It became a campaign.

Every day, without fail, Alexandra found an excuse to descend on the Emperor's wing under the guise of "checking on her nephew." In truth, she spent every stolen minute leaning over Arik with determination blazing in her pale green eyes, her voice coaxing, pleading, commanding:

"Al. Aaaal. Come now, darling, it's easier than papa. Al. Al."

Arik, golden-eyed and smug, would blink up at her, tug on her earrings, and babble nonsense. Sometimes he gurgled mama again, to Gabriel's eternal despair and Damian's amusement. But Al never crossed his lips.

Irina, posted more often than not in the study with Gabriel's reports, watched it all with wide-eyed fascination. "You're going to drive yourself mad," she murmured one morning when Alexandra was on her fifth attempt.

"Mad?" Alexandra shot back, straightening her gown. "I am Marchioness of Lancaster. I don't lose to a word."

Irina bit back her laugh, wisely pretending to return to the reports.

—

Three days into the campaign, the palace gates announced the arrival of Maximilian Claymore, Adam Delronne at his side, carrying their two-month-old son, Noah.

The meeting was both family and duty. Max, now officially head of House Claymore, had obligations to present his child to the Emperor and Empress, but he arrived with the ease of someone who could not care less about stiff formality.

Gabriel, with Arik propped on his hip, greeted them in the private salon. Damian was beside him, dressed in black as always, his expression softer than the nobles ever saw, though still sharp enough to make Max roll his eyes.

Adam entered first, dignity intact despite the infant bundled against his chest. Noah, swaddled in pale blue, slept soundly with the serene entitlement only newborns possessed.

"Two emperors, one marchioness, one secretary's sister," Max muttered as he stepped in behind Adam, green eyes gleaming with humor. "And yet somehow, I still look the most respectable."

Gabriel arched a brow, calm and precise. "That's because your husband is carrying the child, not you."

Max grinned, unrepentant, as Adam settled beside him with Noah.

Arik, golden eyes wide, reached for the bundle immediately, babbling insistently.

Alexandra swooped in before Gabriel could answer, holding up her hands like a herald at war. "Say Al first, and then you may meet your cousin."

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose. "Alexandra…"

Irina laughed outright this time, unable to help herself. "He's never going to give you what you want."

But Arik only squealed louder, one hand still fisted in Gabriel's shirt, the other reaching desperately toward Noah, as if declaring possession already.

"Mama!" he shouted again.

Gabriel groaned. Max barked out a laugh. Adam smiled faintly, swaying Noah in his arms. And Alexandra, undeterred, crouched down until she was level with both boys.

"You hear me, Arik Lyon?" Alexandra said fiercely, pointing at herself. "One day you will say Al. Before papa. Before anyone. And I'll be here when you do."

Noah chose that exact moment to yawn, stretch, and let out a tiny squeak. The entire room softened.

Arik blinked at his cousin, golden eyes wide, then narrowed at Alexandra blocking his view. His little face scrunched in irritation. With sudden determination, he twisted sharply in Gabriel's arms, one tiny hand stretching toward Damian.

"Papa!"

The word rang out clear, sharp, and demanding.

The salon froze.

Gabriel's jaw dropped, Max nearly choked on his laughter, and Adam pressed his lips together to hide his smile. Irina clapped both hands over her mouth, eyes huge.

Damian stilled, golden gaze fixed entirely on his son. Slowly, a rare smile broke across his face, broad, unguarded, and devastating in its warmth. He stepped forward without hesitation, scooping Arik into his arms.

The boy burrowed into his father's chest, fists clinging to the black fabric of Damian's shirt, his golden eyes already heavy with satisfaction. "Papa," he repeated softly, as if sealing the truth.

Gabriel groaned into his hand. "Of course. He waits until there's a full audience."

Max laughed outright. "Perfect timing. My nephew knows exactly how to deliver a blow."

Alexandra stood frozen, her mouth half open. Then her eyes narrowed, realization hitting with the force of lightning. "Wait." She pointed at Arik, indignation flooding her tone. "He chose that. He chose papa, not because it was easier, not because it came first, but to spite me! A baby chose this because I stood in front of what he wanted!"

Max leaned against the arm of a chair, doubled over with laughter. "Oh, gods above, he's a Lyon and a von Jaunez both. Spite before sense. That's my nephew."

Irina, still half-covering her mouth, managed to nod, her blue eyes wide. "It's true. He glared at you, Marchioness. He glared and then called for the Emperor. That was no accident."

Alexandra threw her hands skyward in dramatic despair. "Unbelievable! Eight months old and already wielding spite like a blade. Gabriel, he is your son, through and through."

Gabriel groaned from his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Thank you, sister; I didn't need that reminder."

Adam, ever composed, only adjusted Noah's blanket with one elegant hand, though his lips curved faintly. "It seems Arik understands politics already. He knew which parent would make his claim impossible to deny."

Damian chuckled, low and warm, pressing a kiss into his son's messy hair. "Or he simply knew who could move Alexandra out of his way fastest."

Arik cooed at that, golden eyes half-lidded in smug satisfaction, one small fist patting Damian's jaw.

"Papa," he said again, quieter this time, but no less certain.

Alexandra clutched dramatically at her chest. "He's doing it on purpose. Over and over! This is treason. Treason by a child!"

Max, tears still in his eyes from laughing, managed to gasp, "Don't worry, Marchioness, he'll call you Al the day you stop trying to make him."

Alexandra's pale green eyes sharpened like knives. "Never."

Gabriel groaned again, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips as he leaned back in his chair, exhaustion softened by amusement. "The Empire is doomed. My son has declared war, and his first casualty is my sister's pride."