CHAPTER 448: CHAPTER 448: LITTLE BROTHER

Lucas closed the door behind him with more dignity than should’ve been possible for someone still buttoning his coat with one hand and holding a paper bag of prenatal supplements in the other. He adjusted his sunglasses, unnecessary indoors but strategically shielding, and ignored the way his heart was hammering in his chest like it was trying to telegraph the news before his mouth could.

Trevor was waiting on the bench just outside the medical office, one ankle crossed over his knee, scrolling through something on his phone with that infuriating calm he always wore when he knew. He looked up the moment Lucas appeared and stood in one smooth movement.

He didn’t ask.

Of course he didn’t. Trevor Fitzgeralt never asked when he already knew the answer. His nostrils flared the barest amount as Lucas approached, no doubt registering the shift in scent more clearly now that Lucas had been touched, scanned, and very officially diagnosed by someone with four degrees and the audacity to smile while handing over folic acid.

Lucas stopped two steps in front of him. His grip on the bag tightened. "Well," he said, too dry, "congratulations. You’re a menace and a prophet."

Trevor didn’t smile. Not yet. He just studied him, gaze sweeping down to the hand Lucas had unconsciously lowered to rest over his abdomen. "You’re really..."

"Don’t say it like you’ve won something," Lucas cut in. "You’re the one who’s going to be banned from at least three more beds before the month is over."

Trevor’s grin cracked through then, bright, helpless, and immediate.

He stepped forward and wrapped one arm around Lucas’s waist, the other cradling the back of his head like he might combust if he wasn’t careful. Lucas let himself be folded in with only the barest amount of grumbling.

Trevor’s voice was low. "How far?"

"Five weeks," Lucas mumbled into his shoulder. "She said everything looks normal. I’m healthy. It’s still early but stable."

Trevor’s breath left him in a rush. His arms tightened. "You’re okay."

"I’m fine."

"You’re pregnant."

"Don’t sound so surprised. It’s not like you didn’t personally ensure that outcome." Lucas swatted him lightly. "With your entire ego."

Trevor laughed into his hair, then tilted his head back just enough to look at him. "You’re really okay?"

Lucas rolled his eyes, though his chest tightened at the softness in Trevor’s face. "I’m sore and hormonal and nauseated by expensive cologne, including yours, and I might cry if you say anything too sweet, so tread lightly."

Trevor nodded solemnly. "Noted. You’re glowing."

Lucas shoved him, but it was weak and affectionate. "I hate you."

Trevor leaned down and kissed the top of his head. "You love me."

"Unfortunately," Lucas muttered. "And now we’re both doomed."

Trevor leaned back, eyes bright, a smirk slowly blooming. "Sebastian’s going to be insufferable."

"Oh, I know," Lucas said with grim certainty. "He already built a crib out of blocks. He’s five."

Trevor took the bag from Lucas’s hand like it was made of glass. "Come on. Let’s go home. You need rest, fluids, and ten thousand pillows."

Lucas squinted at him. "And you need a guest bedroom."

Trevor just smiled, content in a way that made Lucas feel ten percent safer and ninety percent more exasperated. "I’ll sleep anywhere. As long as it’s near you."

Lucas paused.

Then sighed. "Damn it. That was a good one."

Trevor winked. "Getting better with age."

"Like a fine idiot."

They walked down the hall together, slowly, quietly, hand in hand.

Lucas didn’t say it out loud, but he knew, deep down, that something in the world had shifted. In the gentle, terrifying way it always did when life decided to begin again.

And this time, he was ready for anything.

—

The nursery was too quiet.

Which, in a palace-type manor, full of high-functioning staff, state-level paranoia, and a five-year-old with the stealth of a trained cat, usually meant only one thing.

Lucas glanced up from where he sat propped against a fortress of pillows, the soft weight of their newborn cradled in his arms. A lazy beam of morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains, painting everything in honeyed gold. The baby, barely a week old and already ruling Lucas’s schedule with tyrannical softness, slept tucked against his chest, breath slow and even.

Lucas, for once, didn’t feel like death.

Compared to his pregnancy with Sebastian, this one had been, shockingly, calm. No dramatic fainting. No hormonal rampages. No veiled threats of castration directed at Trevor during cabinet meetings. Even Windstone had, in a moment of sincere astonishment, declared him "surprisingly tame" and offered to prepare the nursery’s security protocols early. Which, coming from Windstone, was the equivalent of a standing ovation.

Lucas had taken the win and added it to the list of things Trevor was not allowed to gloat about.

Speaking of which...

A faint scuff sounded near the door.

Lucas didn’t move. Didn’t raise his voice. Just said, dryly, "If you’re going to sneak past two royal guards and a biometric scanner, you could at least knock first."

A beat of silence. Then a quiet gasp.

Sebastian’s messy hair poked around the edge of the doorframe, eyes wide with the conspiratorial sparkle of someone who’d definitely bribed at least one guard with a crayon drawing.

"I just wanted to look," he whispered, as if the baby might arrest him for volume.

Lucas sighed. "Then look. But no touching until I say so."

Sebastian padded in on socked feet, wearing mismatched pajamas, one star and one dragon, and carrying his favorite stuffed fox under one arm like a diplomatic offering. He approached the bed cautiously, head tilted.

Lucas watched him study his little brother with the sort of awe usually reserved for rare artifacts or forbidden sweets. The baby, to his credit, did not object to the scrutiny. He stayed asleep, his tiny fist curled near his mouth.

"He’s small," Sebastian finally said.

"He’s seven days old."

"Still small."

Lucas arched a brow. "You weren’t much bigger when I had you."

Sebastian looked unconvinced. "I had presence."

Lucas coughed to hide a laugh. "You had lungs. And opinions."

"I still do."

"No one has ever doubted that."

Sebastian climbed up slowly onto the edge of the bed and sat beside Lucas, legs swinging. He leaned in, careful not to get too close. "What’s his name again?"

Lucas smiled faintly. "Dean Felix. Your little brother."