The Omega Who Wasn't Supposed to Exist-Chapter 19: The Pheromones, and the Horrifyingly Beautiful Grand Duke

Chapter 19: The Pheromones, and the Horrifyingly Beautiful Grand Duke

Inside the grand carriage, where velvet curtains swayed softly with every bump and the scent of crushed roses lingered like a ghost, Grand Duke Silas sat lost in a tangle of increasingly paranoid thoughts.

That baker...

His eyes narrowed, jaw tightening just slightly. He wasn’t one to let commoners slip under his radar. And yet—

"...The way he looked at us. Like he knew. Like he heard things."

Silas exhaled slowly, dragging a gloved hand through his tousled silver hair. "Suspicious..."

Elize had already checked the baker’s background, top to bottom—twice. No flags. No strange affiliations. No criminal records. Just a bland, flour-covered life filled with cinnamon rolls and unfortunate facial hair.

Silas sighed and muttered, "Am I thinking too much...?"

A little weight shifted on his shoulder.

Wiggle. Wiggle.

Silas stilled.

Another wiggle.

And then, a soft mumble. "...Mm... Am I in the ocean...?"

Lucien—currently curled against his shoulder like an overgrown kitten in silk royal attire—twitched again and shifted closer, face smushed against Silas’ shoulder with the kind of trust only reserved for sleep-deprived omegas and very drunk cats.

Silas glanced down.

Lucein smiled, "...It feels good."

Lucien snuggled in closer, somehow managing to treat Silas like a human-sized pillow. Then his dark lashes fluttered open slowly. He blinked up at Silas, dazed, confused, and with the expression of someone who couldn’t tell if he was dreaming, dead, or high on omega hormones.

"...You have really nice pheromones," Lucien slurred, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Is that how you lured me into bed that night?!"

Silas blinked, utterly nonplussed.

"You were in heat, Lucien," he replied, voice flat, aristocratic, with the exhausted dignity of a man who had fought in wars and also watched an omega try to headbutt a doorknob because he was "feeling weird."

Lucien blinked slowly. Then sniffed. Then wiggled again. "Yeah... whatever."

Silas sighed and casually reached out to wipe a string of drool from Lucien’s cheek with a lace-edged handkerchief, like he’d done this a hundred times before.

"You slept a lot," Silas remarked.

Lucien yawned loudly, cheek still glued to Silas’s shoulder like it was the most comfortable, safest, most pheromone-saturated place in the entire kingdom.

"...That’s because of you," he mumbled, squinting at the passing scenery. "You left your... duke-y sperm inside me, and now I’m pregnant, thanks."

Silas blinked.

And then—he chuckled.

Softly at first. Then a little louder. And then it turned into a full-bodied, devastatingly elegant laugh. The kind of laugh that probably made entire villages give up on farming and become poets instead. That laugh could bankrupt monasteries. It sparkled.

Lucien stared at him, slack-jawed.

His eyes slowly widened, his pupils dilated.

He lifted his head like a haunted man.

"...You..." he whispered, face pale. "...You..."

Silas stopped laughing just in time to meet his eyes.

"Why are you laughing so fucking beautifully?!" Lucien shouted, slapping his own thigh like he couldn’t believe what was happening to his life.

Silas smirked. "I’ll... take that as a compliment."

Lucien stared harder.

Now Silas was leaning against the window, sunlight kissing his cheekbones, the scenery flying past him like he was posing for a Renaissance painting. Hair slightly tousled. Collar open just enough. Smirk as sharp as his sword. God-tier lighting.

He was glowing.

Glowing. Like a divine creature sent by a very smug god.

Lucien blinked at him. Once. Twice.

And then clutched his own chest dramatically.

"...Oh god," he whispered. "It’s the pregnancy. That’s why he’s shining like a Greek god dipped in glitter and soaked in pheromones and lustful deity."

Silas raised an eyebrow. "Should I apologize?"

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. "YES!! Because this is not normal. You impregnate me, and now you sparkle like an anime villain’s final form?!"

Silas chuckled again. Lucien gasped.

"Stop that!" he cried. "You’re weaponizing your face and your laugh, and I’m vulnerable right now! I’m carrying a literal ducal fetus! My body is not ready for this level of handsomeness!"

Silas, still leaning against the carriage window like the brooding male lead of a historical romance novel come to life, tilted his head slightly. "Weaponizing?"

"Yes!" Lucien clutched his chest like he was about to faint. "That smirk? Illegal. That jawline? Sharp enough to slice cheese. And don’t get me started on the eyelashes—they’re longer than my patience."

Silas let out a low, amused hum.

Then, casually—like it meant absolutely nothing and everything all at once—he reached out and took Lucien’s hand in his large, gloved one... and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his knuckles.

Lucien made a sound.

A very suspicious sound.

Somewhere between a squeak and a dying bird.

"You know..." Silas murmured, voice all warm velvet and criminally attractive timbre, "...no one’s ever dared to act like that in front of me."

Lucien blinked. "...Really?"

Silas nodded slowly, shifting closer until the space between them felt scandalously non-existent. His eyes, those impossibly cool gray eyes, softened. "And maybe... that’s why... you seem more attractive to me."

Lucien paused.

Straightened his back.

Puffed his chest like a tiny rooster on parade.

Then, with a dramatic flip of imaginary hair and an unholy glint in his eyes, he declared, "I AM AN ULTRA HANDSOME PERSON. I don’t attract people. People get magnetically pulled to me. It’s biologically impossible to resist this level of visual stimulus. I am naturally gifted."

Silas blinked.

And then—

He laughed.

Again.

That soft, low, utterly unfair laugh that made Lucien want to both punch a wall and kiss his face at the same time.

Lucien’s cheeks flushed pink. He glared at Silas like it was his fault for being so attractive and having the audacity to enjoy Lucien’s dramatics.

And then—

Thump.

A bump on the road sent the carriage rocking, and Lucien yelped, flailing forward—only to land directly in Silas’s arms.

Firm arms.

Warm arms.

Sculpted by destiny’s arms.

Silas caught him effortlessly, like catching ridiculously dramatic omegas was a full-time job he trained for in the army.

Now they were very close.

Too close.

"Oh my god, his breath smells like forbidden cinnamon and authority," Lucien’s inner monologue screeched.

Silas looked down at him, one eyebrow raised, lips still curved in that smirky, ruin-your-sanity kind of way.

Lucien was too stunned to speak. His brain was buffering. Cheeks flushed, eyes wide, he looked like a deer that wandered into a cologne commercial.

"...Can I kiss you?" Silas asked, his voice low and sinfully smooth, like velvet dipped in honey and bad decisions.

Lucien blinked.

His mouth opened.

His soul ascended.

Then, like an alien possessed his body, he nodded. Slowly.

"...Fine," Lucien muttered, trying very hard to look unaffected even as his ears were actively staging a heatwave. "But I better not get more pregnant from this."

Silas blinked. "...I’ve never heard of a kiss making someone pregnant."

Lucien groaned like a soul who had long since given up on logic, reason, and God’s greater plan. "You never know, okay?! I’m a rare male omega, Silas. I’m like a unicorn with hormones. Anything can happen. Anything."

Silas stared at him, utterly dumbfounded—as if he were trying to figure out if Lucien was joking or if he had actually just unlocked a new scientific theory on omega biology.

He wisely said nothing.

Instead, very slowly, he reached out and wrapped one arm around Lucien’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest in a movement so smooth it should’ve been illegal in twelve provinces.

Lucien’s breath hitched.

His brain: scrambled eggs.

His heart: doing the cha-cha.

And then—just as Lucien was about to scream internally—Silas gently ran his thumb across his lips, the motion soft, reverent, like Lucien was something sacred.

Lucien blinked, frozen in place, lips parting just a little under the touch.

And then Silas leaned in.

No rush. No teasing.

Just a warm breath between them, a pause like the world itself was holding its breath—and then—

Their lips met.

Soft at first, like the whisper of a promise. Lucien’s fingers curled into Silas’s coat, gripping tight as his heart did an Olympic-level gymnastics routine in his chest.

But then—

Silas deepened the kiss.

His hand cradled the back of Lucien’s neck, firm but gentle, and he tilted Lucien’s face slightly to taste him more fully, more thoroughly—like he’d been starving and Lucien was the only thing that could sate him.

Lucien melted.

Like actual goo.

His brain rebooted, screamed, and then crashed again as he instinctively kissed back, mouth moving in sync with Silas’s, greedy for the warmth, the closeness, and the safety of it all.

When they finally broke apart—breathless and pink-cheeked—Lucien slumped back onto Silas’s chest and mumbled into the fabric of his shirt, "I’m calling the priest. That definitely made me extra pregnant."

Silas chuckled, low and smug. "Should I start planning for twins?"

Lucien gasped, horrified. "Don’t joke about that. I can barely survive one! Do you want my back to break? Do you want me to become spherical?!"

Silas kissed the top of his head. "You’d still be beautiful."

Lucien flailed dramatically, muffled against his chest. "Stop being nice to me! It’s making my uterus emotional!"

Silas huffed a laugh, the sound deep and indulgent, before gently rubbing his thumb across Lucien’s flushed cheek. His voice dropped, soft as velvet.

"You’re really beautiful, Lucien."

Lucien’s breath caught.

His eyes darted away so fast it was a miracle they didn’t dislocate from sheer panic. He turned toward the carriage window with all the stiff grace of a scandalized duchess and muttered, face now an impressive shade of tomato, "I know that."

Silas smiled.

And outside, the carriage rolled forward, unaware it was carrying two people who had just taken one very dangerous step closer to falling in love.