CHAPTER 185: CHAPTER 180: UNTIL DINNER (2)

Instead, he gestured lazily to the seat across from him. "Sit. Let’s see what fantasies you’ve brought with you today, Lady Blake."

"Fantasies?" She asked, terrified.

Gabriel arched his brow, the corners of his mouth twitching, not in a smile, but in something far more dangerous: amusement.

"Yes," he said, his voice silky and just a shade too dry. "Fantasies. Expectations. The things young women whisper about behind fans and velvet curtains when they think the court is made of marble statues and tragic love stories."

Irina flushed a brilliant shade of pink, her spine snapping straighter in the chair. "I assure you, Your Grace, I take this opportunity very seriously."

"Oh, I’m sure you do," Gabriel murmured, swirling what was left of his coffee with a swift move of his wrist. "But you’re seventeen. You think Damian is a fairytale in uniform. You think palace life is a series of gowns and epiphanies. And you think I"—he gestured lightly to himself—"am an ornament at the edge of a throne room who just happens to be draped in imperial silk and scandal."

Irina opened her mouth, possibly to deny it or to faint, but Gabriel did not give her the opportunity.

"Let me save you the heartbreak now," he said, tone even but cool. "Damian doesn’t fall in love with wide eyes and compliments. He doesn’t need a princess. And I’m not looking for someone to cry prettily when the court gets cruel."

Silence stretched, taut and unsure.

Irina’s fingers curled slightly into her skirts, and for a second, Gabriel thought she might bolt.

"I see that my brother had spoken too much. Honestly, I did have what you said earlier, but everybody knows that Your Grace is His Majesty, mate. I should be mentally challenged to attempt anything."

Gabriel laughed—a real one, low and sharp, curling like smoke through the quiet study. It startled Irina more than any insult could have. She blinked, unsure whether she’d amused him or made a fatal mistake.

"Well," he said, leaning back with a sigh, "you’ve just spared me a very long and awkward fifteen minutes of polite fiction. Thank you for that."

Irina looked vaguely shell-shocked. "You’re... welcome?"

Gabriel waved a hand, still chuckling. "You’re smarter than I thought. Astana would be horrified."

She gave a tentative smile. "He already is. He told me I’d be trampled if I even breathed near the inner court."

"He’s not wrong." Gabriel tapped his pen once against the desk, studying her again. "So why are you here, Lady Irina? If not to charm an Emperor, or play court favorite?"

Her posture straightened. "Because I want to learn. And because even if I never become one of your personal ladies, just being here—seeing how the palace actually works, not just how it looks—is more valuable than anything the tutors ever taught me."

That stopped him for a second. It wasn’t a rehearsed line. She said it too quickly, too honestly.

Gabriel tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. "And if I say no?"

Irina folded her hands neatly, but her voice stayed calm. "Then I’ll leave with grace. But I’ll still remember what I saw here, and who gave me the courtesy of a real conversation instead of another gilded performance."

For a moment, the study held nothing but the hum of the ether lamps and the faint scrape of Gabriel’s thumb against the ceramic cup.

Then he nodded.

"One month," he said. "You’ll shadow the household and answer to Edward when I’m not around. If you last the month, we’ll talk again."

Irina blinked. "Truly?"

"No one lasts the month," Gabriel added dryly. "But I like surprises."

Her smile returned, small but genuine. "Thank you, Your Grace."

Gabriel took another sip of his cooling coffee, murmuring more to himself than to her, "Let’s hope Edward doesn’t poison me for this."

A sound echoed throughout the room, making Irina’s breath hitch and Gabriel lean back in his chair.

The study door was slammed.

The ether lights flared overhead, reacting to the sudden pulse of unchecked temper that entered the study ahead of its owner.

Gabriel didn’t even flinch.

Damian Lyon strode into the room like he was still on the field, coat unfastened, gloves in one hand, boots dragging mud across the polished floor without a care. His eyes, those burning gold eyes, swept the room once, first settling on Gabriel and then Irina.

Damian’s jaw ticked.

He didn’t speak.

Not immediately.

Instead, he tossed the gloves onto the desk with enough force that one slid off and landed near Gabriel’s coffee cup. His coat followed in a sharp motion, thrown over the back of the nearest chair like it had offended him. The air around him crackled—not with ether, not yet—but with the unmistakable stormfront of a man whose patience had been spent on people less competent than they had promised to be.

Gabriel lifted his cup with studied nonchalance. "Inspection went well, I take it?"

"Have you ever watched a man try to explain why his entire unit forgot how to cast a basic reinforcement ward?" Damian’s voice was low, deceptively controlled. "Because I have. Three times. This morning."

Irina shrank slightly in her seat.

Gabriel, on the other hand, looked entirely unbothered. "Did you kill him?"

"I wanted to."

Edward, materializing like a well-trained ghost, placed a cloth on the mud trail and muttered something about consequences for marble flooring before promptly vanishing again.

Damian exhaled once, then slowly turned his gaze on Irina, whose back had gone rigid.

"Lady Irina Blake," he said, his voice smooth but utterly devoid of warmth.

She stood quickly, hands clasped before her in practiced poise. "Your Majesty."

Gabriel set his cup down. "She arrived early."

"I see that."

"I completed the interview."

"Did she pass?"

Gabriel hummed. "I gave her a month."

Damian looked at him, then at her. Then back at Gabriel.

"I see," he repeated. And for a moment, the tension in his frame held—until his eyes dropped to Gabriel’s collar, where faint remnants of his own teeth marks still peeked above the open shirt. The edge of his mouth twitched.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Damian reached across the desk and plucked the empty coffee cup from beside Gabriel’s elbow. "Nothing."

He turned to Irina, who was doing her very best impression of a disciplined noble daughter and almost succeeding.

"You’ll report to Edward," Damian said. "He’ll give you access to the household schedules, the correspondence protocols, and anything else Gabriel conveniently forgets to explain."

"Yes, Your Majesty," she replied, trying to sound braver than she felt.

"Dismissed."