Chapter 8: Pregnancy and Emergency
"EXCUSE ME?!!!!!"
Lucien’s shriek shot through the Armoire Estate like a banshee on fire. Birds took off from the trees. Somewhere, a maid dropped a tray. Faelan calmly wiped his spectacles on his sleeve like this wasn’t the beginning of a national crisis.
"I said," Faelan repeated, very slowly, "you are—possibly, probably—pregnant."
Lucien’s mouth flapped open like a fish pulled out of noble waters. "But—but—but I’m a beta! A man! With nothing down there to—how?!"
Faelan didn’t even flinch. "My lord, don’t forget that men can get pregnant too."
Lucien sputtered. "Yeah... yeah, but Omega males—and—and there is no omega male in this world! They’re like unicorns or common sense in the court! And I’m—I’m a beta! A boring, useless, politically irrelevant beta! The most excitement I’ve had in three months was stubbing my toe on a chair last month!"
"Exactly why this is very concerning," Faelan muttered, then sighed and began rummaging through his medical kit. "Which is why, my lord, I’m going to run some tests. Proper tests. Magical and physical and spiritual, just in case your ancestors are playing a prank from the grave."
"Great," Lucien said, clutching his forehead. "I’m the Empire’s first medically impossible scandal."
"Think of it as making history," Faelan offered.
"I wanted to make history by being the first Armoire to retire at thirty-five and drink wine in Virelle until my liver gave out," Lucien groaned. "Not by spontaneously reproducing with no clear... input!"
Faelan drew a vial of blood with the practiced precision of a man who had no time for noble hysteria. "My lord, we do all know how people get pregnant. You’re talking like—"