Lucas arched a brow. "You are the crown prince. Logically, that implies heirs."
Lucius let out a sound that could generously be called a laugh but was more accurately a diplomatic snort. "Finally. Someone said it."
Caelan didn't comment. Which, for Caelan, was basically the equivalent of applause. He had grown tired of reminding his heir that it was time for children. A decade of subtle suggestions, formal briefings, and thinly veiled birthday toasts had yielded nothing but excuses and another imported consort.
Sirius, caught mid-bite of his pastry, held it up like a shield. "You are… a menace. Are you trying to bring discord into the family?"
Lucas shrugged, unbothered. The pregnancy, Benedict, the healing scar, and the hormones, at some point in the last six months, most of his diplomatic filters had been filed under "optional." And right now, he didn't feel like being optional.
