CHAPTER 425: CHAPTER 425: ROYAL VISITORS (1)

By the time noon arrived, the house no longer resembled a place where a baby had spat up on the drapes four days ago.

Windstone had summoned the subtle chaos of the elite domestic arts; cushions were straightened into diplomatic alignment, windows polished until the world outside looked like a curated exhibit, and the foyer now smelled faintly of cedarwood and guiltless wealth. The scent blend had been engineered by a palace perfumer with a degree in olfactory politics and a vendetta against lemon.

Lucas, no longer in bed but not entirely upright either, was seated in the sunken lounge with Sebastian in his lap and a throw blanket that looked suspiciously designer-made tucked around them both. He wore soft tailored loungewear, the kind that whispered wealth and whispered even louder that you had earned the right to be comfortable.

Trevor stood behind him like a bodyguard who hadn’t signed the official contract but would absolutely stab someone for breathing wrong in his husband’s direction.

And then came the knock.

Not Windstone’s knock, but one with the exact number of seconds let you know the knocker had been trained not just in diplomacy but in optics, too.

The door opened, and Caelan, the Emperor, the crown, the myth, the man who once made a duchess cry with a single glance, walked in like he owned every atom in the air and had already decided which ones were inefficient.

Behind him came Sirius and Lucius, both dressed like the court had not told them to tone it down.

Sirius at least had the decency to look sheepish. Lucius looked like he had a battle plan and possibly a backup rattle categorized by national relevance.

Caelan stopped in front of Lucas with that slow, assessing gaze that had reduced governments to reform and made battle-hardened generals check their collars for lint.

And then... he smiled. It was small, rare, but warm. Real.

"Lucas."

Lucas looked up, dry as desert stone. "Your Majesty. Welcome to the chaos."

Sirius leaned down to kiss the top of Lucas’s head without warning. "We brought pastries. And surveillance-grade swaddling blankets." He ignored Trevor’s death stare with the same ease that he ignored his annoying secretary.

Lucius added smoothly, "I also brought a discreet list of noble houses whose allegiance can be purchased with baked goods."

Trevor exhaled. "So. Nothing’s changed."

"Incorrect," Caelan said, voice calm. "I’ve come to meet my grandson."

At that, all movement in the room ceased, like even the air itself was watching.

Lucas tightened his arm slightly around Sebastian, who blinked up at the new faces with the unimpressed solemnity of a future tax auditor.

"Sebastian," Lucas said softly, "this is your grandfather. He runs a continent and once made a Prime Minister cry over the color beige."

Sebastian blew a spit bubble.

Caelan’s gaze softened another fraction. "He’s perfect."

Lucius peered over Lucas’s shoulder. "Is that Trevor’s nose?"

Trevor, from behind the couch: "Lucius, leave the premises."

Sirius crouched down to Sebastian’s level, lips quirking. "I think it’s my eyebrows. The look of judgment is uncanny."

Windstone, from the doorway, cleared his throat like a man who had just accepted that he could not prevent fate but could at least dress it in appropriate house shoes.

"I’ll bring the tea," he said.

"Fancy tea," Lucas reminded, eyes flicking toward Caelan.

"Of course," Windstone replied. "I steeped it in the tears of my enemies."

Lucius perked up. "Which enemies?"

"Your college roommate," Windstone said, and vanished. It seemed like Windstone was a lot better at being petty with them than Lucas.

Lucas rested his chin lightly atop Sebastian’s soft hair, watching his son blink slowly at his gathered imperial entourage like he was waiting for them to audition.

Trevor leaned in, lowering his voice just enough for Lucas to hear. "He’s judging them harder than you did at our engagement dinner."

Lucas didn’t even look away from Sebastian. "That’s because he has better instincts. Also, less patience."

Caelan had settled into the single high-back chair like a man accustomed to commanding war councils from inconvenient upholstery. He folded his coat over the armrest with elegance and glanced down at Sebastian with open interest.

"May I?" he asked.

Lucas looked up, blinking once. The room collectively held its breath.

Then Lucas tilted his head toward the couch cushion beside him. "He bites."

"I’ve been bitten by worse," Caelan said mildly.

Lucius made a considering noise. "That’s technically true."

Sirius flopped onto the adjacent armchair and helped himself to one of the pastries he had allegedly brought for the family. "Is that the cherry one? Don’t mind if I do."

"Are we all pretending this is a normal visit?" Trevor asked, eyebrows raised.

"No," Lucas said flatly. "We’re just... improvising until someone cries or a treaty is signed."

Sebastian, sensing the dramatic peak of the conversation, yawned. It was loud, opinionated, and carried the weight of his entire three-month-old soul.

Lucas gently passed him into Caelan’s waiting arms with the silent precision of a man surrendering both a fragile object and a minor diplomatic hostage.

To his credit, Caelan didn’t fumble. He adjusted his hold with the ease of a man having too many children, settling the baby like someone who had memorized the manual but still suspected it was written by liars.

Sebastian blinked up at him, unimpressed. Then reached for Caelan’s collar.

Caelan allowed it.

The tiny fingers curled around the edge of his collar with the solemn determination of someone laying claim to an empire. Which, considering the company, wasn’t entirely out of the question. The room had gone quiet, reverent in a way that wasn’t planned, like something holy had accidentally happened in the middle of a family visit.

Sirius leaned forward, half-perched on the arm of the chair now, pastry forgotten in one hand. Lucius, uncharacteristically silent, stood to the side with his arms crossed, gaze flicking between Sebastian’s fingers and Caelan’s expression as if trying to decode a language only babies and emperors knew.

Even Trevor, still posted behind Lucas like an expensive shadow, had relaxed his shoulders a fraction. He was watching Caelan now, but not with suspicion, for once, with something almost like wariness softened by curiosity.

Sebastian wiggled once in Caelan’s arms and then went perfectly still. His cheek landed against the emperor’s chest like it belonged there. His eyes fluttered closed.

Caelan didn’t smile again. He just adjusted his grip slightly and sat straighter, as though any slouch would be disrespectful to the trust that had just been placed in him. His gaze lifted after a beat, meeting Lucas’s with something quieter than pride and heavier than approval.

Lucas let the silence stretch, let them all marvel like idiots over the world’s smallest tyrant wrapped in knit cotton and unmatched socks.

And then, because he was himself, he tilted his head toward Sirius and said, dry as ever, "Shouldn’t you be the first one having a child?"