CHAPTER 446: CHAPTER 446: HEIRS

"Well," Trevor said, far too smug for a man currently fused to his husband, "I think that’s a sibling secured."

Lucas groaned. "No. You don’t get to be proud of that sentence."

Trevor nuzzled the side of his throat, utterly unrepentant. "Come on. That was easily the most effective attempt. Statistically speaking."

"We have a child," Lucas muttered, hoarse. "Already. One. Singular."

"Oh no," Trevor whispered. "You said the child wasn’t coming alone. I distinctly remember those words. I take contracts very seriously."

Lucas threw an arm over his face. "That was the heat speaking. Sebastian’s going to destroy us. He already thinks he’s king."

"Perfect," Trevor said, too brightly. "We’ll raise him a court."

Lucas didn’t dignify that with a reply.

"Just imagine it," Trevor continued, dragging his fingers lazily down Lucas’s stomach, smugness practically dripping from him. "A little sibling with your frown and my good hair. Chaos squared."

"Trevor."

"Or twins."

"Trevor."

"Triplets?"

Lucas groaned so hard it rattled the windows. "I will end you."

"You won’t," Trevor said sweetly, "because I’m doing my husband’s job. Thoroughly. Repeatedly. With patriotic enthusiasm."

Lucas reached blindly to smack him. Missed. "You had patriotic enthusiasm when we made Sebastian."

"And look how perfect he turned out."

"He eats wallpaper."

Trevor shrugged. "Fiber is fiber."

Lucas made a wounded noise. "I am filing a motion for a spousal gag order. Immediately."

"Denied," Trevor said, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Besides, it’s already too late. I’m pretty sure I knocked you up the moment you threatened to throw me off the second-floor balcony."

Lucas’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "You’re not even a little sorry, are you?"

"Not even close," Trevor grinned, knot still locked and hands warm on Lucas’s hips. "In fact, I was thinking..."

"No."

"...about setting the mood again..."

"No."

"...for round three. For the Empire."

—

Lucas trudged into the dressing room like a ghost of his former self, if that ghost had survived multiple wars, a thunderstorm, and whatever chaos had transpired in their bedroom between midnight and dawn. His hair was a mess, his collarbone bore the proof of Trevor’s "patriotic enthusiasm," and his gait carried the unmistakable limp of a man wronged by both biology and marriage.

Meanwhile, Trevor stepped out of the ensuite shower looking like a man reborn. Damp hair tousled, a towel slung low on his hips, skin still dewy with steam and satisfaction, he radiated smug husband glow like it was a divine right.

Lucas stared at him like he was considering homicide.

Trevor grinned. "Morning, love."

Lucas said nothing. He picked up his mug of tea, sipped it, and quietly died inside when he realized it was cold. He didn’t even have the energy to warm it up. Not with magic. Not with spite. Nothing.

"You’re walking better than I expected," Trevor offered helpfully.

Lucas blinked at him. Slowly. "You are a plague."

Trevor opened his mouth, probably to make it worse, but was saved, or doomed, by the trill of his phone vibrating on the vanity.

Still towel-clad, he tapped it on the speaker. "Trevor Fitzgeralt."

There was a beat of static, and then Dax’s voice, clipped and dry as usual. "Congratulations, you bastard."

Trevor raised a brow. "On what, specifically?"

"Chris is pregnant."

There was silence.

Then...

"Ha!" Trevor crowed, spinning toward Lucas like a man who had just won a kingdom. "Ha! You see? You see?! It’s the season of heirs! I told you it was a good idea."

Lucas made a strangled noise. "You didn’t say anything about seasonal trends! You said, and I quote, ’Let’s test the second setting; it’s for science.’ And for the record, I said to have another child years ago, but you didn’t want to risk my health."

Dax, clearly unfazed, continued, "The court is planning the announcement. And Sahir is making that face where he regrets waking up today."

"I love that for him," Trevor beamed, sitting on the edge of the bed, completely unbothered by his towel barely hanging on. "Tell Chris I said congrats. He’ll make a great mother."

There was a beat. "He said you can choke."

Trevor laughed, delighted. "Too late. I already did. Multiple times. Last night was very productive."

Lucas pressed the tea mug to his forehead. "I want a divorce. Or a coma. Whichever comes faster."

Trevor ended the call and looked at him, eyes full of dangerous affection. "You love me."

"You’re lucky I’m too sore to kill you."

"You’re lucky I’m not still inside you."

From the phone:

"...TMI," Dax muttered, belatedly realizing the call hadn’t ended. "I hate both of you."

Click.

Trevor grinned wider. "He stayed on the line. That’s on him."

Lucas groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Just... bring me hot coffee..."

Before Trevor could move or worse, make another suggestive comment, the bedroom door burst open with the unmistakable force of a five-year-old monarch with no concept of boundaries.

"DADDY!"

Sebastian von Fitzgeralt, heir to chaos, came charging into the room with his pajamas half-buttoned, black hair sticking up in every direction, and a bright red marker clenched triumphantly in one fist.

Trevor turned just in time to catch him mid-leap.

"Whoa! Incoming..." He grunted as Sebastian landed squarely on his lap, knocking the towel dangerously askew.

Lucas didn’t even flinch. "If your towel falls off, I’m rolling out of this marriage."

"Too late," Trevor wheezed. "We’re legally bound. By empire and Sebastian."

Sebastian looked up at them both with the innocent, wide-eyed expression of a child who had absolutely done something criminal. "I finished my castle."

Lucas narrowed his eyes. "What castle?"

"The one on the wall," Sebastian said proudly. "It has a drawbridge! And dragons!"

Trevor looked immediately intrigued. "Drawbridge, huh?"

"Don’t encourage him," Lucas muttered. "What wall?"

Sebastian pointed decisively toward the hallway. "Yours."

There was a beat of silence.

Lucas set the mug down like a man preparing to go to war. "What did you use to draw it?"

Sebastian held up the red marker. "This!"

Lucas didn’t move for a moment. Then he leaned back on the pillows and covered his face again with both hands. "You know what? Your father has enough money to deal with it."

Trevor, still towel-clad and beaming like a proud sponsor of medieval interior design, gave a thumbs up. "Finally. Fiscal recognition."

"We’re going to have to repaint the entire hall."

"Or frame it," Trevor suggested brightly. "Historic art by the young Duke. Limited edition. We’ll call it Castle in Crisis."

Lucas let out a sound that could only be described as aristocratic despair. "It’s drawn over the wedding portrait, isn’t it?"

Sebastian gave him a wide, innocent smile. "It made a good wall."

"Trevor," Lucas said quietly. Dangerously.

Trevor raised both hands. "I didn’t tell him to vandalize the sacred union. That’s all natural talent."

Lucas exhaled. "If the next child comes out like him, I’m applying for diplomatic immunity and fleeing the continent."

Trevor crossed the room and kissed his forehead like a man who knew he’d won every battle he needed to. "You wanted children. I just obliged."