Cecil was already fighting sleep at the table, his small silver eyes drooping despite his stubborn effort to spear the last piece of fruit on his plate. When his fork clattered against porcelain, Edward moved smoothly to lift him from his chair. The boy mumbled something half-formed against his shoulder before his head dropped, heavy with drowsiness, and the Shadow carried him off toward the nursery without a sound.

Arik lasted longer. He argued for another chapter, another hour, another excuse to remain, golden eyes bright with mischief even as his lids betrayed him. Damian endured the debate with steady patience until finally he rose and rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. One quiet look, sharp, unwavering, and Arik slumped with a groan of defeat. Edward reappeared to guide him away as well, ignoring the muttered promises that he'd sneak back tomorrow.

The suite settled once the doors closed, leaving only the hum of ether in the conduits and the faint rhythm of the city pulsing beyond the glass. Gabriel loosened his tie fully, dropping it across the back of a chair before sinking into the couch with a sigh.

"I love them," he murmured, tipping his head back against the cushions, brown eyes glinting with wry exhaustion. "But gods, I'll strangle the day they decide to team up."

Damian's golden gaze lingered on him, a faint curve at his mouth. "You'll be proud of it. Two princes tearing through court with your tongue and my teeth."

Gabriel huffed, sharp amusement flashing before his expression sharpened again. His gaze slid to the decanter on the side table, though he didn't move to pour. "Cain Canmore."

The name cut through the calm, hanging between them like a drawn blade.

Damian lowered himself into the armchair opposite, posture steady, his hand curling around the armrest as though weighing the word himself. "The envoy of Wrohan," he said slowly. "Groomed for succession, polished to reassure us they've nothing left to hide. A dominant alpha, just like his father would want." His golden eyes narrowed, unyielding. "But Felix's blood runs in him."

Gabriel shifted, setting the cool rim of the mint water glass against his lips before speaking, his other hand steady over the curve of his stomach. "Felix may have built them a throne, but Wrohan has the same flaw they always did. They can bleed ether out of the ground faster than any of us, efficient conduits, near-perfect exploitation of natural veins, but they still have no clue how to store it."

Damian tilted his head, watching him. "Extraction without retention."

"Exactly." Gabriel set the glass down, fingers tapping idly against the condensation. "They can flood entire provinces with raw ether, sell it, burn it, or trade it, but the moment you ask them to hold it, compress it, or transport it without half of it bleeding out of the lines? They're children with a bucket full of holes. They've never developed stabilizers, never perfected crystallization, and their containment systems are barely first-generation compared to ours."

A faint smirk tugged at Damian's mouth. "And you think they're finally ready to admit it."

Gabriel's eyes glinted, sharp, technical clarity sliding through his words. "Cain isn't coming here to pay respect to your coronation. He's coming with a ledger. Wrohan has production; we have storage and long-distance transport. They want to trade volume for containment. My guess? They're drowning in their own excess and too proud to say it outright."

Damian leaned forward, his thumb rolling the imperial seal across the desk, the golden edge catching lamplight. "So they want us to hold their blood for them."

"Mm," Gabriel hummed, dry. "Imagine the leverage that gives us. Every ounce of ether that leaves their veins but sits in our vaults becomes ours to ration. They'd bind themselves to us with every shipment."

"Unless," Damian murmured, his golden eyes narrowing further, "Cain offers this as a lure, expecting we'll take the bait and hand them access to our designs."

Gabriel smirked faintly, his fingers resting firmly over the swell of his stomach. "They can't replicate our technology. Not with the level of crystallography and resonance stabilizers we use. They don't have the engineers, the channels, or the generations of refinement we bled into it. At best, they'll try to peer over the wall and guess. At worst, they'll try to steal it."

"And?" Damian asked.

"And we let them try." Gabriel's brown eyes cut sharp to him, glinting under the lamplight. "Because every attempt only proves how much they need us."

The silence stretched, humming with the faint pulse of conduits in the palace walls. Damian turned the seal once more in his hand, the decision already carving itself into steel.

"At the anniversary," he said at last, voice low, final, "we'll see whether Cain Canmore comes bearing tribute or a leash."

Gabriel's smirk curved thinner, sharper. "Either way, the collar will be his."

—

The palace glowed like a living engine that night, its conduits thrumming low beneath marble floors, light spilling from glass-veined walls where ether flowed in controlled cascades. It was a celebration, yes, but also a demonstration: every guest left in awe of the Empire's mastery. Chandeliers pulsed faint blue and gold, their crystals fed by endless streams of refined ether; the music swelled and softened without a visible orchestra, powered entirely by resonant lines woven into the air.

Damian and Gabriel moved through it with the inevitability of gravity itself, one in sharp black, the other in silver-grey, their presence commanding the room long before words were exchanged. Nobles bent, foreign kings and ministers bowed, and cameras flashed like fireflies.

But Cain Canmore? He had been managed with care.

High-ranking officials met him at the gates. A Shadow escorted him through the palace. At every turn, he was honored without ever being touched by the Emperor's or the Consort's gaze. It was intentional, careful, never slighting him, but never elevating him either.

And yet, fate, or politics, was not so easily avoided.

The banquet reached its peak, ether chandeliers glowing brighter as midnight neared and the lines of greeting drawing longer. Damian stood with golden eyes unyielding, Gabriel at his side, composed and sharp as glass. Their movements were smooth and automatic; names were acknowledged, hands clasped, and faces remembered and dismissed.

Then the next name was announced.

"Cain Canmore, Envoy of Wrohan."

The crowd seemed to shift, the air tightening.

Cain stepped forward from the line. Tall and sharp-featured, his silver suit cut with delicate lines that spoke of Wrohan's wealth, his light violet eyes catching the glow of the etherlight with unsettling clarity. He carried himself like a man used to being watched. For a moment, silence stretched, as though the palace itself leaned in.

Gabriel's brown eyes flicked over him first, sharp and assessing, with no hint of warmth. Damian's gaze followed, molten gold steady, pressing in weight without a word. Neither extended their hand. Neither moved to greet him first.

It was Cain who bowed, the angle deep enough to honor them without debasing himself.

"Your Majesty. Your Excellency." His voice was smooth, cultivated, carrying no trace of strain. "On behalf of Wrohan, I extend congratulations for this anniversary. May the Empire's light never dim."

The words were perfect. Empty. Safe.

Gabriel's lips curved faintly, sharp as a blade unsheathed. "Wrohan speaks well. Let us hope it acts as well."

Cain straightened, those pale violet eyes catching his. For a heartbeat, the room seemed to hush.

Damian's voice followed, low, deliberate, every syllable edged with authority. "We will see, won't we?"