CHAPTER 420: CHAPTER 414: BACK TO NORMAL

A day later, the imperial hospital wing settled into a brittle kind of quiet. Marin entered without ceremony, flipping through the last page of Gabriel’s chart as if reviewing an overdue report, not the aftermath of a nearly catastrophic ether collapse.

"You’ve survived worse," he muttered, pen tapping against the edge of the clipboard. "But I wouldn’t recommend doing it again. Your mate’s already unbearable as it is."

Gabriel, propped against a mountain of pillows and very much done with lying still, lifted a brow. "Then clear me."

Marin sighed like he had been personally insulted. "Fine. You can be moved. But under strict supervision. No ether manipulation, no standing for too long, no locking yourself in the library, and definitely no spontaneous divine interventions. Edward has already been briefed."

The door creaked open as if summoned by the name alone. Edward stepped in like a curse returned to life, arms folded and expression far too smug for Gabriel’s taste.

"You’re enjoying this," Gabriel muttered.

Edward bowed, far too deeply. "I live to serve."

Gabriel looked back at Marin, exhausted. "Can I at least keep Arik with me?"

That earned him a pause. A rare one. Marin looked up from the chart, the faintest shift of softness behind his dry expression.

"You’re still stabilizing," he said eventually, "but yes. The child stays. Just don’t let him sleep on you."

Gabriel’s shoulders relaxed just a fraction. "He won’t. He sleeps curled under my arm anyway."

Marin’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "He gets that from you. Already dramatic."

"His father would disagree."

"His father is currently arguing with my assistant about post-trauma shielding in the hallway."

Edward muttered, "He won. Obviously."

Marin closed the chart with a snap. "You’ll be moved in the next hour. Don’t fight the attendants. You can start complaining again tomorrow." He stepped out without waiting for a response.

Gabriel closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. "It’s a start."

Edward moved to adjust the blanket across his chest with the solemnity of a royal scribe preparing for war. "Welcome back, Your Highness."

Gabriel reached for the bracelet that kept his ether sealed and muttered, "Enjoy it while you can."

—

The imperial wing smelled like the way Gabriel remembered it before everything went to hell, lavender oil diffused discreetly through the walls, polished floors that gave no sound, and just enough warmth in the light filtering through the tall windows to feel like a space meant for recovery, not war.

Gabriel sat on the chaise by the hearth, Arik curled against his chest, tiny hands gripping the fabric of his shirt like he might disappear if let go. He wouldn’t. Not while Gabriel breathed.

His arms ached, not from the weight, but from the sheer stubbornness with which he refused to let the child be held by anyone else. Even the Shadows had learned to approach with offerings first.

"He’s grown," Gabriel murmured.

Arik made a soft sound in his sleep, little brow furrowed in a way that was entirely Damian’s. Gabriel brushed a fingertip along the curve of his ear, more to convince himself this was real than to soothe.

"He’s waiting for your eyes to open before he declares war on the staff again," came Damian’s voice, warm and dry, from across the room.

Gabriel looked up.

The sitting room had been transformed.

Damian’s work, papers, tablets, sealed communiqués, had migrated from the war chamber to the low table near the window. A fresh ward shimmered faintly around the edges of the furniture, tuned to Gabriel’s current ether level. Not even a pen was unmonitored.

"Couldn’t stand being in the other wing?" Gabriel asked.

Damian looked up from a file and raised a brow. "Couldn’t stand you being here alone."

"You have an Empire."

"I have you," Damian replied simply, no heat, no drama. "The rest will survive until dinner."

"What happened with Hadeon?" Gabriel asked as he remembered that Goliath had said in the shard that Olivier had tried to possess Hadeon and failed.

"He is paste... mostly."

Gabriel blinked slowly, his expression unreadable as he adjusted Arik in his arms, the baby making a soft noise in his sleep.

"Paste?" he repeated.

Damian didn’t look up from the document he was pretending to read. "Sticky. Charred. Probably still steaming in places."

Gabriel sighed, low and long. "Gods."

"He tried to anchor himself to Olivier’s shard," Damian said, voice neutral. "Ended up consumed by it. When the shard collapsed, so did he. There’s nothing left to bury."

"And Donin?"

"Annexed," Damian replied smoothly. "We’re calling it ’reintegration,’ for the sake of the council. Christian’s already drafting the language. It’ll go through smoothly once they stop screaming about bloodlines and sovereignty."

Gabriel gave him a look. "You’re deleting him from the records?"

Damian finally met his gaze. "Would you rather I leave a shrine?"

"...No." Gabriel exhaled. "Just surprised you’re doing it so cleanly."

"It’s not clean." Damian stood and crossed to him again, fingertips brushing lightly over Gabriel’s wrist, over Arik’s blanket. "But it’s done. The Empire comes first. And you..." his voice dipped,"you come before that."

Gabriel looked down at their son again, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest.

"Good," he said quietly. "Then make sure no one ever remembers his name."

"Already erased from every record and registry," Damian replied. "Even the rebels won’t use it. Ghosts don’t inspire revolutions."

Gabriel’s lips curved, tired but sharp. "Ruthless."

Damian didn’t flinch. "Necessary."

He reached down, brushing his knuckles gently against Arik’s tiny fingers, which curled instinctively around them. The movement was soft, reverent, so at odds with the cold finality of his words that Gabriel’s throat tightened.

"You gave me a reason to be," Damian added, quieter now. "Before you, I thought control meant restraint. Mercy and diplomacy, those were the lies I told myself while carving out an empire with blood. But you..." He glanced up, his voice steadier than it should’ve been. "You taught me not to unravel. Not every battle needs to be fire."

Gabriel’s gaze lingered on him. "You’re saying I made you gentle?"

"No," Damian said simply. "You made me precise."

The silence that followed was like a held breath between the end of a war and the beginning of something they hadn’t dared name.

Gabriel adjusted Arik slightly, and the baby shifted in his sleep, cheek pressed to his father’s chest.

"Good," Gabriel murmured at last. "Because I’m not going to pretend either."

Damian’s lips twitched. "Then tell Edward to stop pretending he’s not eavesdropping from behind the divider."

From the corner, a barely muffled sigh emerged. "I’m not deaf, Your Majesty."

"You will be," Gabriel muttered, "if I catch you anywhere near the bath again."

Damian chuckled, low and rich. "Now that’s the man I married."