Days later, the palace hummed like a hive about to split open. The coronation dais was built, the vows scripted, the processions rehearsed until the footmen dreamed in formation. Damian had already burned through a week of council sessions, delegating each petition, sanction, and negotiation with the ruthless efficiency of a man who saw politics as another battlefield.

Which left Gabriel, by design, with nothing to do but wait.

At least, that had been the theory.

The Empress's office looked less like a seat of state and more like a warehouse after a flood. Towering stacks of chests and crates leaned against the walls; tables groaned beneath lacquered boxes tied with silken cords. Every noble house, every provincial magistrate, every foreign court worth a scrap of ink had sent "tributes" for the coronation and wedding, and the department meant to sort them had finally collapsed under the avalanche.

So now it was Gabriel's problem. 'Of fucking course.'

He sat behind the wide imperial desk, sleeves rolled, a knife in hand. Not ether this time, but plain steel, glinting each time he sliced through ribbon or wax. The Spite Department were stationed like unwilling guards around the room. Rafael himself stood with a ledger, noting each gift with grim precision; Irina perched on a stool, pale and fascinated; Alexandra lounged by the window with the air of a woman watching theater; and Edward, poor Edward, looked as though he regretted ever delivering the first cart.

"You know, I could be at a tea party, being the social queen I am and talk about how cute Arik is, but noooo… my sweet little brother is keeping me here against my will." Alexandra said, tapping her perfect nails into the window frame in a rhythm that maddened Gabriel.

Gabriel didn't bother looking up. He slit through another seal, flicked the lid open, and stared at the gleam of silver-plated spoons nestled in velvet. "If you're trying to convince me you'd rather be sipping watered-down tea and hearing about Lady Selwyn's third cousin's mysterious rash, by all means, go. The door works the same for everyone."

Alexandra gasped with mock offense, clutching her chest. "You wound me. Do you know how many people would kill to have me at their table?"

"Precisely why I don't let you leave mine," Gabriel said smoothly, pushing the box of spoons aside. "Rafael, write down 'donation to the southern orphanage kitchens.'"

Rafael's pen scratched without pause. "Noted. House Selwyn will be thrilled to know their silver is now in the hands of sticky-fingered five-year-olds."

Irina bit her lip to stifle a laugh, though her wide eyes stayed fixed on the growing piles. "Is it really safe to… I mean, shouldn't we… maybe we shouldn't open them ourselves?"

Edward exhaled through his nose, pinched, and long-suffering. "We shouldn't. But His Majesty the Emperor decided His Majesty the Empress required occupation. And so here we are, cataloguing a year's worth of aristocratic delusion."

Gabriel slid the knife under the next ribbon, cutting cleanly through the silk. "Delusion? That's generous. This…" he flipped the lid, revealing a miniature gilded carriage lined with pearls, "is lunacy." He arched a brow toward Edward. "Do we keep it? Parade Arik through the palace like a doll?"

Alexandra snorted, finally abandoning the window. "Oh, gods, please. Do it. Imagine the mother's face when her grandson rolls into the chapel in a toy coach."

"Her heart would stop," Edward muttered.

"Good," Gabriel replied without inflection, shutting the carriage back into its box. "Auction it. Rafael, mark it."

Irina leaned forward, eyes still round. "So… none of this is really for you?"

"Of course not," Gabriel said, tone light, but the steel in his gaze pinned her. "Gifts aren't for the receiver, they're for the giver. A theater of loyalty. A way to measure what they think I'll tolerate."

The knife slid through the next seal. Another box. Another gleam, this time silk robes embroidered in dizzying red and gold patterns, the kind meant to dazzle a crowd. Gabriel ran his thumb once over the thread before dropping the fabric back with a shake of his head.

"Garish," he said. "Burn them."

Edward's composure cracked just enough for his jaw to tighten. "Your Excellency, the value…"

"—is irrelevant," Gabriel cut in softly, his smile thin as glass. "Better ash than the sight of Damian forced to wear something so hideous."

From the corner, Alexandra gave a delighted laugh. "See, this is why you keep me here. I can witness this glorious destruction firsthand."

"You can have the material and do whatever you want with it." Gabriel threw the knife onto his desk with a metallic clatter and exhaled, sharp enough to cut. "I want back in my bed with Arik."

"That makes two of us," Alexandra purred, already gathering the discarded silk into her arms like a prize. "Well, minus the child. You can keep him. I'll take the fabric."

Irina's eyes widened, scandalized. "You can't just take imperial tributes…"

"Watch me." Alexandra draped the robe over her shoulders, spinning toward the tall mirror in the corner. The fabric shimmered faintly where the threads caught the blue light of the ether strips running along the ceiling. "See? I look divine. Damian will regret not marrying me instead."

Gabriel rubbed at the corner of his eye with two fingers, the faint circles beneath them betraying the hours he'd been stuck here. "If Damian ever makes you Empress, I'll abdicate on the spot and crown Rafael."

Rafael didn't even glance up from his ether-slate, its surface scrolling as he catalogued House after House. "Denied. I refuse the position."

Edward muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer. He was bent over the next crate, tapping commands into the scanner built into his tablet. The ether light pulsed green, confirming no immediate toxins, but his shoulders still sagged under the weight of it all. "If the four of you would kindly remember, these aren't playthings. They're state property."

"State property," Gabriel echoed flatly, "that tried to suffocate us with camphor three deliveries ago. Forgive me if I don't feel reverent."

The words chilled the room. Even the faint hum of the scanner seemed louder. Irina's hands tightened in her lap, pale as she remembered how fast Gabriel's ether had lashed out the last time. Alexandra, of course, only adjusted her new 'robe' with a smirk.

Gabriel leaned back, watching another cart of boxes glide in on its automated wheels. "They call this tribute. Gifts, jewels, silks, perfume. But all it really is…" he gestured with a lazy flick of his hand, "is nobles seeing how close they can stand without losing fingers."

He reached for the knife again, twirling it idly. The steel caught the cold ether light, flashing once before settling in his palm. "And I'm tired enough to stop at fingers."

Alexandra laughed, low and delighted. "Darling, don't threaten them. You'll ruin the surprise."

"Idle threats," Gabriel murmured, lips curving without warmth, "are for people with patience. I haven't had any since the rebellion."