CHAPTER 103: THE MISSING HUSBAND

[Imperial Palace—One Week Later]

"Hey!!! You absolute idiot! How many times do I have to tell you—that’s not how you build a fort!"

Elysia’s crimson eyes blazed as she jabbed a tiny finger at the lopsided stack of blocks. Across from her, poor Prince Kael sat cross-legged on the carpet, staring at his crooked creation. His little lips trembled... then—

"Waaaahhhh!" He burst into tears, fat droplets rolling down his cheeks. "She yelled at me again! Waaaahhhh!"

Elysia didn’t even blink. With all the authority of a terrifying miniature general, she bonked him on the forehead with her palm. "Stop crying! Cry again and I won’t play with you ever again! Got it?"

Prince Kael hiccuped mid-wail, startled, then nodded furiously, trying to swallow back the tears. Elysia, satisfied, huffed, kicked down the sad excuse of a fort with her tiny feet, and declared like a warlord on the battlefield:

"WE. ARE. BUILDING. IT. AGAIN!!!"

Kael sniffled. "Y-Yes... as you command..."

From the tea table, the Empress watched the scene unfold with her hand delicately pressed to her temple. "...I think my son is an omega."

Lucien, calmly sipping his tea as though this chaos was his daily background music (which it was), arched a brow. "Really? But the priests said he was an alpha."

"Maybe they examined wrong," the Empress said quickly, her eyes glued to her son as he obediently handed blocks to Elysia like a little soldier. "I should... re-check him. Yes. Definitely."

Lucien tilted his head, confused but amused. "Why would you think he’s an omega?"

"Because look at him!" The empress gestured dramatically at the playmat. "He behaves like one!"

At that exact moment, Kael flinched when Elysia barked, "FASTER! Give me the big block!" and scrambled to obey.

Lucien coughed into his teacup, hiding a laugh. "...Don’t worry. He’ll be brave once he grows up. Children change."

The Empress slumped with a sigh. "But your daughter is brave even though she’s an omega."

Lucien dragged a hand down his face, expression bone-tired. "...That’s because Seraphina fills her head with useless heroic nonsense."

The Empress side-eyed him, lips twitching. "Sometimes I think my son is destined to end up with an Alpha mate."

Lucien froze mid-sip and nearly choked, tea sputtering. "Pfft—! What? An alpha mate for an Alpha? I’ve never heard such absurdity!"

"Oh, it’s possible." The Empress narrowed her eyes knowingly. "You should read those novels where Alpha marries Alpha. Written by one of our noble ladies. Quite... popular, actually."

Lucien gaped, dumbfounded. "Alpha and Alpha... you read those books?"

The Empress smirked like a cat. "Of course. Why shouldn’t I?" She suddenly rose, glided to her bookshelf, and yanked a thick tome free with a dramatic THUD.

"This one. You should read it. Alpha weds Alpha."

Lucien stared at the gilded cover, stunned. His hand twitched. Somewhere in the back of his mind—an old, ridiculous memory flashed. A different life. A different world. Nakamura-san grinning ear to ear, shoving an Omegaverse biology during his work hour.

"I... I’m having... déjà vu."

The Empress tilted her head. "Déjà vu?"

Lucien nodded solemnly, like he’d glimpsed the future. "Yes...for me it feels like a prophecy. A very strange prophecy."

He turned his gaze to little Kael, who blinked innocently up at him with wide eyes, and then to Elysia—who snapped her fingers and barked, "HEY! Where are you looking? Focus! The fort won’t build itself!"

Kael squeaked, "Y-Yes, as you command!" and scrambled to obey.

Lucien just buried his face in his hands, groaning like the world was ending. "I just hope—saints above—that nothing like that happens."

The Empress, calm as ever, tilted her cup of tea, sipping like this was the most ordinary morning conversation.

"What?" she asked, tone light.

Lucien peeked between his fingers. "I hope the prince finds a good omega. A good omega. Not an Alpha."

The Empress hummed, flipping another page of her book, utterly unfazed. "Well... I don’t mind if he falls for an Alpha, though."

Lucien’s head snapped up. He stared blankly. "What?"

Still looking at the page, she smirked. "In fact..." Her voice dropped, theatrical and wicked, like a sorceress casting doom upon the empire. "I hope my son has an Alpha partner."

Lucien nearly choked on air. "Wha—No. No, no, no, no. Take that back. Take that curse back right now!"

The Empress just cackled, eyes glittering with mischief, while her teacup hovered daintily at her lips.

Lucien threw his hands skyward. "Oh, lord, there it is... Nakamura-san 2.0 has arrived."

The Empress blinked, lowering her teacup. "Naka—what?"

"Nothing!" Lucien flailed so hard he nearly toppled the sugar bowl and the teapot along with it. He scrambled to catch it, nearly burned his wrist, and hissed through his teeth.

"Ow—saints above, why is tea always this hot? It’s like drinking liquid hellfire—ah, never mind! Forget I said anything! Absolutely nothing! Just... hahahaha... harmless rambling... totally harmless..."

He covered his face, muttering into his palms like a man awaiting divine punishment. "Oh no. Oh no, oh no, it’s too late already. The curse has been spoken..."

The Empress, meanwhile, looked positively delighted with herself, sipping her tea like a villainess straight out of a bedtime cautionary tale. "A curse, you say? Splendid. Perhaps it will stick."

"Don’t tempt fate!" Lucien groaned.

Empress chuckled, and before he could spiral further, the sound of boots striking marble echoed across the corridor. Both turned their heads just as the tall, broad-shouldered captain of the Imperial Knights came striding urgently toward the throne room doors.

Lucien blinked, shoulders stiffening. "Wait—isn’t that one of the captains of the Imperial Guard?"

The Empress swiveled her head, narrowing her eyes. "Yes, that’s Sir Alaric. But... why in such a hurry?"

They both froze. Their gazes met. Their voices overlapped in unison, sharp as blades:

"Silas?"

"Do you think they got some news about Silas—" Empress said, but she stopped in the middle as she saw Lucien trembling in fear.

Lucien’s hands trembled before he could stop them. His throat tightened as the faint, invisible pull of his bond throbbed across the back of his neck—his mark, the Alpha’s claim, like a phantom burn under his skin. He swallowed hard, trying not to let the fear show.

The Empress noticed anyway. Her sharp eyes softened, and without hesitation she reached across the table, taking his cold hands into hers. "Lucien... breathe. It must be good news."

He forced a shaky laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as though he could soothe the ache of that phantom mark. "Y-yes... good news. Of course. It has to be."

The Empress gave his hand a firmer squeeze, her regal composure melting into something warm and steady. "Then let’s go and hear it for ourselves, shall we?"

Lucien hesitated, staring at the doors, dread and hope battling inside him. "...Can I?" he asked, his voice so low it was almost a plea.

"Lucien," the Empress said, rising to her feet with the ease of a woman who knew the world bent to her will, "I am the Empress of the empire. Do you truly think anyone in this palace would dare stop me from entering my own throne room?"

Lucien blinked at her, then laughed nervously. "That’s right, Point... point taken."

He pushed himself up on unsteady legs, still trembling, still fighting the wild storm in his chest.

Together, hand in hand, they walked toward the throne room doors.

He pushed himself up on unsteady legs, still trembling, still fighting the wild storm in his chest.Together, hand in hand, they walked toward the towering doors of the throne room.

"Take care of the children," the Empress murmured to a maid, her voice softer than the folds of her gown.

The maid bowed deeply. "Yes, Your Majesty."

***

[Imperial Palace—Throne Room]

The doors closed behind them with a heavy thud, sealing them away from the warmth of the corridor. Inside, the atmosphere was colder, heavier—like the weight of the Empire itself pressed down on every stone.

The captain of the guards stood waiting, head lowered, cape dusted faintly with snow. He bowed low.

"So," Emperor Adrein’s voice broke the silence, carrying across the room like steel drawn from its sheath. "Any news about Silas?"

The captain hesitated. The pause stretched long, uncomfortable. Then, at last, he shook his head. "Not yet, Your Majesty... we are still searching."

Adrein’s shoulders sagged, his breath escaping in a faint sigh. He leaned back against the throne, fingers tightening on the armrest. His lips moved with a low murmur, almost to himself. "Where in the world are you, Silas?"

But the captain, shifting uneasily, broke the fragile stillness. "Your Majesty... forgive me, but I fear... Lord Silas may have..." He swallowed hard, lowering his eyes. "...been buried under the snow."

Adrein’s head snapped up, golden gaze burning. "What?"

The captain stiffened, his words rushing now, desperate. "I–I don’t mean to offend, Your Majesty, but the last sighting reported by the knights... Lord Silas was badly injured. His horse was faltering as well. With the storm, the mountains..." His voice cracked under the weight of his own words. "...it is possible he has perished."

The word hit like a blade.

"Dead?" Adrein’s voice dropped, dangerously quiet.

The captain bowed even lower, forehead nearly grazing the marble. "Your Majesty, I beg forgiveness. I only speak of the possibility. But all signs point to his..." His voice faltered. "...death."

"WHAT!"

The sound that split the silence wasn’t the Emperor’s fury. It was a strangled gasp.

Both men turned.

There—standing at the far end of the hall—was Lucien. His face drained of color, his hands trembling violently at his sides. His eyes, wide and glassy, looked like a man staring into the pit of hell itself.

"My... my husband...?" His voice cracked, breaking in half. His knees nearly buckled as he staggered forward, each word shaking. "My Silas... is dead?"

The question echoed through the throne room like a curse.

The marble floor seemed to shiver with it.The Emperor’s eyes widened.The captain paled.

And Lucien stood there—horror-stricken, trembling—waiting for someone to tell him it wasn’t true.

But no one spoke.