Chapter 409: Chapter 409

The night was supposed to be quiet, the kind of soft, uninterrupted calm that the world rarely allowed them anymore.

Snow pressed thickly against the terrace windows, sealing out the city lights until the entire estate seemed suspended somewhere between dream and silence. The fire had burned low, painting the ceiling in slow, amber waves, and Lucas, half-buried beneath blankets and wrapped in one of Trevor’s sweaters, had been close to drifting off when the first kick landed.

He startled, breath catching in his throat, then blinked toward the ceiling in mild disbelief. "You’ve got to be joking," he muttered, one hand instinctively going to his abdomen. The reply came in the form of another, sharper movement, decisive and perfectly timed to make him wince. "Oh, wonderful. Apparently we’re awake now."

Beside him, Trevor stirred at once, his instincts honed for war or catastrophe, hard to tell which, his eyes immediately alert even in the dark. "What is it?" His voice was low but already carrying that edge of panic that belonged more to emergency rooms than bedrooms.

Lucas sighed, though it came out thin and uneven. "He’s... active."

Trevor was sitting up before the sentence was finished, the mattress dipping under his weight. "Active how?"

As if on cue, another kick followed, stronger than before. Lucas groaned, pressing the heel of his hand against his side. "That," he said flatly. "Apparently he’s decided night is the perfect time for cardio."

Trevor was already reaching for him, but his hand was useless in assessing the situation. "Does it hurt?"

"Only my dignity," Lucas murmured. "He’s fine. I’m fine. We’re all fine."

Trevor didn’t look convinced. His palm rested warm and broad across the curve of Lucas’s stomach, his expression sharpening the way it did when he was trying to fix something he couldn’t fully control. The next kick hit directly under his hand, sharp enough to make him jolt. "He’s strong," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

"He’s dramatic," Lucas corrected dryly. "And he apparently likes when I react. Which is deeply concerning."

Trevor looked up at him, incredulous. "You’re saying he enjoys making you uncomfortable?"

"Yes. Watch..." Another sudden movement caused him to suck in a breath through his teeth. "See? Every time I speak."

Trevor blinked, then frowned down at the source of the offense as though sheer willpower could discipline a fetus. "Stop tormenting your mother," he said evenly, his tone the same one that made subordinates rethink their careers.

The result was immediate: another solid kick.

Lucas’s laugh escaped before he could stop it, low and breathless, his body folding forward slightly. "You really shouldn’t sound so authoritative. He’s taking it as a challenge."

Trevor’s frown deepened. "He gets that from you."

"Excuse me?" Lucas tilted his head, still laughing between small, startled breaths. "I’m not the one giving motivational speeches to a stomach."

Trevor’s lips twitched in reluctant amusement, though he tried to maintain composure. "You’d prefer I ignore him?"

"I’d prefer he stop trying to bruise my internal organs," Lucas muttered, shifting as another nudge landed higher this time. "Honestly, if this is a sign of his personality, I might just apologize in advance to his future teachers."

Trevor leaned closer, his voice dropping until it was almost a murmur against Lucas’s skin. "All right, that’s enough," he said gently, though the command still threaded through every syllable. "You’ve made your point."

The response came softer this time, a faint push followed by two smaller movements, as if the child had decided to concede... temporarily.

Lucas exhaled, the tension easing from his shoulders, and glanced down at Trevor, who was still bent over him with an expression of concentration usually reserved for high-stakes negotiations. "You do realize you’re negotiating with an unborn infant?"

"If it works, I’ll make it a policy," Trevor said without missing a beat.

Lucas’s smile widened, amusement replacing discomfort. "He listens to you. That’s concerning."

Trevor looked up at him, a quiet light in his eyes. "You say that like you’re not the one he’s living in."

"That’s biology," Lucas replied, though his voice softened, his fingers slipping absently into Trevor’s hair. "The rest of this is your fault."

Trevor’s mouth curved faintly. "I’ll take the blame."

Another small movement stirred beneath his palm, almost a sigh rather than a kick, and then silence. The room felt warmer suddenly, less like a battlefield and more like a heartbeat.

Lucas leaned back against the pillows, exhaustion curling around amusement. "He’s going to be impossible."

Trevor’s thumb brushed lightly over the fabric of his sweater, slow and careful. "He’ll fit right in."

Lucas let out a slow breath, his head tipping back against the pillows as the last of the tension drained from his shoulders, leaving only the soft ache of laughter in its wake. The fire had dimmed to little more than a golden pulse on the wall, and for the first time in what felt like hours, the child inside him seemed content to rest.

Trevor, however, showed no signs of moving.

He remained where he was, still half-bent over, one arm braced against the mattress, the other hand splayed possessively over Lucas’s stomach, his gaze focused with an intensity that might have suited a battlefield briefing more than a quiet bedroom. The line of his mouth had softened, but there was a quiet stubbornness in his posture, a promise made entirely of silence: I’m not leaving until I’m sure.

Lucas shifted slightly, tugging at the edge of the blanket. "You can breathe, you know," he murmured. "He’s not going to start another rebellion just because you blink."

Trevor’s eyes flicked up, but his hand didn’t move. "I’m being cautious."

"You’re being dramatic."

"Trevor," Lucas said, his tone the soft, dangerous kind of patient, "you’ve been staring at my stomach for ten minutes." Dıscover more novels at N0v3l.Fiɾe.net

"Fifteen," Trevor corrected.

Lucas groaned quietly. "You need hobbies."

"I have one," Trevor replied, leaning down to press a slow kiss against the curve of his abdomen, his lips ghosting just above the fabric. "It’s currently kicking you in the ribs."

Lucas let out a small sigh, followed by laughter, as his fingers slid through Trevor’s hair and caught against the back of his neck. "You’re ridiculous."

"You’re a barnacle with a salary."

Trevor huffed softly, the sound more amused than offended. "I outrank barnacles."

Lucas glanced down at him, voice fond despite his exasperation. "Barely."

Another quiet stretch of silence fell between them, filled only by the steady rhythm of their breathing and the faint hiss of snow pressing against the windowpanes. The air had the kind of stillness that came only in the late hours before dawn, when the world forgot to demand anything of them and the only things that mattered were the warmth of the fire, the weight of the blankets, and the quiet pulse beneath Trevor’s palm.

"Do you think he’ll sleep through the night when he’s born?" Lucas asked suddenly, his voice softer now, as if afraid to break the calm.

Trevor’s thumb brushed across his skin in a slow, absent arc. "No."

"That was fast," Lucas murmured.

"I’ve met you," Trevor said simply, glancing up with the faintest glimmer of humor. "And now I’ve met him."

Lucas’s smile tilted. "So you’re saying I’m high maintenance."

"I’m saying he’s proof that you’re genetically incapable of peace and quiet."

Lucas’s laughter came low and quiet, muffled against the back of his hand. "You’re lucky I’m too tired to throw something at you."

"I’d catch it," Trevor murmured, his voice threaded with affection, "and then move closer so you can’t reach anything else."

"Of course you would."

Trevor remained immovable and absurdly protective, exactly where he had promised to be. At some point, Lucas’s hand slipped from his hair and fell limply across the sheets, his breathing evening out until sleep finally claimed him. The fire flickered once, then steadied, washing the room in warm gold.

Trevor didn’t move for a long time.

He sat there in the dim light, one hand still over Lucas’s stomach, feeling the faintest echo of life beneath his palm and the slow, steady rise of Lucas’s breathing. Every instinct in him wanted to guard, to hold, to anchor this small, fragile peace against the world waiting beyond the snow.

When the first light of dawn began to filter through the frost on the terrace windows, Windstone would find them exactly like that, Trevor fully awake, still in yesterday’s shirt, and Lucas half-buried beneath his coat, fast asleep with his hand curled around Trevor’s wrist.

The butler would pause only long enough to adjust the curtains and say, with impeccable calm, "Shall I bring breakfast here, sir?"

And Trevor, still refusing to move, would answer softly, "Yes. Quietly."

Windstone would incline his head, unruffled, and retreat down the hall without comment. He had, after all, long ago accepted that guarding the Grand Duchess was not a temporary state for his employer it was a full-time occupation, and possibly a permanent one.