Alexandra sat back with her glass of pale wine, legs crossed at the ankle in a picture of noble composure that didn’t match the glint in her eyes. The tension from earlier—Lord Imbecile, the execution, the Empire’s unflinching retaliation—had faded into the kind of courteousness that ca after blood had already been cleaned. The music played again. Conversation resud. But the group gathered at the imperial dais, the inner circle, was far from bored.
"One more," Alexandra said, tapping her glass thoughtfully against the armrest of the couch. "There’s still one more left."
Rafael, mid-sip, froze.
Gabriel raised a brow. "One more what?"
"Successful match," she replied. "Astana and Christian, pending, but we all know it’s happening. Irina and Alexander are a walking scandal waiting to be formalized. You two..." She waved between Gabriel and Damian like their bond wasn’t already the central axis of the Empire. "Max has one. That leaves one person unaccounted for."
Rafael frowned. "Max has what?"
"A mate," Damian replied casually. "He’s on his way back from the western district. You’ll et him soon."
Rafael stared. "He never said anything."
"He doesn’t say much," Alexandra said. "Except when he’s making trouble. Which ans—" she turned slowly, gaze narrowing with calculated mischief, "—that the only one of us still unattached is you."
Rafael imdiately sat straighter. "I’m not... That doesn’t an..."
"I think Gregoris would be a good fit," she said, as if comnting on weather.
Gabriel choked slightly on his drink.
Damian didn’t even try to hide his grin.
Rafael blinked. "I’m sorry, what?"
Alexandra turned to him with the sweetness of a woman who had once bribed an entire council to stall a vote just because she didn’t like the upholstery. "He’s stable. Dangerous. Surprisingly gentle when not chasing traitors across the continent. He needs soone diplomatic to balance him out."
Rafael opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "Are you trying to pair , the one oga that runs from my mother’s attempts at marrying , with the mad bloodhound of the Emperor?" He realized what he said and turned to Damian. "No offense, but he is definitely not normal."
"He can hear you." Damian said with a wide grin, his gaze fixated on a shadow form near the thrones.
Rafael froze.
There was a long beat of silence, the kind that stretched just enough to allow regret to settle like a stone in the gut.
He turned his head slowly toward the throne platform. One of the shadows there shifted just slightly. Not enough to draw attention. Just enough to confirm he’d been there the entire ti.
Gregoris didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The way the ether around the edges of the room pulsed faintly with tension was enough.
"Nope," Rafael said quickly, lifting both hands like a man confronted with a feral animal. "I would rather retire at a monastery."
"Why?" A smooth voice asked from his back right.
Rafael’s spine went rigid.
That voice did not belong to any of his current companions. It was deeper, smoother, and far too close to have been part of the polite conversation circle a mont ago.
Slowly, very slowly, he turned his head.
Gregoris stood just behind him. He wore the simple formal black of the Shadows, but on him, it looked tailored from danger itself. His ash-dark hair was swept back, his steel-silver eyes steady, unreadable.
Rafael swallowed, finding his little sliver of courage. "Because no one wants the most feared man in the Empire as a love interest."
Gregoris didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. He simply studied Rafael like the answer had already been carved into the space between them, waiting patiently for him to catch up.
"That’s not true," he said at last, voice low, almost casual. "I get plenty of offers."
"Then take them," Rafael replied, a little too quickly.
Gregoris humd. "A hunt is more interesting."
And with that, like nothing had happened, he vanished back into the ether at the edge of the room.
Rafael stared at the space Gregoris had just vacated like it might still bite him.
"What was that?" he muttered, half to himself, half to Alexandra, who was already grinning into her wine glass like soone watching a very promising storm roll in.
"That," she said, utterly delighted, "was the beginning."
"I don’t want a beginning," Rafael hissed. "I want distance. I want polite, vague interest at most. I want soone with... with hobbies. Not a body count."
Gabriel, lounging a little too comfortably beside Damian, gave him a look that was all false sympathy and terrible amusent. "You might get a garden," he offered. "If you survive the courting."
Max actually choked on his drink.
Alexandra, unbothered, leaned forward like a queen bestowing doom. "You’re the only one left. Christian has Astana. Irina has Alexander. Max has soone on the way. You, dear Rafael, are the last unclaid territory."
"I’m not territory!" Rafael protested.
Damian humd, gaze drifting to the corner of the ballroom where Gregoris had vanished. "Tell him that. I’m sure he’ll listen."
"Please, Your Majesty, tell it’s just a joke." Rafael almost begged.
Damian turned to look at him fully then, calm, composed, and faintly amused in the way only an emperor with far too much power and far too little rcy could be.
"A joke?" he echoed, golden eyes glinting beneath the chandelier’s light. "Rafael, you’re one of the most eligible ogas in the Empire. Handso. Loyal. Stubborn enough to survive this court. Why would I joke?"
"Because he’s insane," Rafael said, voice rising slightly. "He sleeps with his knives. He once took out five n before his coffee. He doesn’t even blink when people scream."
"Neither do you," Alexandra murmured, ever the portrait of innocence with war in her eyes.
Rafael turned to her, scandalized. "That was once, and he was being inappropriate!"
He paused, grasping for argunts like a man outnumbered with no terrain advantage. "Do you realize my mother would kill before handing over to him? She has a curated vision of the perfect husband. Gentle. Mild. Preferably allergic to sharp objects."
Gabriel, thoughtful now, tilted his head slightly as if recalling sothing from the edges of classified mory. "Well... he is the Duke of Alamina. From the rebellion. It’s not public, but Delphine surely knows the na."
Rafael blinked. "What?!"
"He’s one of the two commanders of the Shadows," Damian added, lounging back like this was his favorite theater. "Did you think I wouldn’t want his vote in Parliant?"
Rafael looked around, as if the air itself had betrayed him. "You made the bloodhound a duke?!"
"If there are Viscounts still thinking the Empress-in-waiting is available," Gabriel said, dry as winter air, "then Gregoris can be a duke. And a very good one at that. Finest work."
Damian didn’t bother hiding his grin. "He even attends council etings now. Silent. Deadly. Efficient. Like a letter opener, no one rembers until it’s in your chest."
Rafael buried his face in his hands. "I’m going to die. That’s what this is. A very elegant, very well-catered execution."
Alexandra patted his shoulder with zero sympathy. "Oh, don’t be dramatic. You haven’t even courted yet."
"I don’t want to court! I want plausible deniability and at least five kiloters of distance."
Gabriel tilted his head. "Good luck with that. He already knows your schedule and he seems interested."
Rafael whimpered. "I will throw myself into a diplomatic mission. To the sea. The actual sea."
Damian humd, clearly entertained. "I think Gregoris likes a chase."
"Why are you all like this?" Rafael hissed.
"Because it’s fun," Alexandra said sweetly, raising her glass. "And we love you."
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