CHAPTER 182: CHAPTER 177: THEO (1)

Gabriel’s fingers curled tighter around the edge of the table, the press of bone against wood steadying him.

He didn’t raise his voice.

He simply said, "No."

The word struck deeper than volume could have.

"I don’t remember and I couldn’t find the truth," he said slowly, deliberately, "but I know that’s not it. Even without my memories, I know I would never choose out of spite. I would never turn my back on something I believed in—not unless it deserved it."

He looked Lucius in the eye now, the full weight of his title and fury cloaked in restraint.

"You want to blame me for choosing Damian? Fine. I did. I made that choice in a war you sent me into blind. And I made it because someone had to. Because you were too busy playing god with your sons’ futures to stop the kingdom from burning."

Theo’s breath caught.

Gabriel’s voice dropped to a razor’s edge.

"You made me into a weapon. And now you’re angry that I fired."

Gabriel was silent for a long moment.

Then he said, cold and flat, "Let’s get one thing straight."

He stepped closer, standing between them with the weight of the court in his voice.

"I will cooperate with you politically. Because I can play the game. I’m good at it. Better than either of you. I will make sure the Empire does not notice the cracks in our house, and I will keep the diplomatic tables from burning. But this—" he gestured between them, "—this thing you keep claiming is family? That’s dead."

The room held its breath.

Gabriel’s words dropped like a stone into still water, sending silence rippling outward in waves too loud to ignore.

"I begged for help during the rebellion. You let me burn. The only people who came for me were Alexandra and Charles. They didn’t ask what it would cost. You did."

Lucius’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t argue. Because there was nothing left to defend.

Theo looked like he’d been struck.

Gabriel didn’t flinch. His voice remained steady—too steady. No anger, no passion. Just finality.

"I will show up to dinners. I will wear the colors. I will let the ministers and the foreign courts believe we’re still united. But don’t mistake my diplomacy for forgiveness."

He took one step back, chin lifting.

"I am here because Edward scheduled me. Because it suits the Empire. Not because of you."

Lucius’s gaze sharpened like a blade unsheathed, but Gabriel didn’t waver.

"The next time you want to speak to me," Gabriel added, "try using the name of your son. Not your asset."

Then he turned on his heel and walked out, no bow or respect shown.

The doors shut behind him with a whisper, not a slam. But somehow, the softness was worse. Because it wasn’t anger.

—

The room was silent after Gabriel left.

Not tense. Not bristling with courtly restraint.

Just empty.

Theo stared at the door his brother had vanished through, still hearing the echo of his voice. His words. The truth of them. Each sentence cut deeper than the last, not just because they were cruel—but because they were right.

And worse?

Theo had no idea.

He had no idea their parents knew about the magical contract. About the deal with Olivier. About how Gabriel had been handled like a pawn for a crown that was never his to wear. He’d believed what they told him. That Gabriel was unstable. Difficult. A shadow of the bright boy he used to be.

But now...

"Since when?" Theo asked, voice low.

Lucius didn’t answer. He was still standing at the end of the table, unbothered, calm as stone.

"Since when did you know about Peter’s plans?" Theo’s voice sharpened, chest tightening. "About Olivier wanting Gabriel. About what would happen to him?"

"It was irrelevant at the time," Lucius replied coldly.

"Irrelevant?" Theo’s voice cracked, and he stood, fists trembling. "He was your son."

"He was a volatile asset," Lucius said. "We needed leverage. And you were the heir. Your duty was to protect the House. His was to adapt."

Theo recoiled as if struck.

He looked at Lucius, really looked. And saw nothing of the father he’d once tried to emulate. Only a man made of strategy and silence. A man who used children like shields.

Theo thought of his own children. Of the way they clung to his coat when he came home. Of the way they called his name when they were scared. How their eyes sparkled with joy just to see him walk through the door.

He thought about what kind of monster could look at that and see a tool.

"I would never—" Theo said, voice shaking. "I would never do this to my children. Never."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "You may have to. One day."

That broke it.

Theo pushed his chair back with a loud scrape, his heart pounding. "You’re not just wrong," he said. "You’re disgusting."

Lucius didn’t flinch.

Theo grabbed his coat and stormed from the room.

He didn’t know where Gabriel was, exactly. But he would find him.

Because this wasn’t about repairing House von Jaunez anymore.

This was about making sure his brother knew someone was still on his side.

Someone who remembered what family was supposed to mean.

—

Gabriel didn’t go far.

Not because he was waiting for anyone.

He just couldn’t go fast enough on sore legs.

He discovered a bench in one of the less-traveled courtyards near the west wing, shaded by winter-bare trees and surrounded by flickering ether lanterns that had not yet adjusted for the season. He sat down with a dramatic exhale, one hand pressed against the small of his back, and muttered something unspeakable about "arrogant imperial bastards with stamina issues."

He didn’t expect company.

Especially not the kind with his bone structure.

Footsteps crunched faintly behind him, cautious but not subtle. Gabriel didn’t turn.

"If you’re here to defend Father," he said, "I will throw this boot at you."