The weeks that followed blurred differently this time. No endless council petitions stacked at his elbow, just the quiet weight of recovery, the hours stretching softer than Gabriel ever allowed them to.

Cecil was not Arik, he slept easily, deeply, and unbothered by the world's noise or ether hum. The nannies adored him for it, and Gabriel, though stubbornly keeping him close in those first days, found himself with a child who could be trusted to rest in his crib without wailing for the world to bend around him. Sometimes Gabriel almost resented the quiet, though the steady rhythm of the boy's breath was its own balm.

He had sworn he wouldn't linger idle, that he'd return to his desk within days, but Cecil's calmness made liars of them all. Instead, he let himself remain on the couch, recovery slow but steady, while Arik sprawled across the carpet with his books, reading passages aloud with all the solemnity of a six-year-old prince who occasionally invented details when the text bored him. Damian's shadow lingered close, watchful, though he said little, his presence grounding as much as it was possessive.

The palace hummed with its conduits, but in the imperial rooms the sound seemed muted, softened into something like peace. Gabriel, against his own nature, was content to let it stay that way.

It was on one such afternoon, the lamps dimmed low, Cecil in the nursery, that the wards at the door stirred. Alexandra entered without hesitation, Rowena balanced on her hip. The girl was nearly a year old now, her dark hair curling stubbornly at the edges, her bright green eyes too curious for her own good.

"Don't look at me like that," Alexandra said immediately, lips curving as Gabriel lifted a brow. She adjusted her daughter's weight on her hip, the child already reaching for a ribbon at her mother's collar. "I brought reinforcements."

"Are you talking about Rowena or gossip?" Gabriel drawled, shifting slightly against the couch cushions, his brown eyes cutting sharp amusement her way.

"Both," Alexandra replied smoothly, lowering herself into the armchair opposite him. Rowena squealed, lunging toward Gabriel with all the single-minded ferocity of a child who had already learned how to get her way. Alexandra sighed but handed her over, and Gabriel accepted his niece with far less reluctance than his words ever suggested.

Rowena settled against him instantly, chubby fists tangling in his shirt, her bright eyes fixed on his face with an unblinking curiosity that always left him faintly disarmed. Gabriel huffed under his breath, brushing a thumb over her hair. "Traitor. You were supposed to make her cling to you, not me."

"She likes decisive people," Alexandra said sweetly, crossing one leg over the other. "Unlike some of your council."

Gabriel's lips curved, sharp and fond all at once, but his gaze flicked back to her with a knowing tilt of his head. "So. Reinforcements delivered. Where's the gossip?"

Alexandra's smirk widened. "Astana and Christian. They finally set the date."

Gabriel blinked once, slowly, his brow arching as Rowena attempted to chew on his collar. "You came all the way up here to tell me that Damian's secretary is marrying into the family while I'm still bleeding from childbirth?"

"Obviously," Alexandra said smoothly, unbothered. "Someone has to prepare you before the invitations start flying. You know Christian won't let it be small. And Astana…" Her mouth twitched, halfway to a laugh. "Astana looks like a man about to be marched to execution, except I caught him smiling when he thought no one was watching."

Gabriel snorted, sharp and low. "Execution suits him. He's survived mine often enough." He shifted Rowena on his lap, her small hand grabbing at his jaw as if seconding the statement. "Christian, though, he'll make the entire capital watch. Half the nobility will faint from trying to interpret whether he's serious or mocking them."

Alexandra laughed under her breath, eyes gleaming. "Which is why I want front-row seats."

Gabriel tilted his head, studying her, his smirk curling slowly. "You're enjoying this far too much."

"Of course I am," she said, smoothing Rowena's curls. "Astana, married. Christian, tethered. Can you imagine? The palace hasn't seen this much potential chaos since you decided to bond with Damian in front of the entire Empire."

Gabriel's brown eyes glinted with wicked amusement, but his voice was dry as ever. "At least I gave them a scandal worthy of their time. A wedding? That's almost respectable."

"Respectable," Alexandra echoed, her smirk softening into something sly. "Until Christian opens his mouth."

Gabriel huffed a laugh, leaning back against the cushions, Rowena's weight warm against his chest. "Then gods help Astana. He wanted decisiveness? He's marrying a storm."

"Well, he did accept to be changed into an omega," Alexandra said, green eyes glinting. "Gods help him."

Gabriel's brows arched, amusement slipping easily through his fatigue. "Six years at Christian's side, and he still decided to make it permanent. Donin flourishes under Christian's rule, enough that Damian has to keep his promise to approve any partner he wants. It was only a matter of time before it was official."

Alexandra smirked, bouncing Rowena lightly when she wriggled. "Official, yes. Sensible? Questionable. You've met Christian. He can't sit through a council meeting without cracking jokes."

Gabriel huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Astana knew what he was marrying. If he wanted quiet, he should've picked a librarian, not a Lyon prince."

"And yet," Alexandra teased, "he looks happier than half the court combined."

"Because he's stubborn enough to match Christian," Gabriel replied dryly, though the corner of his mouth curved fondly. "It'll work. Loudly, but it'll work."

—

Damian's office had never been built for company. The lines of the desk were clean, the shelves ordered, and the ether conduits humming with steady precision, every surface made for command, for decisions carved into permanence. Yet this afternoon, it felt more like a den than a war room.

Christian had claimed one of the armchairs opposite the desk, silver eyes bright with the kind of restless amusement that turned every silence into an opportunity for trouble. He lounged there like he owned the place, jacket undone, legs stretched out, a smirk hovering at the corner of his mouth.

Max sat on the edge of the desk itself, unconcerned by the fact that it was meant for council decrees and military maps. His green eyes flicked lazily across the tablet he'd swiped from Damian's pile, one ankle crossed over the other, as if the empire's paperwork were simply another of his distractions.

Neither moved when Damian looked up from his notes. Neither flinched under his gaze.

Once, he would have never allowed it. His office had been a sanctum, a fortress where even allies entered cautiously, aware of the weight that pressed in with him. Now? His younger brother and his half-brother sat there as though the wards had been tuned to them alone, as though they belonged.

Damian leaned back in his chair, golden eyes narrowing faintly. "Tell me," he said, voice low, edged with steel though softer than it once would have been. "When did my office become your sitting room?"

Christian grinned outright, unbothered. "The moment Astana said yes. I thought you'd be grateful. It means fewer headaches for you."

Max snorted without looking up, flicking through another page of the report. "He's lying. He's here because Gabriel threw him out for being too loud. Again."

That earned a laugh from Christian, light and shameless. "What can I say? Our brother-in-law prefers peace. Which is why I come here. You'd miss me if I stayed away."

Damian hummed, leaning back in his chair, the golden glint of his eyes sharp even as his fingers turned the royal seal over and over in his palm. The weight of it caught the lamplight, the edges digging faintly into his skin.

"So," he said at last, voice low, almost idle, though the air in the office tightened with the shift. "Did you find anything interesting about Felix Canmore?"