CHAPTER 134: CHAPTER 129: A FREE DAY (2)

Gabriel draped an arm over the back of the chaise, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "So? Do Emperors play cards? Or is that beneath your divine station?" He regretted that their moment of intimacy had passed, but he would take the time to get to know the man he was now bonded to.

Damian tilted his head, his body relaxed in the armchair, his hands loosely resting on the armrest, and his legs stretching slightly. "Depends. Are we betting something?"

Gabriel’s brow arched. "Worried you’ll lose?"

"No," Damian said, standing and walking to a drawer built into the side of his ornate desk. He pulled out a small, polished wood box. "Only interested if there is a reward." He returned to his seat with a wide smile on his face; the world was not fair. He had everything. Lineage, intelligence, power, and a damned face.

Gabriel’s curiosity was piqued. "You just carry around a deck?"

"I carry weapons," Damian said smoothly. "This is just one of the more civilized ones."

He sat across from Gabriel again and started shuffling with his fingers. The cards moved like silk in his hands—of course they did. Gabriel was suddenly struck with the thought of what this man could not do.

"Game of truths," Damian said. "You lose a hand, you answer a question."

Gabriel smiled slowly. "And if I win?"

"Then I answer. Honestly."

"Bold of you to assume I play fair." Gabriel straightened his posture, ready to use his rusty card-playing skills. He used to spend his evenings playing on the field with his coworkers, but the Emperor was a far more worthy opponent than any of them.

Damian murmured "Darling" while dealing the cards, his long, slender fingers moving with hypnotic precision. "I’m counting on it." His eyes gleamed in the light with a devilish grin.

The fire crackled nearby, casting a golden glow across their faces. Gabriel had lost his initial skepticism in favor of a smirk that grew deeper with each hand he won. Damian was intentionally allowing him to win, and Gabriel had no problem accepting it. There was no point fighting the wind.

"You cheated," Damian said flatly, eyeing his pitiful hand.

’The audacity of this man. He’s the one cheating by letting me win.’

"I played better," Gabriel countered, lounging like a cat in the sun. "Now, your question. What was your most embarrassing moment as Emperor?"

Damian exhaled through his nose, lips twitching. "There was a summit. First year, third month after the coronation. I had the wrong papers in my speech folder; so I ended up reading a report on sugar beet exports to the foreign trade minister while he looked like he was planning my assassination."

Gabriel barked out a laugh. "Did you finish it?"

"I did. With conviction." He spread the rest of the cards across the table, preparing to reshuffle them.

Gabriel grinned as he reached for the cards. "You earned that assassination attempt."

"I thought so too. " Damian leaned forward, shuffling the deck, his gaze never leaving Gabriel. "You respect that, don’t you?"

"Oh, deeply. Honestly, I would’ve clapped."

"In the end it seemed like the convoy from Sahir was actually interested in sugar production," Damian said while shrugging. "The minister changed his mind about the assassination in the end."

"How nice for you to always fall on your feet."

Gabriel was still grinning as he lost the next hand. "Hit me with your worst."

"What’s the most ridiculous thing you ever pretended to care about to get out of trouble?"

Gabriel’s smile faltered for a second, then returned. "My grandfather’s antique spoon collection."

Damian blinked. "Spoons?"

"Silver. Filigree. He caught me sneaking out one night and I told him, I couldn’t sleep because I was worried the humidity would tarnish the early 16th-century batch."

Damian stared at him. "You’re insufferable."

"I was thirteen," Gabriel said, lifting his glass. "And committed to the lie."

Damian raised his own in salute. "To humidity and the preservation of noble silverware."

They drank. The game continued.

Damian was still in his high-backed chair, posture straight, a glass of deep crimson wine in his hand, gleaming in the firelight. The game continued between them on the low table, the cards gliding across the surface like whispered secrets. Gabriel had a glass too, though he drank slower, swirling it between turns, letting the warmth and bitterness seep in.

They were several rounds in, and the teasing had become a little quieter, a little slower, like waves pulling back from the shore.

Damian dealt a new hand with a languid motion, eyes fixed on the cards. "Your turn."

Gabriel studied them. "You’re trying to lull me into losing."

"You’ve been losing since the second round," Damian replied, sipping his wine. "And I let you win the first one. I was being generous."

"Liar," Gabriel said under his breath, but there was no venom in it.

He lost again. Predictably.

Damian didn’t immediately ask a question. He leaned back, swirling his glass slowly.

Then, with perfect calm: "Do you remember anything from before the rebellion?"

Gabriel stilled. His hand hovered above the table, fingers brushing a card before retreating.

"That’s not the usual kind of question for a drinking game."

"No," Damian agreed. "But we’ve moved past the usual."

Gabriel’s eyes dropped to the table. He took a sip of wine—too long, too thoughtful. "Bits and pieces," he said finally. "Shadows. Faces. Places I don’t always recognize until I’m already in them."

He met Damian’s gaze, slower now. "But I could recognize the truth."

A pause.

"Or what I believed was the truth at the time."

Damian didn’t respond immediately. His golden eyes, sharp in the firelight, did not soften. "And what did you believe?"

Gabriel’s lips parted, then closed. He placed his glass down carefully, fingers resting on the stem like he was grounding himself.

"Do you think that is that easy? You have to ask something specific."

Damian’s fingers tapped once on the base of his wineglass. "Very well," he said, his voice low.