Chapter 17: Chapter 17: Psychological terror.

“You… you WHAT?”

Gregoris blinked at him. Slowly. Like he had all the time in the world. Like he was deeply enjoying this.

“I submitted a formal request to court you,” he repeated, tone maddeningly casual. “Through the appropriate noble channels. Delphine approved it within twelve hours.”

Rafael forgot how to stand. His knees remained locked only through sheer spite.

“She what?”

Gregoris nodded once, too dignified to smirk and yet somehow smirking anyway. “Signed it herself. I have her seal and signature in triplicate. Very prompt. Very efficient. As expected.”

“No,” Rafael said, shaking his head as if that might reset reality. “No, she wouldn’t… she hates you. You almost killed her once.”

Gregoris’s smile deepened just slightly. “Yes. And then I didn’t.”

“That’s not…!” Rafael stopped, nearly shouting, then dropped his voice to a fierce whisper. “She threatened to shoot you in the leg and drag your corpse through the Capital if you ever stepped into her drawing room again.”

“She’s very expressive, but let’s be honest, she has no chance. I do admire her enthusiasm, though.”

“She swore, SWORE, she’d never even shake hands with you unless Damian personally swore you were under sedation.”

“Well,” Gregoris said, tilting his head like this was a math problem Rafael was failing to solve, “I assume she changed her mind.”

Rafael’s brain couldn’t form coherent thoughts, but Delphine’s rants about Gregoris’ lack of humanity and common sense had haunted him for over three months. “She swore she’d only share air with you again if someone blackmailed her at gunpoint.”

“Then I assume someone did,” he said with such deadpan neutrality Rafael genuinely couldn’t tell if he was joking.

Gregoris didn’t bother hiding his amusement now. He tilted his head, watching Rafael like a cat dissecting a particularly delightful insect.

“She was very efficient, you know,” he said thoughtfully. “Checked the boxes, stamped the form. Her assistant contacted me in half a day.”

Rafael made a quiet, wounded sound. “She thinks you’re someone else.”

“She’ll realize eventually,” Gregoris said lightly. “But the application is already processed, logged, and archived in the Imperial Courtship Registry. Which, as you know, cannot be rescinded without joint consent.”

“You planned this,” Rafael whispered. “You weaponized the nobility’s most outdated dating system.”

And then it hit him. “You didn’t use your full name.”

Gregoris said nothing.

“Oh my god,” Rafael whispered. “You filled out the courtship form as His Grace, the Duke of Alamina and just… left your first name off.”

“It’s a legally valid title,” Gregoris replied, almost offended. “It’s on all my diplomatic files. And your mother’s assistant is rather selective with background checks. I imagine she thought I was some noble with good teeth and terrible taste in art.”

“She thought you were a duke,” Rafael said, stunned.

“I am a duke.”

“You are a psychological terror in formalwear!”

Gregoris looked pleased. “Delphine signed it.”

“She’s going to kill me,” Rafael muttered. “Because she has no chance with the Bloodhound.”

Gregoris gave a polite blink. “Technically, she had a chance. She just failed to verify the target.”

“That’s not how courtship works,” Rafael snapped.

“It is now.”

“You…” Rafael pointed at him, eyes wide, voice trembling, “you gamed the imperial romance system. You tricked my mother, bypassed the vetting office, and forged a binding legal status just to mess with me.”

Gregoris tilted his head, looking entirely unrepentant. “Not just. I also did it because it caused three senior clerks to resign on the spot. And I found that very moving.” He paused, his silver eyes watching the omega growing angrier with unhidden delight. “Oh, there is something more…”

Rafael flinched. “Please… for the love of God…”

“I also informed Kent,” Gregoris said mildly. “He has a right to know. Or Augustus, as you call him.”

Rafael blinked like he’d been physically struck. “You told Augustus?”

“Of course.”

“You told the man I’ve been seeing… that I am also in a legal courtship with you?”

Gregoris looked entirely at peace. “It seemed unfair to keep him in the dark.”

“And what did he say?” Rafael demanded, praying Augustus had at least tried to shut this down.

Gregoris paused. Then smiled faintly, making Rafael flinch even harder.

“He said, ’Good luck. He bites when cornered.’”

Rafael stared at him. That was it. That was the moment his soul left his body.

“That’s not disapproval,” he croaked. “That’s… that’s a field note. That’s something you write in a behavioral report on a feral animal!”

“I thought it was rather charming,” Gregoris said. “And accurate.”

Rafael made a noise between a gasp and a whimper. “He didn’t even try to stop you?”

“No. He wished me luck.” Gregoris shrugged, still entirely unconcerned. “He is my friend.”

Rafael put both hands in his hair. “You’re not supposed to be friends! You’re not supposed to coordinate your courtship strategies!”

Gregoris’s expression flickered into something almost gentle. “Oh, we’re not coordinating. That would be cheating.”

Rafael’s breath hitched. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Gregoris said smoothly, “that we are now… competing.”

Rafael stared at him, all color draining from his face. “Competing?”

Gregoris gave a courteous nod. “As of this morning, both courtships are public, legally recognized, and actively tracked in the registry.”

“I… no. No, that’s impossible, it’s private until…” Rafael stopped. Then froze. “No.”

“Yes,” Gregoris confirmed, delighting in the moment. “I invoked Article 47-B.”

“There is no Article 47-B!”

Gregoris hummed, his eyes filled with cruel delight. “There is. They forgot to nullify it after Damian took the throne six years ago. A small oversight. Fortunate for me.”

Rafael pressed a hand to his forehead. “That article was removed after the Parliament Duels. It caused five injuries and a horse to be knighted.”

Gregoris nodded. “Sir Marmalade. May he rest in peace.”

“You brought back a ranking-based courtship protocol designed for blood feuds and open field challenges…”

“And chamber music proposals,” Gregoris added helpfully. “It was quite romantic back then.”

Rafael looked like he wanted to start screaming and never stop. “You realize what you’ve done?”

“I do,” Gregoris said calmly. “You are now the Empire’s second-highest-profile courtship subject. After the pastry chef scandal.”

“There’s a chart now!”

Gregoris smiled. “Hourly updates.”

“You’re number one!”

“Application seniority and security clearance points.”

“Augustus is second?!”

“House Ravenstone lacks formal title but makes up for it in logistics dominance and calm responses under pressure,” Gregoris said, like a scholar reading from a report. “He scored quite high in social compatibility. I respect him.”

Rafael could not breathe. “You respect your romantic rival?”

Gregoris shrugged. “He’s competent. And charming, in a distant, tragic way. I think the public enjoys the contrast.”

“The… public…?”

“Oh yes,” Gregoris said softly. “It’s public now, Rafael. Article 47-B requires full transparency. The Imperial Courtship Registry has already issued the formal bulletin.”

Rafael didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His voice, when it came, was hoarse.

“What did it say?”

Gregoris recited it, word-perfect, like he’d memorized it for his own amusement.

“By declaration of Article 47-B, pursuant to the 1812 Romantic Integrity Provision, the subject known as Rafael Rosenroth, Omega of Noble Standing, is hereby recognized as being courted by multiple active parties. Status: Contested. Ranking: In Progress.”

Rafael whispered, “’Status: Contested’?”

“It’s a legacy field. I considered changing it to something more poetic, but tradition has a certain weight.”

“I am going to kill you.”

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