Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 276: A big baby

276 – Noelle POV

Some first speech he’s given, I think, amused as I lean against the upper railing of the grand hall, looking down at Thorne as he suffers his way through "mingling." Poor thing. Every word exchanged is clearly costing him years of his life.

He looks up again, eyes scanning the room like a hunted animal. When he finds me, there’s a flash of betrayal in his gaze. Help me, his expression says.

I smile sweetly.

And ignore him.

He scowls like a kicked cat and turns back to whoever’s currently talking his ear off. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but Thorne’s fake nods and occasional forced grunts of acknowledgment are the most awkward thing I’ve seen in weeks.

He’s trying so hard to be civil. My big, terrifying general. Archon now, apparently. I’ll never stop laughing about that.

I sip my drink and rest my chin in my palm, elbow on the marble rail. From this angle, he looks even more handsome. Especially dressed like this—tailored high-collared coat deep crimson with gold embroidery, the Alden crest pinned at the heart.

His blonde hair longer now is perfectly combed back, not a single strand out of place, and the black gloves he wears—though decorative—give him that air of restrained danger.

He’s breathtaking. My husband. My absolute favorite problem.

"You don’t have to stare so hard," a voice says beside me. "You’re already married to him."

I glance sideways. Maggie.

She’s glowing—or at least pretending to be, despite having given birth just a month and some weeks ago. She’s in a soft yellow gown, her long red hair twisted up, a touch of blush on her cheeks, and for once, not pregnant.

A miracle.

"I wasn’t staring," I say innocently.

"You were drooling."

"I was appreciating." freeωebnovēl.c૦m

She rolls her eyes. "He’s not a painting."

I hum. "He could be."

Maggie lets out a deep sigh and takes a sip from her glass. "I swear, if Brian even looks at me the wrong way in the next few months, I’m tying him to a chair and throwing him in the ocean."

I laugh softly. "You say that now, but then you’ll be waddling around again by winter."

"Don’t joke like that. The last one was a boy again. I almost cried."

I grin. "You did cry."

"I’m just saying, there are only so many times I can look into a baby’s face and not see the daughter I wanted."

"You love them all."

"Of course I do. But one girl, Noelle. One little girl. Is that so much to ask?"

We fall into a brief silence, both gazing down over the balcony at the scene below.

It’s strange how quickly the island has grown. One year ago, it was just a handful of buildings and tents. Now there are three proper towns forming, roads connecting them, trade lines open to Vitra, and Thorne—my Thorne—is the reluctant heart of it all.

He’s still being swarmed by people. Every time someone else approaches him with another hopeful smile, I see him die a little more inside. I almost feel bad.

Almost.

Another glance from him.

Another plea for salvation.

I sip my wine.

"I think he’s going to murder someone," Maggie murmurs.

"I’d help him hide the body."

She chuckles. "He looks good in red."

I raise a brow.

"I’m going to tattle to Brian."

"Hey—!" Maggie holds up a hand, the picture of mock offense. "I love my idiot. But I can admire. I have eyes, Noelle."

I roll my eyes.

"You do realize he could hear you if he weren’t so busy being emotionally waterboarded down there."

She grins over her glass. "If he looks up here and glares, I’ll just wave and smile. Maybe blow him a kiss."

I snort.

Can’t argue with her.

My husband is everything.

*

I open my arms without saying a word.

And he walks into them like a man starved for comfort.

Forget three children. I have four. One of them is extremely large, a boyish smile, and has a reputation for war crimes.

I wrap my arms around him, drawing him close, and run my fingers through the base of his hair where it meets the nape of his neck. It’s slightly damp with sweat and heat, but still soft. He lets out a long, almost pitiful sigh, burying his face into my shoulder like a sulking hound.

"It was horrible," he mutters against my neck, voice muffled and dramatic.

"Uh huh." I hum, indulging him.

"They kept talking," he continues, clearly aggrieved.

"And talking. About dreams, and expansion, and logistics. One guy cornered me for twenty minutes to ask about building a road to the west coast."

"Mmmhmm," I respond, patting his back.

"They want to name the school after me."

I blink. "Wait, seriously?"

"They said it would ’inspire the children.’" His voice is full of disgust.

"I’m not even dead yet."

I suppress a laugh and hold him tighter.

"They kept using the phrase ’glory days,’ and throwing around words like ’vision’ and ’infrastructure,’ and I swear, Noelle—one more mention of ’strategic development’ and I was going to jump out a window."

"You’re being very brave," I say with all the solemnity I can muster, smoothing my fingers through his hair again.

He huffs against my neck.

"I don’t want to expand. I don’t want to lead. I don’t want to hold meetings or wear stupid buttons or shake hands. I just want to stay here. With you. And the kids. Maybe get mildly drunk with Roman on occasion."

I smile against his temple. "You know they’re only here because they want to believe in something."

"They can believe in Roman," Thorne grumbles, squeezing me tighter.

"He likes the attention. He can be their archon."

"Archon Thorne Alden," I say softly. "It has a ring to it."

He groans.

"I hate you."

"No, you don’t."

"...No, I don’t."

We stand like that for a while—his forehead pressed to my neck, my arms looped around his back, fingers trailing comfort into his spine. The sounds of laughter and music and conversation drift in from the open windows, but it feels like we’re miles away.

His breathing begins to steady. His weight softens against me.

"They’re not all bad," I say eventually.

"I know," he sighs. "It’s just... a lot."

"You’re doing great."

He lifts his head then, blue eyes meeting mine. A little tired. A little overwhelmed. But still him.

"They see you, Thorne. The way they look at you—you make them feel safe."

"I don’t care if they feel safe," he mutters. "I only care if you do."

I lean in and kiss the tip of his nose.

"I do."

And it’s true. I do.