressida should form a club."
Trevor’s smile softened, one hand still resting over his. "Maybe we will. But for now..." He glanced at the biscuit tin, grimaced, and reached for his phone. "I’m calling Windstone. You’re eating something that has a shelf life shorter than my career."
Lucas sighed, leaning back with mock resignation. "Fine. But only because Caelan said so."
Trevor looked up from his phone, his grin returning. "You’re quoting the Emperor to get out of my scolding?"
"I’m adapting to my environment," Lucas said smoothly. "It’s called diplomacy."
Trevor laughed, low and genuine. "Gods, I love you."