Chapter 67: Tailored Treason

Chapter 67: Chapter 67: Tailored Treason

"Nero."

"Yes?"

"What did you do?"

"I think you would look amazing in a silver and purple omega robe," Nero said, his grin widening.

Sebastian went completely still.

For one suspended second, the library seemed to sharpen around the sentence, late sunlight caught in the glass-fronted shelves and spread over the polished floor while Nero remained half draped over the back of the sofa, arms loosely bracketing Sebastian as though he had not just said something that sounded dangerously close to a premeditated attack on Sebastian’s dignity.

Then Sebastian turned his head very slowly.

"You think I would look good in what?"

Nero’s expression remained offensively pleased.

"A formal omega robe."

"I heard you."

"Then the communication was successful."

Sebastian stared at him.

The bastard did not even have the decency to look cautious.

That alone told Sebastian far too much.

He shifted on the sofa until he was facing Nero more directly, one arm stretching along the back cushion while the phone remained in his other hand, still lit with articles speculating on the royal wedding as though public hysteria had somehow become a constitutional duty.

"You have seen designs."

Nero tilted his head.

"That is not a question."

"It is when I would like you to answer it."

Nero’s smile deepened.

He moved around the sofa this time instead of looming behind it, then sat beside Sebastian with the shameless familiarity he had developed over the last two weeks, one leg angled toward him, one arm thrown casually along the back of the sofa behind Sebastian’s shoulders, as if proximity had already become a permanent arrangement.

"I have personal designers and tailors," Nero said at last. "It would have been irresponsible not to consult them."

Sebastian closed his eyes briefly.

An entire private battalion of people whose professional purpose, apparently, now included turning Sebastian’s bad jokes into state-supported wardrobe discussions.

"Consult," Sebastian repeated, opening his eyes again. "What exactly does ’consult’ mean in Saha?"

"In this case," Nero said, settling deeper into the cushions with the infuriating serenity of a man who knew he was beautiful and had never once considered apologizing for it, "it meant I asked for preliminary ceremonial options based on what a wedding could look like if the person involved were both Fitzgeralt and marrying into Saha."

"That is a terrifyingly polished answer."

"I refined it."

"I’m sure you did."

Nero accepted the criticism with no visible shame.

That, too, was familiar.

Christopher had elegance so sharp it could become a weapon, and Dax had spent decades treating beauty as another legitimate royal resource to deploy where useful. Nero had inherited both instincts and somehow ended up even less embarrassed by them, which meant he could sit there in a black open-collar shirt with white-blond hair tied at the nape and talk about wedding clothing like a man discussing military procurement.

Sebastian looked at him suspiciously.

"How many people have been involved in this?"

"Not many."

"Nero."

"One senior tailor."

"That is still one too many."

"And two designers."

Sebastian stared.

Nero’s mouth twitched.

"You said not many."

"That is not many."

"That is three professionals conspiring against me."

"Against you?" Nero repeated, sounding genuinely offended. "Sebastian, they are assisting in the visual preservation of royal dignity."

"You are talking about dressing me like a decorative political hostage."

"No," Nero said, far too smoothly. "That would imply passivity. You would be the terrifying one at the ceremony."

Sebastian should not have found that mildly reassuring.

Unfortunately, he did.

He exhaled and gestured with the other hand toward the open articles still visible on the phone.

"What was that about the robe earlier?"

Nero’s eyes brightened immediately.

That was never a good sign.

"The first design was more traditional," he said, turning slightly on the sofa so one long arm remained stretched behind Sebastian while the other rested across his thigh. "Layered silk, softer draping, heavier neck jewelry, embroidered shoulders, the sort of thing Mother could wear into a state reception and make everyone else regret getting dressed that morning."

Sebastian pictured Christopher in exactly that kind of robe and, annoyingly, understood the appeal.

"And you rejected it."

"For you, yes."

"Why?"

Nero looked him over with shameless consideration, his gaze traveling from Sebastian’s shoulders down the length of his body before returning to his face.

"Because you would look like an extremely irritated dominant alpha someone accidentally wrapped in ceremonial curtains."

Sebastian stared at him.

Nero continued, apparently unaware that survival had become conditional.

"You are too broad through the shoulders and too tall, and you have spent thirty-one years moving like someone expects the room to get out of his way. Soft draping would fight you."

"That was almost a compliment."

"It was entirely a compliment."

"You compared me to a curtain."

"I compared the robe to curtains. You were the hostile hanger underneath."

Sebastian looked at him for several seconds.

Then Nero made the mistake.

He smiled and added, "Although once the transition finishes, perhaps your hips will soften enough to make the traditional cut more convincing."

Silence.

Nero’s smile remained for exactly two seconds.

Sebastian lowered the phone into his lap.

"Nero."

"Yes?"

"Can I touch you?"

Nero blinked.

That question, apparently, managed what accusations, threats, and wedding interrogations had failed to accomplish.

He looked genuinely confused.

"You have been touching me for days."

"I know."

"You kissed me awake."

"Yes."

"You sat in my lap before that."

"I remember."

Nero’s pale eyebrows drew together, suspicion finally beginning to replace confusion.

"Why are you asking now?"

Sebastian smiled pleasantly.

"Can I?"

Nero studied his face as though somewhere inside it existed a trap he should be able to identify.

Still, after a moment, he gave a cautious shrug.

"Of course."

"Good."

Sebastian did not change position.

He simply extended one arm and drove his fist into Nero’s stomach.

It was not hard enough to hurt someone built like Nero, but solid enough that the impact made a thump against the black shirt covering his abdomen.

Nero folded forward with a low groan.