CHAPTER 450: CHAPTER 450: NOBLE CHAOS

Two months later, the manor filled with noise.

Not the usual noise, Sebastian’s declarations of war from the upstairs landing, Windstone’s restrained sighs, or the occasional crash of something that definitely wasn’t fragile but still shouldn’t have been on a bookshelf... but familial noise.

Which, in Lucas’s opinion, was worse.

Because familial noise came with comments. Judgment. And the unholy chaos of noble families.

Trevor had warned him. Had looked him dead in the eye that morning and said, with absolutely no sense of urgency, "Remember, we can still fake a power outage."

Lucas hadn’t dignified that with a reply.

Now, standing in the main sitting room, Dean sleeping soundly in the sling across his chest, Lucas sincerely regretted that decision.

There was a knock at the door, brief and unnecessarily polite, so definitely not Windstone.

Lucas didn’t look up. "If that’s Alistair, tell him now is a terrible time for a dramatic entrance."

Trevor was already on his feet, smoothing his shirt like he hadn’t just been kneeling in worship at the altar of exhausted parenthood. "It probably is Alistair," he said grimly. "No one else knocks like they’re auditioning for diplomatic immunity."

The door creaked open before he reached it.

"Too late," Alistair announced, stepping in with the radiant confidence of a man who had absolutely no respect for timing. "We brought bribes."

"Cocoa?" Sebastian perked up instantly.

"Macarons," Benjamin corrected, appearing behind Alistair with an unusual calm smile and a box large enough to be taken seriously.

Lucas let his head fall back against the pillows. "We don’t negotiate with sugar terrorists."

"Speak for yourself," Trevor muttered, already reaching for the box.

Mia swept in next, elegant as ever, despite the three-year-old clinging to her skirt like a barnacle. "Cassius, darling, don’t pull on Papa’s coat... Lucius just got it pressed."

Lucius followed, only marginally rumpled, blue eyes already scanning the room with the tactical calculation of a man used to high-level chess and toddler diplomacy. "Your baby looks like Dax," he said flatly the moment his gaze landed on Dean.

There was a beat of silence.

Trevor didn’t blink. "Get out."

Lucas didn’t move. "Please let him throw you. I haven’t seen anything entertaining in days."

Alistair, far too delighted, turned toward Benjamin. "Do you think he’ll go for the window?"

Benjamin, ever to enjoy good drama, set the macarons on the nearest surface and answered dryly, "Only if Lucius makes another joke."

"It’s not a joke," Lucius said, completely serious. "Blonde hair. Purple eyes. Suspiciously calm. That baby is a copy of your best friend, not either of you."

Mia rolled her eyes and sat primly on the armchair. "Cassius has Lucius’s forehead. It doesn’t mean he’s the emperor’s son."

Cassius, hearing his name, let go of her skirt and barreled toward Sebastian, who accepted his dramatic entrance like a newly instated big brother, pulling him under the edge of the blanket fort without comment.

Dean let out a soft snuffle, and Lucas shifted instinctively, tucking the baby closer against his chest, his fingers checking his son’s tiny fingers in a quiet, habitual count.

"Any other bold statements about my reproductive history, or can I drink my coffee in peace?" Lucas asked mildly.

Lucius hesitated. Then: "...He still looks like Dax."

Trevor actually reached for a cushion this time.

Benjamin intercepted the potential projectile without looking up from opening the macaron box. "No pillow fights while the baby’s sleeping."

Lucas sighed, sipping his cocoa again with the patience of a martyr. "Why do we let you all in again?"

"Because you love us," Alistair replied, utterly unrepentant. "And you were lonely."

Lucas side-eyed him. "I have two children crawling all over me like cats on a sun patch. I’ve never been less lonely in my life."

Benjamin, now seated cross-legged on the floor like an overdressed camp counselor, gestured grandly with a lemon macaron. "Yes, but familial loneliness isn’t about quantity. It’s about shared trauma."

Trevor, hovering protectively near Lucas like a palace guard with dad jokes, raised a brow. "What trauma are we sharing today?"

Benjamin took a dramatic bite, chewed, and then said with feeling, "Your interior décor. It’s post-war minimalist with tragic undertones."

Lucas didn’t even blink. "I gave birth here. You’re lucky I haven’t set the curtains on fire."

"They’re beige," Benjamin replied. "It would be an improvement."

Trevor handed him another cookie, not out of kindness but to shut him up.

Alistair, who had taken to rearranging throw pillows like they offended him on a spiritual level, sighed. "He’s nesting again. Ignore him."

Lucius, already checking his watch like he had an international summit to attend, muttered, "We should’ve stayed in the car."

"You did this to yourself," Mia said sweetly, crossing one leg over the other with a precision that made royalty look like amateurs. "No one asked you to question paternity within the first five minutes."

"It wasn’t a question," Lucius clarified, deadpan. "It was an observation."

"Observations get you ejected," Trevor warned.

Cassius popped his head out from the blanket fort, eyes wide. "Can we eject him like a spaceship?"

"Only if we can blame it on diplomatic pressure," Sebastian added, equally serious.

Lucas, watching both boys now balanced precariously on a pillow wall, didn’t bother intervening. "No interstellar executions in the nursery wing."

"Nursery?" Benjamin’s eyes lit up with mock horror. "You’ve renamed a wing? You have changed."

Lucas gave him the same flat look he reserved for slow officials and tepid coffee. "Would you prefer the Chaos Corridor?"

"Much more accurate."

Dean made a soft, hiccupping noise, and all banter stilled for a moment.

Lucas’s hands moved instinctively, a thumb tracing the edge of Dean’s small shoulder as he adjusted the sling slightly, making sure the newborn’s face was nestled just right, his breaths soft and even.

Trevor watched him from the corner of his eye. The shift in his shoulders. The familiar scan of fingers. The way Lucas’s voice didn’t change, but the room always did.

Mia leaned back into the chair, visibly relaxing. "He’s a quiet one."

Lucas exhaled. "For now."