Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 126: Maybe a little

Chapter 126: Maybe a little

Noelle’s eye twitches in frustration, irritation gnawing at him as he stands in his own home. He’s been hoping for a quiet moment, to bask in the glow of his recent news, to daydream about the future with Thorne. But of course, that peace is shattered by the arrival of another royal- Rolland. One of the royals Noelle despises most, and for good reason. Rolland had once tried to take advantage of Thorne during a vulnerable moment, drugging him. The memory alone makes Noelle’s blood simmer.

He casts a sharp glance at Rolland, who lounges in the parlor like he owns the place, his air dripping with arrogance. Noelle is grateful that Oliver is here with him, standing at his side. The blonde omega rests his hands protectively over his pregnant belly, his presence calm but sharp.

But it’s hard for Noelle to focus. His mind keeps wandering. It’s been a few days since the last letter from Thorne, and the silence is driving him restless. Noelle knows Thorne is busy—probably handling some urgent matter at the border—but it doesn’t stop the knot of anxiety tightening in his chest with each day that passes without word. He forces himself to swallow the concern, reminding himself that every minute Thorne spends out there is a minute closer to coming home.

Then Rolland’s voice cuts through his thoughts like a jagged blade, dragging him back to the moment.

"A commoner for a husband." Rolland’s tone drips with disdain, and Noelle feels that familiar prickle of anger flickering to life inside him.

Before Noelle can respond, Oliver does, sharp and biting. "At least I have a husband."

The words land like a clean knife strike, sharp and precise. Noelle doesn’t hide the flicker of satisfaction that briefly cuts through his irritation.

Rolland’s eyes flash with anger, his aristocratic features hardening. "I’d rather have no husband than stoop so low," he spits, his gaze flicking dismissively toward Oliver’s stomach with thinly veiled contempt.

Noelle tenses, the anger rolling through him. He opens his mouth, ready to defend his friend, but Oliver is already one step ahead. His voice, cool and cutting, slices through the air.

"Are you sure it’s not because you have quite the number of men?" Oliver’s tone is calm, but the words are a cruel reminder of Rolland’s own indiscretions—like that time his heat became a scandalous affair involving multiple partners.

Rolland’s face twists in fury, his polished mask cracking to reveal his wounded ego. He stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor.

"I’m here to invite you both to the banquet in two days," he snaps, tossing the invitation cards onto the table with a sharp flick of his wrist before storming out, his exit as abrupt as his temper.

The door slams shut, leaving a thick silence in the room. Noelle stares at the door for a moment, his pulse still racing from the tense exchange. Anger still simmers in him, but there’s something else now too—amusement.

Oliver’s voice pulls him back. "Looks like I struck a nerve."

Noelle turns to see the faintest trace of a smile on Oliver’s lips. It’s rare to see Oliver take such satisfaction in anything, but today, he clearly enjoys having gotten under Rolland’s skin. Noelle chuckles, the tension easing from his shoulders.

"You definitely did," Noelle says, shaking his head slightly.

Noelle can’t help but wonder how Thorne would react if he were here, how he’d share a laugh at Rolland’s expense. But for now, all Noelle can do is hold onto the hope that Thorne will return soon—hopefully, before he has to deal with any more insufferable royals.

***

There’s a certain peace about him these days. Ever since the news came that he was pregnant, I’ve noticed a calmness settle into my Lord. I watch him now, crouched low beside the little girl, Mona, as they hunch over a nursery of delicate plants in the greenhouse. Their heads are close together, whispering secrets, and the soft sound of their giggles fills the air.

It’s strange. I never thought of my Lord as the type to engage in something so... peaceful. But there he is, his fingers gently touching the soil, teaching Mona something about the tiny buds they’ve been nurturing. It’s an oddly beautiful scene, one that catches me off guard. I can feel the corners of my mouth twitch, almost pulling into a smile before I quickly stop myself. Smiling wasn’t something I did often, and I wasn’t about to start now.

Initially, this job meant very little to me. A simple task, guarding the Omega of the infamous Crimson General, the master of my master, head of the assassin and information guild A cushy job at best, especially compared to my past. My old life had been nothing but bloodshed, one assassination after another, moving through shadows with deadly precision. Back then, emotions were a luxury I didn’t have the time—or the desire—to indulge. Every mission was just that, a mission. Detached. Unfeeling.

But this job? This was supposed to be a break. A chance to step away from the constant violence. And, if I’m honest with myself, I had not welcomed the change. Being my Lord’s guard was supposed to be an easy gig—keep him safe, no more, no less. But somewhere along the way, something shifted. He wormed his way into a heart I didn’t even know I still had.

I glance over at him again, and I see it—the way he’s smiling, eyes soft, as he rubs a bit of dirt onto Mona’s cheek. The child laughs, a clear, ringing sound, and my Lord laughs too, his joy infectious. It’s a light, carefree sound that makes him seem... content. Happy, even. He’ll make a good parent. No—he’ll make a great parent.

The thought of protecting them, of being there for this family he’s building, feels surprisingly right. It’s unsettling, the realization that I’ve become so invested in something so domestic. Never in my life did I think I’d be standing guard over an Omega in a greenhouse, watching him prepare for the future, watching him laugh with a child, instead of cutting throats in some dark alley or messy battlefield.

And yet, here I am.

I sigh quietly to myself, realizing that, like it or not, I’m already thinking ahead. My eyes flick toward the child, Mona, and then back to my Lord’s stomach. He’ll need more help soon. I can’t just stand by and do nothing.

Childcare. The word alone makes my muscles tense. I’m not looking forward to it, not one bit. But I know it’s inevitable. My nanny duties. I suppose I should start reading those childcare books or, Luna forbid, take lessons. The thought makes me cringe inwardly.

But if my Lord trusts me to stand by his side during this time, then so be it. I’ll grit my teeth and do what needs to be done.

I lean back against the greenhouse wall, my gaze never leaving him and Mona as they continue their little game. My lips press into a thin line as I think to myself.

I’m definitely not looking forward to it. Definitely not. Maybe a little.