Chapter 102: Chapter 102: Imperial ally

Rafael didn’t even blink.

He didn’t do the whole startled noble routine. He didn’t pretend Gabriel had no business knowing. This was the palace. Nothing stayed private for longer than a heartbeat unless someone bled for it.

And Rafael had learned, very quickly, that Gabriel didn’t pry for entertainment. He pried because he needed to know which direction the knives were coming from. The fact that he made it look and feel entertaining was a reflection of the new empress’ abilities.

“It’s going public,” Rafael said, calm, almost pleased in a spiteful way. “Marriage and pregnancy. Together.”

Arik made a small sound and slapped Gabriel’s chest like that was an acceptable decision.

Gabriel’s eyes flicked up. “Good.”

Rafael’s mouth twitched. “You sound relieved.”

“I am,” Gabriel said simply. “The faster you remove ambiguity, the fewer people get to build stories around you.”

Rafael exhaled through his nose. “Tell that to the noble salons. They build stories around empty chairs.”

Gabriel shifted Arik higher on his hip, the movement practiced and easy. “They’ll still gossip. They’ll just have to gossip around a fact they can’t bend.”

Rafael’s gaze sharpened with interest. “So you do approve.”

Gabriel’s expression went faintly amused. “Rafael, if you think I would ever discourage a public announcement that makes your mother choke on her own narrative, you have not been paying attention.”

Rafael laughed, low and honest, like the humor had been trapped in his ribs for days and finally found the exit. “That’s exactly why I’m doing it.”

Gabriel arched a brow. “Just to spite Delphine?”

“To spite Delphine and to kill the vacancy rumor,” Rafael corrected. Then he added, because truth was cheap now and he was tired of performing, “But yes, mostly my mother.”

Arik chose that moment to grab a lock of Gabriel’s hair and tug, as if demanding the story be more dramatic.

Gabriel didn’t flinch. He only pried tiny fingers loose with the patience of a man who had survived war, ether poison, and a baby with the political instincts of an old emperor.

“You have,” Gabriel said lightly, “everything she ever wanted from you.”

Rafael’s smile turned razor-thin. “I know.”

“A husband with a title,” Gabriel continued, counting off on his fingers like he was listing assets in a merger. “A duke nonetheless. A child on the way. A direct allyship with the imperial house.”

Rafael’s laugh was sharp. “She should be satisfied.”

Gabriel’s eyes gleamed. “And she isn’t.”

Rafael leaned back, already resigned to that truth. “She hates it because it’s not hers. She didn’t arrange it. She didn’t negotiate it. She didn’t get to host the spectacle and parade me like a victory.”

“Exactly,” Gabriel said. “It’s out of her control. That’s the part she can’t forgive.

Rafael’s gaze drifted to Arik for a second, because the baby was watching him, too observant, too bright. Because Arik always watched like he was measuring the world for weak points.

Then Rafael looked back at Gabriel, and his expression softened into something warmer, more conspiratorial.

“So,” Rafael said, “tell me you’re going to enjoy the fallout.”

Gabriel’s mouth curved. “Immensely.”

Rafael’s eyes narrowed. “Is Damian going to enjoy it too?”

Gabriel’s expression changed, subtle but there. Something like restrained satisfaction mixed with the faint horror of an overprotective alpha who realized another alpha was stepping onto his territory.

“Damian,” Gabriel said, “already proposed to Gregoris that the announcement be done by the imperial house.”

Rafael froze.

Then he laughed so hard he had to put a hand to his stomach, because the sheer audacity of it was beautiful.

“The imperial house,” Rafael repeated, breathless. “Oh, that’s—”

“That’s Damian,” Gabriel supplied, calm as a knife. “He heard ’rumor’

and decided to crush it with ceremony.”

Rafael wiped at his eye with a knuckle, still laughing. “That’s the best possible way to deal with my mother.”

Gabriel’s smile sharpened. “Because it says, ’This is not a negotiation.’”

“It says,” Rafael corrected, voice bright with spite, “that she doesn’t get a seat at the table.”

Gabriel hummed in agreement, then added, almost casually, “It also says that if she tries to interfere, she’s interfering with the imperial house.”

Rafael exhaled slowly, the laughter settling into something like relief. “She’ll hate that.”

“She’ll hate it,” Gabriel agreed, “because she can’t outmaneuver the palace without setting herself on fire.”

Rafael’s mouth curved, satisfied. “Good.”

Arik made a small, pleased sound and patted Rafael’s sleeve like he was endorsing this entire strategy.

Rafael glanced down at him. “Don’t encourage me.”

Arik blinked and grabbed his sleeve anyway.

Gabriel watched them for a beat, then his gaze sharpened in a different direction, toward the quieter realities Rafael couldn’t see from inside the manor.

“Rafael,” Gabriel said.

The shift in his voice made Rafael’s amusement dim slightly. “What?”

Gabriel leaned back, expression composed, but there was something careful under it, something that meant he was about to give Rafael information that mattered.

“Gregoris looks calm around you,” Gabriel said. “He’ll keep looking calm. He’s very good at it.”

Rafael’s brows drew together. “And?”

Gabriel’s eyes stayed steady. “He’s on the edge of killing Delphine.”

Rafael went still.

Not shocked, one can’t be shocked when marries a man known for being an executioner. But… aware.

Because he’d seen it too: the way Gregoris’s jaw tightened a fraction when Delphine’s name came up, the way his hand would settle at Rafael’s waist like a claim and a warning in one, and the way his voice got colder, quieter, and more dangerous.

Rafael swallowed once. “He wouldn’t.”

Gabriel’s expression was almost sympathetic. Almost. “He won’t do anything reckless. Not in public. Not without justification.”

Rafael’s mouth tightened. “That’s not reassuring.”

Gabriel’s tone stayed flat. “It’s not meant to be reassuring. It’s meant to keep you from underestimating how close he is to the line.”

Rafael stared at him, then exhaled slowly, his hand tightening around the folder like it was something solid in a world that kept shifting.

“What are you telling me,” Rafael said quietly, “that I should warn my mother?”

Gabriel’s eyes gleamed with something dangerously amused. “No.”

Rafael blinked.

Gabriel continued, almost conversationally, “I’m telling you that if Delphine pushes too hard, she’s going to discover what it means to provoke a Shadow commander who has finally decided you’re not allowed to be harmed.”

Rafael’s throat tightened, annoyed at his own reaction to that sentence.

“And,” Gabriel added, because he couldn’t resist twisting the blade just a little, “Damian is the one suggesting we make it an imperial announcement. So if Delphine tries to fight it… she’s not only fighting Gregoris.”

Rafael let out a short, incredulous laugh. “She’s fighting the Emperor.”

Gabriel smiled, sharp and sweet. “Exactly.”

Arik made a small, satisfied noise, as if approving of war plans.

Rafael looked at the baby, then back at Gabriel, and his mouth curved.

“Alright,” Rafael murmured. “Let’s make it public.”

Gabriel’s eyes softened a fraction, then returned to their usual edge. “Good.”

“And Gabriel?” Rafael added, already turning to leave.

“Yes.”

Rafael’s smile turned wicked. “Tell Damian… If he puts lemon in the celebration drink, I’ll start my own war.”

Gabriel’s laugh was low and real. “Noted.”

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