Lucas blinked at the question, surprised. "Is this you asking for permission or making a point?"
Trevor’s lips twitched. "A little of both."
Lucas glanced at Dax, then back. "I don’t mind," he said honestly. "Though, fair warning, I might glare at him like we’re enemies just to keep everyone else on edge."
Dax tilted his head, visibly intrigued. "Wait. Why the sudden question? Did I miss something, or are you planning to poison me?"
Lucas smiled faintly, resting his hands on the edge of the blanket still pooled around his waist. "I said I don’t mind. But do you think he would take me seriously?" He glanced at Trevor, then back to Dax. "I do appreciate your understanding... but he might think I’m mad."
Dax blinked once, then laughed. "Oh, sweetheart—thinking you’re mad is the baseline here."
Lucas arched a brow. "Comforting."
"I mean it," Dax said, stepping farther into the room, the gold drape of his shawl catching in the light like a moving threat. "Half my court thinks I’m mad. The ministries think each other’s mad. And the last time I hosted foreign delegates, someone started a duel over bread placement. Madness is expected."
Trevor looked entirely unimpressed. "And yet you still invited us."
"Because I invited you," Dax corrected. "You two are the perfect storm—strategic chaos with a marriage license. They’ll watch every move you make and forget to notice when I start replacing ministers mid-dessert."
Lucas looked amused. "So we’re a distraction."
Lucas gave a faint shrug. "You can tell him," he said to Trevor, rising from the chaise. "While I go change into something more appropriate, Windstone will scream if I show up in a bathrobe."
Windstone, without looking up from his notes, added dryly, "Internally, but yes."
As Lucas disappeared into the adjoining chamber, the air shifted.
Dax didn’t move from his place near the window, arms folded, the gold shawl still glinting faintly over his sleeve. His expression didn’t give much away, but Trevor knew him well enough to catch the tension behind the practiced calm.
He was thinking. Too much.
"You’re quiet," Trevor said, finally breaking the silence.
"I’m curious," Dax replied. "Since when do you keep secrets from me?"
Trevor raised an eyebrow. "Since I got married."
Dax’s lips twitched. "That was fast."
"You’ve met him. You know exactly why."
There was a pause, and then Dax gave a low hum. "I’ve known you for over a decade. You always told me the important things. Strategy. Threats. Political shifts. But this—" He gestured vaguely in the direction Lucas had gone. "You’re circling it like it’s made of glass."
Trevor didn’t deny it. He stepped to the small sideboard and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee, then looked back at Dax over the rim.
"You should take a seat."
Dax’s brow lifted slightly. "Why?"
"Because," Trevor said, setting the cup down with deliberate care, "this might be one of the few subjects in which Saha has more knowledge than Palatine."
Dax’s eyes narrowed, intrigued. "Hmm... either it’s something religious... or melee weapons."
"Close," Trevor said. "It’s the Temple of Awakening. Their anomalies."
Dax straightened a little. "The rebirth reports?"
Trevor gave a slow nod. "It seems like Lucas is one of them."
Dax swore under his breath. "Fuck."
Without hesitation, he moved across the room and dropped into the seat Lucas had vacated, the ceremonial gold shawl slipping off his shoulder and folding like a sigh of defeat across the cushion.
"That might ask for a drink," he muttered, "not a seat."
Then, raising his voice without bothering to look over his shoulder, "Windstone, inform Tyler Bell that I have an emergency and I can’t make it to the luncheon."
Windstone, not even pausing in his methodical typing, responded dryly from the corner, "Do you want me to write ’existential crisis’ or simply ’you finally ran out of patience’?" f r\eeNovelHub.c(o)(m)
"Choose whatever sounds slightly dignified and slightly lethal," Dax replied, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Trevor took a seat across from him, folding his arms. "You know this puts a target on Lucas, right? A bigger one."
"Oh, I know," Dax said with a groan. "And now that you’ve said it out loud, I’m going to have to start treating him like more than your mysteriously attractive political accessory."
Trevor’s voice dropped, steel hidden beneath velvet. "He’s not an accessory. He’s the blade."
Dax gave him a look, somewhere between exasperated and impressed. "You married a prophet with teeth."
"I married someone who was used his whole life and still came out more whole than most people ever will."
"And now," Dax said, leaning back, "he’s in the center of every map we haven’t been able to chart. How much does he remember?"
His gaze was sharp now, all the theatrics gone—just a king measuring threat and value in the same breath.
"How much does he remember?"
Trevor’s expression tightened, the line of his jaw locking with quiet restraint. "Enough."
He didn’t elaborate at first. Just let the weight of that word settle. Then, calmly, precisely:
"I asked him to write everything down. He has. Names, locations, patterns. But what he told me confirmed our suspicions."
Dax’s brows drew together. "Faceless Agatha?"
Trevor nodded once, the gesture taut. "Yes. It happened exactly the way you think. Misty got away with her plans, and Lucas—" his voice dipped into something lethal, barely restrained, "—was reduced to a sex toy with controlling abilities. A dominant omega trained to trigger biological responses in alphas like he was a machine. He didn’t even know it. He just thought it was pain."
The fury under Trevor’s skin wasn’t hidden anymore. It vibrated beneath every word, his body held in stillness only because movement would be destruction. The air shifted—thickened—as the faint trace of his pheromones began to seep into the room. Not aggressive. Not unstable. Just warning.
Windstone moved with clinical efficiency, stepping in and placing a low glass with amber liquid and a few perfect cubes of ice into Dax’s hand.
Dax accepted it without a word, leaning back in his chair, gaze now settled into something far colder. He took a slow sip, and the silence that followed was heavy enough to echo.
"Well," he said at last, swirling the glass idly, "I can request the records from our temple branches. Officially, diplomatically. But if you already tried, and they refused..." He gave Trevor a meaningful glance. "Then they’ve definitely warned the others."
Trevor’s silence was confirmation enough.
Dax tilted his glass toward the light, watching the ice catch the gold like a prophecy. "Which gives me an excuse."
Trevor raised a brow. "For what?"
The smirk that followed was slow, dangerous, almost eager. "You know how long I’ve been waiting to purge half the temple officials? They’ve been hiding behind divine mandates for decades, building little fortresses of silence and doctrine. But if they’re complicit in this—if they were feeding people like Lucas into a system they knew existed..."
He downed the rest of the drink in one clean motion.
"Then I don’t need politics. I need fire."