Damian didn’t react right away. He picked up Gabriel’s discarded fork, wiped it down with a napkin, and set it on the table’s edge to be picked up by a server later.
"Let him rage." I gave him every opportunity to keep his crown.
Gabriel shifted in his seat, his hand still resting lightly on the quiet beneath his skin. "King Edmund isn’t trying to protect his people or the throne; he just wants to bring his brother down with him."
Edward gave a short nod. "That seems to be the general strategy among crumbling monarchs."
"And Edmund isn’t the only one trying to bluff against fire," Damian murmured. His gaze was now distant, angled at the letters. "I assu Max is already monitoring troop movents at the southern crossing?"
"Max and Leslie both," Edward confird. "We also intercepted a courier two hours ago near the border. A ssage from Donin. Edmund and Hadeon are attempting to force a two-front distraction.
Gabriel let out a humorless laugh, low and sharp. "They believe you’re still in recovery."
Damian fixed his gaze on him. "They believe you’re too preoccupied with to act."
"Then let’s ruin their expectations." Gabriel reached for his water, taking a asured sip. "Tomorrow, I’ll approve the ergency provisions for the western base. If they’re really planning to press from Pais, we’ll need to pre-empt the strain on the smaller cities."
Damian’s hand slid back to his mate’s arm, steady, possessive. "You’re not handling it alone."
"I’m not," Gabriel said. "I have you. And Edward. And Max."
"And half a Shadow division waiting for the order," Edward added mildly. "Though I assu we’re not going scorched earth just yet?"
"Not yet," Damian said. "But let Edmund scream a little louder. I’ll answer with the silence of his city gates closing on him."
Gabriel humd but didn’t say anything. They ate in peace until Damian decided to ruin it.
"Now let’s get you to Marin."
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed above the rim of his glass.
"No."
Damian raised a brow. "That wasn’t a suggestion."
Gabriel set the glass down with exaggerated care. "I’ve already seen him this week."
"Yes. Three days ago. And you nearly passed out yesterday afternoon but pretended it was a dramatic sigh."
"It was a dramatic sigh. You said sothing stupid." Gabriel leaned back, fork poised like a weapon he had no real intention of using. "You’re the one who was poisoned and bedridden. I should be dragging you to Marin."
"I’ve already seen him this morning," Damian replied smoothly, his tone infuriatingly calm. "He cleared for assassination, political upheaval, and occasional husband-carrying. Your turn."
Gabriel scoffed. "You’re not carrying again."
"I’ll carry you, especially if you argue," Damian said, pushing back his chair and standing. "And you’re five months pregnant. Stop pretending you’re winning this."
Gabriel glanced toward Edward, who wisely averted his gaze and began sorting the sealed logs as though they were more interesting than this power struggle in real ti.
The oga muttered sothing unkind under his breath, then stood with reluctant grace.
—
The physician’s chamber had been transford, at Gabriel’s request, into sothing resembling a near-clinical wing: clean lines, no flowers, no pastel curtains, and certainly no lace. There were only polished tile floors, sterilized surfaces, and a faint hum of ether emanating from diagnostic panels embedded in the walls.
Dr. Marin was already waiting.
He gave both of them a dry once-over before motioning to the padded bench in the corner.
Gabriel shot Damian a sharp look, don’t say anything; don’t make this worse, but Damian just smiled like a man who had no intention of being good.
"Sit," Marin said, already sliding on a pair of gloves and activating the reader. "Lift the shirt."
Gabriel complied with a muttered insult and a sigh, bracing his hands behind him as the cool ether plate pressed against the curve of his stomach. The child did not kick this ti, but the readings on the monitor pulsed golden, with a strong and steady ether signature.
Marin made a noise in the back of his throat. Not quite a hum, not quite concern.
"Still asuring just over five months," he said, tapping the screen. "You’re carrying low for a dominant oga, but that’s understandable given the strain on your body. You’ve dropped weight again."
Gabriel didn’t respond.
Marin didn’t wait for him to. He turned to face Damien. "He hasn’t reduced his workload."
Damian folded his arms, golden gaze steady. "He has. He delegated everything I asked him to. And he eats als, not just coffee."
Marin glanced at Gabriel, skeptical. "Then it’s his body being inconvenient again."
Gabriel sighed, sitting back and adjusting the hem of his shirt. "You think I’d still be upright if I hadn’t listened to the last six lectures?"
Marin didn’t bother to sugarcoat it.
"Then your body is as obstinate as you. It’ll get tougher from here on out. Your ribs are already shifting to make room, and your hips are adjusting gradually, resulting in pain, sleep disruption, and increased pressure on your lungs."
Gabriel cocked his head slightly, his mouth tightening in sothing too composed to be a grimace. "So, the usual joys of biology. Noted."
"You say that now," Marin muttered, scrolling through the latest biotric data. "But in three weeks, you’ll be trading state secrets for an uninterrupted night of sleep."
Damian’s gaze narrowed slightly, not at Marin, but at Gabriel. He didn’t miss Gabriel’s slight puff of breath as he shifted in his seat, or how his fingers briefly pressed against the base of his spine.
"So, basically, you want to be on bed rest from now on."
Marin didn’t flinch. "I want you to behave as if you’re carrying a future heir, not a sealed war report."
Gabriel scoffed under his breath, reaching for the water glass next to him. "You do realize I’ve been running the Empire while he was unconscious, right?"
"And now you’ll do it sitting down more often," Marin replied, tone dry. "Preferably with your feet up, hydration within reach, and soone nearby who notices when you drop your things because your child decides to roundhouse kick your organs."
"Fine." Gabriel raised his hands in mock surrender, "I will do as you say, doc, but we need to announce the pregnancy earlier."
Marin didn’t blink. "That would be the logical move."
Damian’s gaze slid toward Gabriel, a sharp glint in his eyes. "You want to go public now?"
Gabriel exhaled, slow and steady. "They already suspect. The rumors are biting at the edges. And it’s getting harder to pretend my coat still buttons without effort."
"You hate attention," Damian reminded him, not unkindly. "You hate the court speculating."
Gabriel leaned back in his chair, one hand resting over his abdon, almost unconsciously. "They’re going to speculate either way. I’d rather they do it while choking on confirmation than spinning theories in comfort."
Marin grunted, clearly satisfied. "Good. Then you’ll have less pressure and more room to breathe, figuratively and literally. I’ll speak with Edward and arrange the formal approval from the dical board. We can coordinate the announcent as early as tomorrow."
Damian stood slowly, crossing to Gabriel with the deliberate patience of soone holding back a dozen thoughts. He reached down, brushing his fingers along the edge of Gabriel’s jaw before letting them fall to rest briefly against his shoulder.
"Then we’ll tell them," he said, quiet but certain. "On our terms."
Gabriel looked up at him and gave a faint, crooked smile. "Just don’t let Edward choose the announcent photo."
"I was going to use the security footage," Damian said dryly, "from when you threw a minister’s report at Christian’s head."
"Perfect," Gabriel murmured. "That’s the energy we want."
Reviews
All reviews (0)