CHAPTER 36: PREGNANT BESTIES & IMPERIAL CHAOS

[Imperial Palace—Grand Dining Hall—Continuation...]

Silas blinked, sensing the shift in temperature before he even fully registered what had just happened.

"...Lucien?"

Lucien didn’t even look at him.He was too busy mentally drawing a glowing chalk circle around Silas with the intensity of a summoner sealing his demon.

Mine.The word wasn’t spoken, but it echoed off every golden pillar in the room.

Across the table, Empress Elise raised one perfectly sculpted brow—sharp enough to slice through court decorum.

Lucien raised both of his dramatically.

There was a silence so tense it could have made soup curdle.

The Emperor smiled—tight and practiced. But sweat betrayed him, glistening discreetly on his royal brow.

Silas, oblivious to anything except the feel of Lucien’s hand possessively curled around his arm for the first time ever, had stars shining in his eyes like a kid watching fireworks.

His inner alpha—previously composed and deadly—was currently screaming, HE’S TOUCHING ME. OH MY GOD, HE’S TOUCHING ME ON PURPOSE.

Lucien narrowed his eyes at the Empress, tilting his head like a cat preparing to swat at a threat.

Then—Empress Elise chuckled.

No—she laughed.

A rare, elegant, spine-tingling sound that caused three maids in the corner to drop the plates they weren’t even holding.

"Oh, Baron Lucien," she said, still chuckling. "Don’t look so alarmed. I’m not going to snatch your Alpha away."

Lucien blinked.Silas blinked.

Adrien smirked.

The Empress then turned smoothly to the Emperor beside her, took his hand with the ease of a woman claiming a seat, a throne, and possibly someone’s soul — and added: "Because I already got one."

The Emperor blinked.

Silas looked like someone just hit him with a soft pillow and told him it was war.

Lucien squinted, his tone laced with the kind of petty curiosity only someone who had been emotionally terrorized by an etiquette tutor could master.

"...Really?"

Elise nodded sweetly. "Mhm."

Lucien stared at the Emperor. Then at Elise. Then back again. Like a judge at a very high-stakes national chemistry project.

He was just about to (grudgingly) release Silas’s arm—dignity salvaged, heart combusted—when a warm hand gripped his wrist.

"You can continue to hold it, my love," Silas said, voice soft, firm, and scandalously earnest.

Lucien blinked.

Elise blinked.

Adrien blinked twice.

Then smiled like he was watching a slow-burn drama finally combust in act three.

"Well," Adrien drawled, lifting his wine again, "why don’t we eat before the food gets cold... or someone proposes?"

Lucien’s eyes snapped to the banquet table like a starving hyena spotting a royal buffet.His stomach let out a traitorous little growl.

FOOD.

His inner monologue practically screamed in opera, I heard Imperial Palace food is the BEST in the entire EMPIRE.

A moment later, he was halfway into his seat.

The rest of them joined with a touch more grace. The Empress smirked as Lucien eagerly grabbed a plate and began shoveling food with the gusto of someone who’d just emerged from a war zone.

"Make sure he feels full," Elise whispered behind her wine glass to one of the maids.

The maid nodded reverently, already signaling the kitchen like this was a royal emergency: Feed the gremlin. Feed him now.

Silas, seated beside Lucien, watched him with soft affection, like a man who had just been handed his soulmate and a fork in the same moment.

Lucien, meanwhile, was in another world entirely.

One bite of imperial honey-glazed duck and he moaned. Actually moaned.

"Oh my stars, are these truffles from the southern highlands?" he asked no one in particular, mouth still half full.

"Why, yes," Empress replied, amused, "hand-selected by blindfolded monks. Or so the chef claims."

Lucien gasped. "Tell those monks I love them."

"I’ll send a letter," Empress smiled warmly.

Everything was going perfectly. Peaceful. Delicious. Almost heartwarmingly romantic.

And then—

"So..." Adrien said slowly, lazily swirling his wine, "seeing you eat like this... I guess..."

Everyone looked up.

Lucien paused mid-bite.

"...You’re really pregnant."

Lucien choked.

Like—gasping, wheezing, food-up-the-nose kind of choke.

Silas immediately reached to pat his back—hard.

The maids panicked.

Lucien stammered as he held his stomach. "I’m— I’m NOT—YOU CAN’T—WHAT?!"

Silas, who had been silently patting his back, now had his expression darkened. Then—with a slow, deliberate motion—his hand dropped to the hilt of the ceremonial sword at his hip.

A dangerous glint entered his eyes.

"I knew it," he said, his voice low and deadly. "You bastard. You called us here with an intention."

Adrien—the Emperor—didn’t flinch. If anything, he smirked. A lazy, gleaming, supremely smug smile that screamed villain in the final act with all the cards.

"My, my, Silas," Adrien purred, swirling his wine glass with a casual elegance that somehow made it feel more threatening. "Is that any way to speak to your emperor? I was simply... excited."

He turned to Lucien, eyes gleaming like a cat toying with a butterfly.

"Excited that we’ve discovered something quite extraordinary at this table."

Lucien froze.

Adrien leaned forward, setting down his glass with a delicate clink

, and continued—slowly, like peeling back a secret.

"...That we have a very rare... male omega... in our empire."

Lucien’s mouth parted in stunned silence. A chill ran down his spine.

Adrien turned his eyes back to Silas, his voice now velvet-wrapped steel. "And you know, my dear friend... just how much I adore the rare things in the world."

There was something ancient and hungry in the way he said it. Not lustful, not romantic—possessive. Like a collector admiring a gem he hadn’t yet claimed. Like a monarch calculating his next move on a chessboard littered with beautiful, breakable pieces.

"He’s not part of your collection. He’s mine," Silas said, eyes gleaming with anger.

Lucien instinctively shrank back a little, shoulders tense, breath shallow. That smirk—those eyes—they held no warmth. Only intrigue. And danger.

And then—

THUD.

A metal tray slammed into Adrien’s back.

"OW—OW! DARLING!" Adrien howled, arching dramatically as the tray bounced off his spine with a clang. "It hurts! You’ve bruised the Empire!"

Elise stood behind him, utterly unbothered, holding the tray like a battle trophy. Her expression was polite. Her eyes? Deadly.

"I warned you," she said coolly, balancing the tray on her hip. "Talk to people like a person, not like you’re about to auction them off at a royal collectibles fair."

Adrien turned in slow motion, clutching his back. "That was a sneak attack!"

She blinked. "That was mercy."

What was truly shocking, however... was that no one at the table looked shocked. Not a flinch. Not a gasp. Even the maids just sighed like this again?

Silas was already sipping his soup. One maid was making a tally of how many times the Empress had used kitchenware as blunt-force weaponry this week.

Lucien, still processing the absurdity, blinked as the Empress turned toward him with a warm, radiant smile.

"Don’t worry, Lucien," she said sweetly, setting the tray down. "This jerk—" she thumped Adrien’s shoulder affectionately, causing him to wince, "—has no intention of harming you."

Lucien nodded slowly, still unsure if he was hallucinating. "Ah... y-yes. Of course. Totally normal imperial dinner. I read about this in nightmares."

Elise beamed and thumbing at Adrien like he was a badly behaved dog. "He talks like a villain, but he’s just... excited."

Lucien eyed her warily. "Excited...?"

The empress chuckled and placed a graceful hand over her stomach."Yes, darling. Excited... because I’m pregnant too."

Lucien blinked.Even Silas went rigid.

"Four months," Elise added, glowing like the morning sun. "We haven’t told the empire yet."

There was a long beat.

Lucien pointed to her belly. Then to Adrien. Then back again like he was solving a crime scene. "Wait. You two actually—? I mean—congratulations... I guess?"

"Thank you, darling," Elise beamed like a goddess who just got upgraded to Empress and Fertility Queen in the same week. "And do you know what that means?"

The table blinked in perfect sync.

"...What?" Lucien asked, clearly bracing for another royal bloodline-related jump scare.

Elise leaned in. Her eyes gleamed. Her voice dropped to the kind of dramatic whisper that foretold either revolution or... Pinterest-level friendship declarations.

"It means... we’re pregnant besties."

Silence.

Lucien’s brain stalled.

His face flickered through seven emotions in two seconds—confusion, awe, horror, acceptance, denial, hunger, and finally—pure serotonin explosion.

"You mean—" he gasped, hands clutching his chest like he’d just been chosen for a divine quest, "You mean—we’re pregnancy buddies?!"

Elise nodded solemnly. "Pregnancy soulmates."

And then it happened.

Like a scene from a 90’s movie, someone accidentally dropped into a fantasy political drama. Lucien and Elise broke into a slow-motion sprint across the dining hall.

Well. As much of a sprint as two people with royal shoes and a fetus each could manage.

A maid yelped and moved the soup cart just in time. They collided in the middle of the room like long-lost war comrades reunited on a battlefield of hormones and cravings.

"Let’s endure the pain together," Lucien whispered, clutching her like she’d just promised to share both ice cream and trauma.

Elise nodded, emotional. "Let’s scream at dumb husbands and eat irrational food combos like the queens we are."

"Wait—are pickles and chocolate a valid—"

"I will show you the way."

Elise looped an arm around Lucien and turned, chin high. "Come. To my private garden. I’ll teach you all the best food combinations our chefs have been forced to invent at 3AM."

Lucien gasped. "You’re a visionary."

And just like that, the two pregnant powerhouses waddled off, arm-in-arm, whispering secrets and food tips, vanishing through a gilded hallway like they were ascending to a higher plane of existence.

Back at the dining table...

Two stunned alphas sat frozen, staring at the empty doorway like soldiers who had just witnessed a battlefield shift and realized the generals were now baking scones together.

Adrien blinked. His wine glass was still in the air.

"...What the hell just happened?"

Silas didn’t even look at him. He just stared into space, the faintest tremble in his hand.

"Your wife," he muttered darkly, "has witchcrafted my wife."

Adrien let out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair like a man accepting the fall of an empire.

"Looks like we’ve been officially demoted," he said dryly. "From war generals to background husbands."

Silas nodded.

Adrein took a thoughtful sip, then glanced at Silas from the corner of his eye. "Still... congratulations, my friend."

Silas blinked, wary.

Adrien raised his glass in mock solemnity. "At last, I can stop worrying about you dying alone, brooding, single, and unloved."

Silas glared. "I could still stab you."

"I’d be disappointed if you didn’t threaten it at least once per meal."

They fell into a brief silence, the kind that tasted like aged wine and unspoken fears.

Then Adrien’s voice dropped."But jokes aside... you know this changes things."

Silas stiffened. "What do you mean?"

Adrien swirled his glass, expression unreadable. "If word spreads—about Lucien. About the child... someone will come sniffing around."

Silas’s eyes narrowed. "Who?"

Adrien didn’t answer at first.

Instead, he set down the glass gently, almost reverently, like the next words deserved no interruptions.

"The High Priest."

Silas froze.

Adrien looked at him, serious now. "You know how obsessed he is with ’divine bloodlines.’ A rare male omega? Carrying a child with your lineage? That will be enough for him to stake a claim. To say the heavens ordained it."

Silas’s jaw tightened.

"And you know what he’ll try to do," Adrien finished quietly. "To Lucien. To the child."

Silas didn’t move.

But the chill in his gaze sharpened.

And Silas knew, in that moment, there wasn’t just a child to protect—there was a war coming.