Chapter 129: Chapter 129: His side (2)

“What the fuck is wrong with these people?” Charles’s deep blue eyes flared, the lazy mask slipping for half a second to show teeth. “I thought they wanted power.”

“They do,” Theo said, voice flat. “They just want it without consequences. They want Gabriel ornamental. They want him smiling beside Damian like a trophy while they keep doing what they’ve always done.”

Charles’s jaw clenched. “And because he’s not…”

“Because he isn’t,” Theo finished. “Because he reads everything. Because he asks questions they don’t like. Because he verifies. Because he remembers what was said last month, last year, and ten years ago, and doesn’t let people rewrite their promises with a pretty tone.”

Charles dragged a hand down his face like he was trying to wipe the stupidity out of the air. “He spent years under Claymore. They think that didn’t sharpen him?”

Theo’s mouth twisted. “They think Claymore’s house trained him to obey. They don’t understand that it trained him to survive. There’s a difference.”

Charles let out a low, humorless laugh. “It trained him to notice when someone breathes wrong.”

Theo’s gaze sharpened, a flicker of reluctant pride slipping through the irritation. “Gabriel doesn’t do favors. He doesn’t make exceptions for titles. He doesn’t give people grace just because they think they’re owed it.”

“And that scares them,” Charles muttered.

“It terrifies them,” Theo corrected. “Because Gabriel isn’t an empress consort they can seduce into softness. He’s Damian’s balance. He’s the one who makes the Empire… clean.”

Charles’s brows lifted. “Clean?”

Theo’s eyes went cold. “Audited. Accounted for. Measured. He’s not letting anyone siphon ether, or money, or authority under the table anymore. And the people who built their entire lives on under-the-table activities don’t like being dragged into the light.”

Charles’s mouth tightened, anger simmering. “So they’re trying to…”

Theo’s smile was thin. “Undermine him. Whisper about his competence. About his origin. About whether he ’deserves’ the position. About whether Damian made a sentimental mistake. They’re not stupid enough to say it outright, not yet.”

Charles’s eyes hardened. “They’re going to get themselves killed.”

Theo’s gaze flicked to him in warning. “Watch your mouth.”

Charles scoffed. “Why? It’s true.”

Theo’s voice lowered. “Because when you say things like that, Father listens. And Father loves it when his children speak like they have the Emperor’s protection instead of their own caution.”

The mention of Lucius snapped the heat in Charles’s chest into something sharper.

He leaned back against the table, fingers tapping once, impatient. “They talk about Gabriel like he’s fragile. Like he’s lucky.”

Theo’s eyes narrowed again. “They always do that with omegas who don’t behave the way they were trained to behave. They call them lucky until they realize the omega is the one holding the knife.”

Charles’s lips curved, quick and vicious. “Gabriel has always held the knife.”

He stretched without a care, all lazy lines and false boredom, then dropped the bomb like it was gossip and not a shift in the Empire’s spine.

“Gabriel marked Damian.”

Theo froze.

Not because Theo was slow; Theo was terrifyingly fast when it came to politics and people. He froze because his mind had to stop and restack the world into a new shape.

“Gabriel… marked Damian,” Theo said slowly, each word tasting wrong, “a dominant alpha?”

Charles hummed, satisfied with the impact. “Mhmm.”

Theo exhaled hard through his nose, the sound sharp. “And Damian accepted, like the bastard he is. Gods.”

Charles’s mouth twitched. “He’s not a bastard. He’s just… Damian.”

“That’s worse,” Theo muttered.

Charles shrugged. “An alpha can be marked by their mate if they want it… if they accept it. We both know how in love Damian is with Gabriel.”

Theo’s gaze flicked away, mind already mapping consequences: public perception, court precedent, and the way old houses would choke on the idea of an omega’s claim being etched onto an emperor.

“How do you even know?” Theo demanded.

Charles tilted his head. “Because it was a bad day to have eyes.”

Theo glared at him.

Charles sighed like Theo was being difficult on purpose. “Fine. Because palace staff talk. Because Shadows talk. Because people who think they’re whispering aren’t as quiet as they believe.” He paused, then added, with the lazy cruelty of someone who couldn’t resist. “And because Damian wore a collarless shirt on purpose.”

Theo went very still again.

Not shocked this time. Just… processing the sheer audacity of it.

“He did not,” Theo said slowly, like if he spoke carefully enough the world would correct itself.

Charles hummed. “He did.”

Theo’s mouth went flat. “He’s the Emperor.”

“And he’s a man who enjoys making a point,” Charles replied.

Theo’s eyes narrowed. “So he wanted people to see.”

Charles shrugged. “Or he wanted the right people to see. Same result.”

Theo dragged a hand through his hair, irritation spiking. “That’s not just claiming. That’s… bait.”

“It’s a warning,” Charles corrected, tone sharpening just slightly under the laziness. “He’s telling the palace: stop testing my mate. Stop whispering about what Gabriel is. Stop trying to pretend you can corner him with rumors.”

Theo exhaled hard. “And Gabriel allowed it?”

Charles’s brows lifted. “Allowed?” He made a small sound, half amused, half offended on Gabriel’s behalf. “He probably chose the shirt.”

Theo stared at him.

Charles shrugged, because shrugging was easier than admitting he’d seen the way Gabriel’s spine went iron when the palace tried to box him in. “The point is they’re both tired. They’ve been tired for a while.”

Theo’s gaze went colder. “Tired of what, exactly?”

Charles rolled his eyes. “Of nobles calling it ’balance.’ Of the polite little conversations about how it’s ’healthy’ for a dominant to have multiple bonds, because it’s tradition, because it spreads influence, because it makes everyone feel included.”

Theo’s jaw tightened. He knew the game. Everyone did. Dominants could take more than one bond, and the old houses treated that fact like a door they were entitled to walk through.

Charles continued, voice dry. “They keep pushing their well-trained heirs forward like offerings. Omegas raised to be agreeable, alphas raised to be obedient, all of them polished and pretty and taught exactly how to smile while they get placed in someone else’s bedroom.”

Theo’s mouth went hard. “They’re trying to plant themselves.”

“Yes,” Charles said simply. “In Damian’s bed. In Gabriel’s bed. Anywhere they can wedge their bloodline into the imperial bond and call it ’service.’” He swept his hair back in a lazy motion that didn’t match the edge in his eyes. “And they’re furious that Gregoris married one omega too. One. No grand ceremony, no parade, no polite invitations for the vultures. And he’s not interested in taking more.”

Theo stared at him for a beat, then let himself fall into a chair like his bones had finally remembered fatigue existed. He rubbed a hand over his face, long-suffering. “I’m tempted to give you the title now.”

Charles’s head snapped up. “Don’t you dare.”

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