The door opened again, this ti without a knock, because if you were the Emperor or Max Claymore, you didn’t knock. You just entered, fully aware of your rank, your right, and the chaos you might be walking into.
Damian stepped in first, tailored in black with the faintest shimr of ward-stitched thread down his cuffs. His hair was perfectly in place, and his golden eyes were sharp but focused entirely on one thing.
Gabriel.
Or more precisely, Gabriel holding their son like a living anchor.
Max followed two steps behind, dressed like a man who had woken up fifteen minutes ago and dared the world to comnt on it. His black hair, identical in shade to Damian’s, was cut in what could generously be called strategic dishevelnt: short on the sides, longer on top, clearly styled at so point in the past twenty-four hours, then violently abandoned to the whims of gravity and caffeine. There was a stubborn curl falling over his forehead like punctuation to his smirk, and from the way he walked, hands full, one with a folder, the other with a croissant, you’d think his sole job was to disrupt schedules and seduce soone’s heir.
His green eyes, bright and entirely too entertained, swept the room with a lazy predator’s grace.
"Well," Max said, as if announcing a weather report. "The royal nest is full."
"Occupied," Gabriel said, without looking up. "You’re intruding."
"You love it," Max said, not bothering to deny it. He glanced at Irina and waggled the croissant. "Bribe?"
She bead and took it with both hands. "For the record, I am easy to win over."
"Sa," Alexandra muttered, catching the second croissant Max tossed her without ever breaking posture. "As long as there’s coffee."
Max turned to Damian, who hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, just watched Gabriel like the rest of the room didn’t matter. "You’re going to stare until your eyes fall out. Just go take the kid."
"Are you giving advice while you are running to the palace from your pregnant oga?" Damian said, still unmoving.
Max snorted, unbothered. "I’m not running. I’m relocating until Adam stops threatening to stab with a fork every ti I breathe too loud."
"You sent him a floral arrangent with a note that said ’congrats on the hormonal apocalypse.’" Gabriel said flatly, one brow raised.
"And yet," Max replied, utterly shaless, "it was a very tasteful arrangent."
"You’re lucky Adam didn’t eat the card," Alexandra muttered.
"I’m lucky he didn’t feed it to ," Max corrected, then turned back to Damian with mock exasperation. "Anyway, don’t deflect. That’s your child. He’s imprinting on Gabriel like he’s afraid you’re just a myth. Go. Reclaim your parental dignity."
Damian approached Gabriel and took the baby from his mate. "He missed Gabriel for a week, now he won’t let go."
Gabriel let the weight of Arik leave his chest slowly, his arms trailing the motion as Damian lifted their son, careful but not hesitant. Arik blinked once, twice, his little mouth twitching at the sudden shift in altitude, then, upon realizing whose chest he’d landed against, let out a soft sigh and imdiately latched onto the front of Damian’s shirt with surprising grip strength for soone who weighed less than a pumpkin.
"He thinks I abandoned him," Gabriel said, watching the way Arik burrowed instinctively toward the warmth of his father’s skin. "Technically, I did."
"You were unconscious in a shard space for seven days," Damian murmured, voice low and even as he adjusted his hold. "Don’t make it sound like a vacation."
"Still counts," Max said, now lounging across the nearest armchair like he paid rent there. "This kid’s already got abandonnt issues and you haven’t even taught him to speak."
Gabriel rubbed the corner of one eye. "So, why are you here? Running from oga, visiting your nephew, or being grateful that Damian gave Donin to Christian?"
Max’s smirk curved sharper, green eyes gleaming like soone who’d just been handed the perfect bait and intended to bite it for sport.
"All three," he said cheerfully, spreading his arms like it was obvious. "Adam’s been threatening to relocate my internal organs with a dessert fork, your son is the only person in the palace who still likes unconditionally, and yes, yes, I am deeply, spiritually, erotically grateful that Damian passed that flaming wreck of a province to Christian instead of ."
Damian, still focused on adjusting Arik’s tiny fingers away from pulling his collar, didn’t look up. "I thought you wanted Donin."
"I wanted Donin when it was stable," Max replied, tone dry. "Before the border raids, the trade sabotage, and the generous sprinkle of rebel holdouts with daddy issues."
"Sounds like your type," Gabriel muttered.
Max pressed a hand to his heart, mock-wounded. "How dare you reduce to a walking kink profile. I have depth. Mystery. Layers."
"You have enemies," Alexandra said. "Who send you silk flowers and poisoned pastries."
"And I’m still here," Max said, unbothered. "Which just proves I’m everyone’s favorite."
Irina blinked. "You’re terrifying."
"Thank you," Max said sweetly, then tossed her a look. "But not as terrifying as Alexander. I’ve heard that the second commander of shadows is officially courting you."
Irina, mid-bite of croissant, choked.
Alexandra reached over and patted her back with a smirk. "That’s what you get for trying to pretend he’s not courting you."
"I’m not pretending..." Irina coughed again, face flushing. "We’re just... taking things slow."
Gabriel glanced over the rim of his tablet. "A high arcanist sending annotated books and personally calibrated ether charms is not slow. That’s a formal thesis wrapped in courtship."
Max looked delighted. "It’s also the most Alexander way to flirt. ’Please accept this deeply complex arcane formula that only three people in the capital can solve. Also, I like your hair.’"
Irina buried her face in her hands. "He did not say that."
"He didn’t have to," Alexandra said sweetly. "He shows up. He holds your bag. He waits after council sessions so you don’t walk back alone. He even complints your shielding layers, which, I must remind you, is the arcanist equivalent of a love poem."
Gabriel, entirely deadpan: "He’s worse than Damian."
"Not worse," Max corrected, lounging across the nearest armchair like it was a throne. "Just... more academic about it. Which, frankly, is more terrifying. At least Damian bites."
"He doesn’t bite ," Irina muttered, flustered. "We’re not... It’s not like that. Yet. And maybe not ever. We’re just dating. Officially. Like normal people."
"In a palace where normal ans sending warded roses with embedded frequency matches," Alexandra added dryly.
Max made a thoughtful sound. "Honestly, I admire it. He’s terrifying, but not pushy. Respectful. Weirdly romantic in a ’please take this containnt spell as proof of my intentions’ kind of way."
"I like him," Irina said quietly, hands folded in her lap now. "He never treats like I’m fragile. Or ornantal. And he always asks before anything."
Gabriel nodded once, the faintest approval in his voice. "Good. He better keep it that way."
"And he’s polite to nannies," Alexandra added, which earned a rare, brief smile from Gabriel. "It’s a dying art."
"I still say," Max said lazily, "that if he sends one more personally inscribed binding circle with poetic footnotes, it counts as a public engagent."
"He did not..." Irina began, but Max cut her off with a grin.
"I’m joking. Mostly. But if you need soone to vet your wedding guest list, I am very experienced in vetoing drama."
"Starting with Rafael," Alexandra said smoothly, "if he shows up shirtless in revenge couture."
Gabriel sighed into his tablet. "I bla myself."
"You should," Max said cheerfully. "They learned from the best."
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