Chapter 15: Chapter 15: Not interested

Irina continued breezily, “He went with Augustus, you know… Augustus Ravenstone.”

She watched Gregoris closely, expecting a twitch, a flinch, a flicker of murder behind the eyes, or something to make all of this even more entertaining than it was.

Nothing happened.

Gregoris didn’t move, blink, or even raise an eyebrow. He just slid the folder open with the calm elegance of a man reviewing casualty lists.

“That so,” he said.

Irina stared at him, all wide, innocent blue eyes. “…That’s all you’re going to say?”

Gregoris turned a page. “Yes.”

Alexander snorted under his breath, far too entertained. “I believe she expected more reaction.”

“I am reacting,” Gregoris said, monotone.

Irina sputtered. “Greg… this is Rafael, your Rafael, the Rafael who jumped when you breathed too loudly! He went on a blind date with a Ravenstone heir. A handsome one. A rich one. A polite one. And you’re just… reading?”

“I’m working.” Gregoris flipped another page, perfectly calm. “Rafael’s date does not affect imperial security. Augustus is safe from my side of work. Now, I will leave you with your sweetheart.” He closed the file with a soft thud.

Irina blinked. “Safe from your side of work? Greg, what does that even…”

Gregoris cut her a flat stare sharp enough to slice stone. “It means I’m not putting him on any watchlists. That’s all.”

Alexander’s mouth twitched. “That’s… reassuring. Barely.”

Gregoris ignored that and held the folder out to him. “Take this to the archives. His Highness wants updated profiles by evening.”

Alexander accepted the folder, but his eyes were still on him, amused in that infuriatingly calm way only someone who’d known Gregoris for years could manage. “You’re deflecting.”

Gregoris didn’t dignify that with a response.

Irina, of course, didn’t need one. She leaned in like a fox discovering a new hole in the chicken fence. “So you really don’t care that Rafael went on a date with one of the most desirable alphas in the Empire?”

“No,” Gregoris replied, clipped. “I do not.”

Irina grinned. “Not even a little?”

“No.”

“He’s very handsome.”

“Good for him.”

“He’s older. Experienced. Very stable. Very charming.”

Gregoris’s jaw ticked so faintly most people would have missed it, but Irina wasn’t most people. “Irina…” He exhaled as though her presence was a low-grade torture. “Kent, or Augustus, if you insist, is part of Damian’s circle. Alexander knows him too. And yes, Rafael is amusing with his anxiety, and I will continue to make fun of him… but there is nothing more.”

Irina narrowed her eyes, studying Gregoris like she was inspecting a weapon for hidden mechanisms. He didn’t show the slightest trace of territorial irritation. Just stood there, a wall of cold competence with all the emotional range of a very pretty statue.

“So that’s it?” she pressed. “You’re not even curious how it went?”

“No.”

Irina squinted harder. “Not even a sliver of curiosity? A molecule?”

Gregoris finally lifted his eyes, flat and unbothered. “Irina. I do not collect molecules of curiosity about Rafael’s romantic life. I collect threats. Unless Augustus has transformed into one in the past six hours, I have nothing to investigate.”

He returned to his papers.

Irina looked personally offended at his emotional stability.

Alexander murmured, “You truly refuse to care.”

Gregoris didn’t look up. “Correct.”

Which, of course, only made Irina grin wider, because nothing made Gregoris more suspicious than his own indifference.

—

Rafael did what any sensible man under siege would do: he buried himself in work until even his thoughts forgot how to wander.

The palace shifted into its usual pre-chaos rhythm with ambassadors arriving early, minor nobles circling like bored hawks, and the entire administrative wing preparing for the Coming of Age Annual Ball. It was one of the Empire’s headache events, a full three-day ceremony for every young noble turning twenty-one, with Damian’s high office, Gabriel’s consort wing, and three ministries forced to collaborate without homicide.

Which meant everyone was busy.

Even Alexandra.

She still flicked Rafael suspicious looks now and then, the “I know you’re hiding romantic details but I currently have a thousand diplomats breathing down my neck” look, but she didn’t press. Not when she was drowning in ceremonial protocols, foreign schedules, and a seating chart that refused to obey physics because nobles didn’t understand the concept of moral decency.

Irina was equally swamped, shuttling between Gabriel’s meetings and the Consort Wing’s planning committee. She still asked about Augustus once, maybe twice, but only in passing, her hands already full of pastel-colored folders and a half-broken pen.

Gabriel simply gave Rafael a knowing look once during tea, one that said patience is a virtue, and then vanished into a back-to-back storm of negotiations.

Even Edward was too busy to loom.

So Rafael worked.

He reviewed itineraries, checked lists, wrote polite threats disguised as diplomatic reminders, managed Alexandra’s crisis explosions, and tried, truly tried, not to think about the Ravenstone heir who smiled too warmly and listened too closely.

He almost succeeded.

Augustus only called once, late in the evening, his voice calm and apologetic.

He would be busy until the end of the financial trimester with audits, restructurings, three committees, and one emergency meeting involving Ravenstone logistics. He wanted Rafael to know it wasn’t disinterest, just terrible timing.

The call was short, peaceful, and strangely considerate.

Rafael hung up feeling… relieved. And disappointed. And relieved again. He wasn’t sure which feeling belonged to whom.

After that, the days blurred in quiet mornings, frantic afternoons, ceremonial drafts, and diplomatic corrections. Rafael barely had time to sleep, much less spiral.

Gregoris didn’t enter his thoughts at all, not his cold eyes, not his terrifying aura, not the strange way he’d stood behind him days ago without Rafael noticing. That moment evaporated from his mind completely, replaced with work and deadlines and the endless march toward the ball.

Rafael told himself it was for the best.

Annual balls were safe, well, safer than alphas with dangerous smiles and Shadows with unreadable expressions.

And so the palace moved toward its next disaster-in-the-making, and Rafael let himself disappear into the current, not realizing how quickly the peace he’d built would shatter the moment Augustus resurfaced… or the moment Gregoris stopped pretending he didn’t notice.

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