CHAPTER 31: THE AWAKENING OF LORD CHAOS

[Rynthall Estate—Silas’s Chambers]

Lucien’s head throbbed like someone had whacked him with a lute and then politely asked him to sing opera in soprano. Every muscle in his body ached, as though the entire dream had physically sat on him, eaten three full-course meals, and left behind emotional glitter.

And Silas... Silas was still hugging him. Very tightly.

"...Can’t... breathe..." Lucien wheezed into his collarbone. "You’re hugging me like a starving man clutching carbs at a clearance sale."

Silas didn’t let go.

Lucien’s fingers twitched. "I get that you missed me, but unless you’re planning to squeeze me into a smoothie, I would like... a little bit of lung function?"

Silas loosened the hug just enough for Lucien to suck in a breath like a dying cactus given rain.

Silas looked into his eyes, not enough to let go. "I thought I lost you," he whispered, his voice raw. "You were gone, Lucien. For ten days. Ten."

Lucien stared.

Blink.

Blink.

His voice cracked like glass under emotional weight. "Ten...?"

Silas nodded solemnly.

Lucien’s eyes widened to dramatic opera proportions. "TEN DAYS?!" he shrieked—only to dissolve into an immediate coughing fit like his lungs were protesting the drama.

Silas jumped, reaching for the water on the nightstand. "Stop yelling! You’re not in the right condition, Luce!"

Lucien grabbed the glass, gulped it like a parched poet, then slammed it back with an accusatory gasp. "Are you—are you kidding me?! Ten DAYS?! That’s like, ninety-seven emotional breakdowns I missed! I could’ve written a tragic ballad! I could’ve made a soufflé! I COULD’VE—"

"Lucien," Silas sighed, rubbing his temple.

But Lucien wasn’t done. He grabbed Silas by the sleeve with the intensity of a man who just woke up in the wrong season. "Silas... ten days is too long. I feel like someone cast Netflix and Coma on me."

Silas blinked. "Netflix?"

Lucien clutched his chest dramatically. "It’s an ancient spell. Of doom. You sit down to watch one episode, and BAM—you wake up seven years later with a beard, debt, and existential dread."

Silas was clearly very confused but also too emotional to correct the nonsense. He instead reached out, gently cupping Lucien’s face. "My love, everything is fine now. I agree that you were barely breathing. You weren’t responding to anything. You just... slept. Like your body shut down completely."

Lucien’s humor faltered for a heartbeat. His hand slid down to his stomach.

"...What about..." his voice dropped to a terrified whisper, "...our wobblebean? Our child. Are they—?"

Silas’s hands immediately came up to cradle Lucien’s cheeks, his thumbs brushing tears that hadn’t fallen yet. "Shhh. Don’t panic. The baby’s fine. I swear it. Fredrick said everything’s stable. Your omega instincts took over, and your body... it went into hibernation."

Lucien blinked. "Hiber-what now?"

"Hibernation," Silas repeated gently. "Like... a protective sleep. It happens to omegas under extreme stress. Especially if they’re pregnant."

Lucien narrowed his eyes. "So what you’re telling me is that I pulled a magical bear nap for ten days... because of stress?"

Silas nodded solemnly.

Lucien stared at him for a long second, then flopped onto Silas’s chest like a melodramatic pancake. "Well," he muttered, cheek smushed against warm muscle, "looks like being an omega isn’t that bad after all. Free naps. Hibernation powers."

Silas huffed a laugh, a real one this time, and gently ran his fingers through Lucien’s tangled hair, letting his hand settle on the back of his head. "Everything’s okay now, Lucien," he said softly. "And I promise... this will be the last time you’re ever in danger. I’ll make sure of it."

Lucien lifted his head just enough to peek at him, lips curving upward. "Mmm, dramatic. I like it. Very knight-in-shining-armor-core." He poked Silas’s chest lightly. "But for the record... it’s not like I can’t protect myself, you know."

"Oh, I know," Silas nodded eagerly, his smile crooked and proud. "My boy’s the strongest of them all. Took down that baker and made him look like a haunted porcelain doll. Very sexy. Very unhinged. I was smitten."

Lucien giggled, proud and smug, then nestled even deeper into Silas’s arms until only his nose peeked out from the blanket of warmth. "You know..." he said, voice muffled and dreamy, "I dreamt of our wobblebean."

Silas froze for a heartbeat—then looked down at him with eyes full of awe and softness. "Really?"

Lucien nodded with an almost reverent sigh. "They were perfect. Chubby cheeks that could squash kingdoms. Drooling like a tiny, adorable fountain. And then they tried to eat my nose."

Silas blinked. "...That does sound like our child."

Lucien gave a proud little hum. "Right? Pure chaos. An icon already. Definitely mine."

Silas smiled, brushing his thumb gently along Lucien’s temple, his gaze softening like butter left in the sun. "What else did you see?"

Lucien’s brows scrunched together like a confused dumpling. "Hmm... there was a beach. Lots of seagulls. I was there with our Wobblebean."

Silas smiled, and then Lucien went sad, saying, "You know...I was just about to check the gender of our wobblebean—and then BAM! I woke up." He let out a loud groan. "Tragic. Very rude timing. Unforgivable."

Silas tilted his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "So let me get this straight... you were about to discover if our child is a little prince or princess, and the universe pulled the plug?"

Lucien glared at the ceiling. "Exactly. Story of my life. Cliffhanger endings and zero respect for dramatic build-up."

Silas leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, a grin tugging at his lips. "Well, we’ll find out soon enough, no divine drama required."

Lucien grumbled under his breath, "Still unfair..."

Silas chuckled, brushing Lucien’s hair back from his forehead with soft fingers. "Let me call Fredrick and Faylen. He’ll check on you properly, alright?"

Lucien gave a sleepy nod, still half-curled into Silas’s side like a cat on a warm windowsill.

Silas reached over and pressed the little golden bell on the side table.

DING.

The response was instant. The door exploded open as if the bell had summoned a stampede rather than a physician.

"WHAT HAPPENED TO LORD LUCIEN—" Faylen screamed, bursting into the room like an over-caffeinated thunderstorm, cape dramatically flapping despite there being zero wind indoors.

Fredrick was right behind him, looking concerned but composed.

And trailing behind were Marcel, Callen, and Elize—Elize’s sword halfway drawn.

And Marcel?

Well...Marcel flew.

"OH. MY. STARS. LORD LUCIEN—" Marcel shrieked, launching himself across the room like a deranged flying squirrel, landing directly on Lucien’s bed.

"FINALLY—FINALLY YOU’RE AWAKE!!!" Marcel was already on his knees, sobbing into the blankets. "WE THOUGHT YOU WERE GONNA PULL A SLEEPING BEAUTY BUT WITHOUT THE HAPPY ENDING!!! YOU—YOU ABSOLUTE MENACE, YOU SCARED THE SOULS OUT OF US!!!"

Lucien groaned and burrowed into Silas like a panicked ostrich. "I changed my mind. Can I please pretend to faint again?"

"Too late, my love," Silas said, gently rubbing circles into his back with a fond, long-suffering smile. "The estate’s awake. And they missed you."

Lucien peeked from under the covers, his face pink. "Well... I am incredibly lovable. What can I do? It’s a burden, really."

Silas chuckled, brushing his fingers affectionately through Lucien’s tousled hair. "Tragic, truly. Being this adored must be exhausting."

Before Lucien could reply with more sass, Fredrick cleared his throat, politely but firmly, with the authority of a man who had been waiting ten days to poke Lucien with a stethoscope.

"Ahem. If the royal cuddling is concluded for now—shall we perhaps check on Lord Lucien’s actual health?"

The room fell into a hush, everyone nodding solemnly as if they were about to witness a royal coronation.

Fredrick approached the bed with his signature physician’s calm, setting down his black case of tools and opening it like a wizard unveiling ancient scrolls.

Lucien blinked. "Are those leeches in there?"

Fredrick didn’t dignify that with an answer.

He pressed his stethoscope gently to Lucien’s chest, then his stomach, fingers firm and professional.

After a thorough examination, Fredrick straightened up and cleared his throat again—this time with the flair of a court announcer. "Wobblebean is—healthy. Heartbeat steady, no distress detected. Everything is as it should be."

A collective sigh rippled across the room like a breeze across a meadow.

"However," Fredrick added with the authority of a divine oracle, "you, my lord, require rest. A lot of rest. Your body’s still recovering from extreme stress-induced hibernation. And—" he raised a finger like it held the weight of the heavens, "light food only. Soups. Broths. Fruits. No roasted turkey legs or seventeen-layer cakes."

Lucien pouted. "But seventeen-layer cake is my love language."

Marcel, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a giant leather-bound notebook across his lap, scribbled furiously while muttering under his breath, "Light food. No drama. No dying. Extra naps. Minimum chaos. Absolutely no fainting."

"I never faint," Lucien protested.

"You collapsed like a poetic potato on Lord Silas’s arm!" Marcel wailed, waving his pen. "I was scarred, my lord!"

Fredrick, ever composed, ignored the escalating dramatics. "You’ll regain your strength soon. Just follow my advice and no emotional breakdowns."

"Too late," Callen muttered under his breath. Faylen snorted.

Marcel saluted with a sniffle, Callen groaned into his hands, and Faylen was already halfway to the door, yelling at a maid about gold-encrusted apple slices. Silas simply laughed, pulling Lucien closer, pressing a kiss to his temple.

And just like that...

The once-quiet Rynthall estate, which had held its breath for ten long days, was once again brimming with noise, chaos, and heart.

Lucien was awake.

And the drama had officially resumed.