CHAPTER 289: CHAPTER 289: LIMITED OPTIONS (3)

Mia’s lips parted, but no sound came. She pressed her palms flat against the table as though steadying herself, her eyes darting toward Andrew as if seeking an answer that wasn’t there.

Andrew adjusted his glasses again, though his hands trembled faintly before he stilled them. "So those are our choices. Become a story someone else writes, or be carved into kindling."

Sirius leaned back, his grin tempered into something harder. "More like the one you survive. The Blacks will make room for you, Andrew. For Mia. For Christopher. They will craft the narrative as if it had always been so. And once they do, no one will dare dispute it."

Cressida’s voice was cool, unyielding. "Do not mistake this for generosity. Denise and Milo will not shelter you out of affection. They will shelter you because doing so strengthens their hand and keeps the Maleks in check. A more than generous offer, you..." Cressida looked at Andrew. "are going to be their heir and they get to be the one associated with the new Queen of Saha."

Andrew froze, the word striking him harder than any threat. His throat worked once before he found his voice. "Their... heir?"

Mia’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide, her voice a startled whisper. "Andrew..."

Cressida’s silver gaze didn’t waver. "Did you think Denise and Milo would go through the trouble of rewriting bloodlines simply to offer you shelter? No. They require a successor, one to carry their name forward."

Andrew chuckled. "I’m sure they can find someone better than us, even with Chris being in Saha."

Lucas’s smile held, quiet but cutting. "Not really. Their family has a stupid tradition; the heir must be an alpha."

The words hung in the air like a dropped blade.

Mia blinked, confusion furrowing her brow. "That’s... it? That’s the only reason?"

Sirius shrugged, unbothered. "Old families cling to old rules. Denise and Milo aren’t sentimental, but they won’t break their own customs. That leaves Andrew."

Andrew’s laugh faltered, bitterness bleeding through. "So I qualify not because I’m fit, but because I was born on the right side of biology."

Serathine’s amber eyes gleamed, her tone smooth as silk. "In politics, Mr. Malek, being born the right thing at the right time is half the battle and I’m convinced you know it."

"Meet them first, Andrew; think about it like a blind date with your rich future," Lucas said, amused, his smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Mia let out a strangled sound, half a laugh and half disbelief. "That’s not funny, Lucas."

"It wasn’t meant to be," Lucas replied lightly, though his green eyes held no trace of softness. "Humor just makes the medicine easier to swallow."

Sirius leaned back in his chair, blue eyes glinting. "And unlike most blind dates, this one comes with the guarantee that saying yes means survival."

Andrew exhaled slowly, pushing his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. "And saying no?"

Lucius’s voice was clipped, final. "Means you were already sold before you sat down at this table."

Silence pressed down like a verdict.

Andrew’s jaw tightened, his hands folding neatly on the polished wood before him. "Fine."

The word was flat, almost careless, but the tremor in Mia’s breath, the faint gleam in Serathine’s eyes, and the curve of Sirius’s grin betrayed just how much it meant.

Cressida lifted her cup again, unhurried. "Good. Then we will inform Denise and Milo, the heirs they lacked have finally come home."

—

The meeting broke apart with the scrape of chairs against polished tile. Cressida slipped her phone into her clutch, Serathine adjusted the cuffs of her blazer, and Andrew left with Mia clinging to his arm, whispering under her breath. The glass doors shut behind them, muting the echo of heels down the corridor.

Silence lingered. Only three remained.

Lucas leaned back in his seat, jacket undone, green eyes steady as he tapped a finger once against the table’s surface. Sirius slouched comfortably beside him, spinning his pen between his fingers. Across the table, Lucius sat rigid, the glow of the lights cutting sharp lines across his face, his gaze fixed on Lucas as if reassessing him.

At length, Lucius spoke, his voice cool but edged with something like approval. "It was calculated. Pulling the Blacks in, locking Andrew into their succession. With that, you’ve blocked the Maleks from making another move and placed Mia under a roof no one dares challenge."

Lucas’s mouth curved faintly. "They were circling already. Better to set the narrative before they tried to write it for us. The Blacks give them no room to maneuver without tearing their own reputation apart."

Sirius leaned back, shoes hooked against the table leg, grin flickering. "And the beauty of it? Everyone will be so busy guessing what the Blacks stand to gain that they won’t notice what we keep."

Lucius adjusted his cufflinks, expression unreadable, though his eyes glinted. "Control of the negotiations with Saha. Which means the timetable, the agenda, and the terms stay in imperial hands. The nobles will posture, but they won’t interfere. You’ve given them something heavier to weigh than their own ambition."

Lucas exhaled softly, green gaze unwavering. "That was the point. If they want to measure Dax, let them risk their throats, but they won’t test me. And they won’t lay a hand on Andrew or Mia, not with the Blacks fronting their names."

"Too bad you don’t want to be formally recognized as a Prince," Sirius said, reaching lazily for a pastry from the tray, powdered sugar dusting his fingertips.

Lucas arched a brow, lips quirking. "So that you would give me work to do? Please. I’m not in a hurry to carry D’Argente and Fitzgeralt responsibilities, so what makes you think I want your workload dumped on me too?"

His eyes glinted with mischief as he leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly under the shift.

Sirius snorted. "You’d hate it anyway. Too many committees, too many cameras. You’d have to pretend you liked handshakes."

Lucas only hummed, tilting his chair back an inch farther, his green gaze drifting toward the skyline beyond the glass.

Lucius’s voice cut through the quiet, cool, and exact. "You can afford to be dismissive now. But once you get to twenty-one, you will not have the luxury of ignoring your duties."

Sirius licked sugar from his thumb, unbothered. "Translation: enjoy the free time while it lasts."

Lucas smirked faintly, eyes still on the city lights. "I intend to, plus I have Trevor."

That name shifted the air, subtle but undeniable.

Sirius let out a low whistle. "Ah, right. The walking fortress of Fitzgeralt. With him around, you could probably ignore duties until you’re fifty."

Lucas’s smirk only grew wider.