Chapter 18: Chapter 18: Therapy needed.

“I am going to kill you.”

“You would fail,” Gregoris said gently, as if it were simply a fact of nature.

Rafael couldn’t respond. He didn’t have the language. He barely had oxygen.

Gregoris glanced at his watch, a sleek, matte-black model that definitely wasn’t civilian standard.

“I would love to stay and bask in your emotional deterioration a little longer,” he said pleasantly, “but unfortunately my day is full.”

Rafael blinked, dazed. “Your day?”

Gregoris gave him a polite, elegant nod. “Yes. I have two briefings, a weapons demonstration, and a meeting with the Emperor’s intelligence staff on the Donin situation. Possibly a minor assassination to approve.”

“That’s not… normal!” Rafael choked.

Gregoris was already adjusting his sleeves. “Neither is this courtship.”

He took a single step back, like the scene had concluded and he was now departing a stage.

“I’ll contact you,” Gregoris added smoothly, “to schedule our first date. Something tasteful. You’ll be notified through the registry.”

“You’re notified through the registry?!”

“There’s an app.”

Rafael made a small, hopeless noise.

Gregoris paused, then looked back at him over one shoulder, expression almost… thoughtful.

“You look very nice when you’re overwhelmed, by the way,” he said. “I hope you stay that way.”

And with that, he walked away composed, terrifying, and somehow satisfied, as if this entire encounter had been the emotional equivalent of a well-executed mission.

The hallway was silent in his absence. Rafael stood there for a long time, staring at nothing, one hand pressed against the cold marble wall like he was bracing for the next earthquake.

He exhaled. Then muttered, softly, shakily, “I am going to kill him. I don’t care if it’s impossible. I will figure it out.”

Behind him, the council room door cracked open.

Gabriel’s head appeared, hair perfect, eyes suspiciously calm.

“…Was that who I think it was?”

Rafael didn’t look back. “Yes.”

Gabriel considered this. “On a scale of one to catastrophic?”

Rafael’s voice was distant. “Article. Forty-seven. B.”

Gabriel shut the door again.

And from behind it, muffled but undeniably sincere:

“Damian, you owe me dinner. I told you he’d invoke it.”

—

Rafael entered the consort’s palace office like a man walking into his own funeral.

He didn’t greet the others, just stood there for a long moment, one hand on the doorframe, the other still faintly trembling from the aftermath of surviving a diplomatic-grade romantic ambush.

The room was sunlit, quiet, and dangerous.

Gabriel glanced up from the large conference table, where several priority reports sat half-reviewed. Alexandra was perched on the edge of the window ledge, perfectly polished in emerald and ivory, sipping a cup of tea she clearly hadn’t touched since Rafael left earlier.

They both watched him.

He looked pale, as if he had been drained to the point where his soul was a scorched desert.

“He invoked Article 47-B,” Rafael croaked.

Gabriel exhaled like someone confirming a bet. “Of course he did.”

Alexandra made a soft sound of admiration. “That’s awful. And kind of genius.”

Rafael stared at her.

She lifted one hand in a half-shrug. “I’m not saying I condone it. But it’s tactical brilliance. Twisting a defunct courtship law that hasn’t been used since… what, the duel era?”

Gabriel’s voice was dry. “Since the pastry chef scandal, actually.”

Rafael sat down slowly, like gravity had finally won. “He filed everything perfectly. Used his title. Left out his first name. My mother signed it. He turned my mother into a legal accomplice.”

Alexandra crossed her legs at the ankle, thoughtful. “He is the Shadow Commander. If anyone could do it with zero fingerprints, it’d be him.”

“He smiled while doing it,” Rafael muttered. “Like it was foreplay.”

Gabriel poured himself more tea. “I warned Damian he’d invoke the clause eventually. I just didn’t expect he’d use the registry app.”

There was a long silence.

Rafael finally looked up, his voice sharp with disbelief. “He complimented my breakdown. Then he said he hopes I stay that way.”

Alexandra blinked. “That’s… deeply romantic. In his own way.”

“He walked off like he’d just defused a bomb and enjoyed it.”

Gabriel sipped his tea. “He probably did. On the way here.”

That was when it happened.

Ping.

Rafael flinched. The sound came from his tablet on the desk, a diplomatic-grade model linked directly to the Imperial Office and the Consort’s scheduling channel. It never pinged without reason.

Ping.

Gabriel leaned forward slightly. Alexandra set her cup down.

Rafael reached for it with the caution of someone handling a cursed object. The screen lit up.

Notification: A new event has been added to your Imperial Registry calendar.

Courtship Date – Gregoris Frasner, Duke of Alamina

Status: Approved & Synced

Time: Saturday, 19:30

Location: Classified

Attire: Formal (light palette preferred)

“Slot selected based on your existing availability, travel clearance, and documented preference for post-dusk social engagements. We are pleased to inform you that this proposal scored 97% compatibility. The Imperial Registry confirms this as your optimal first date.”

[Reschedule Earlier]

[Decline – Not available]

[Appeal to Central Authority (denied)]

“…There’s no decline button,” Rafael whispered. “I can’t even move it to a later date. Only earlier.”

Gabriel tilted his head. “That’s a legacy function from 47-B. Any delay is seen as bad faith. Early commitment is encouraged.”

Rafael looked like he was about to spontaneously combust.

Alexandra peered at the screen. “He really cross-referenced your briefing blocks.”

“He hacked my calendar,” Rafael snapped.

“He commands the shadow department,” Gabriel said mildly. “That’s not hacking. That’s called… ’oversight.’”

“I’m going to file a formal protest,” Rafael said.

Alexandra raised a brow. “To whom? The system’s under his clearance. The only people who can override it are Damian, Gabriel… and you, if you renounce noble standing and abandon the registry entirely.”

“I hate this Empire.”

“You look great while hating it,” Alexandra offered.

Ping.

Reminder: Your escort detail for Saturday is currently being selected based on past preferences. Please choose from the following:

Silent Guard (formal)

Shadow Escort (standard)

No Escort (not advised)

Rafael set the tablet down like it had insulted his entire bloodline.

“I’m going to kill him,” he whispered. “I don’t care if it takes years. I don’t care if it sparks a scandal. I am going to find a legal method of elimination.”

Gabriel didn’t even look up this time. “You will need a killer better than him… there is none.”

Rafael was almost in tears; he sat at the conference table and let his head fall on it.

Everyone was understandingly worried for him, until now everything was a joke, but Gregoris had pushed it far more than anyone expected. Alexandra felt guilty about her joke at the ball a month ago.

Then Alexandra whispered, “I shouldn’t have made that joke at the Ball. I think this might actually be my fault.”

“He does this,” Rafael whispered into the wood grain, “just because he likes seeing me terrified.”

Gabriel blinked slowly. “So does half the court.”

“Maybe,” Rafael said bitterly, “if I pretend to like him, he’ll leave me alone.”

Alexandra winced. “You really think that would work?”

“No,” Rafael whispered. “But I’m running out of options.”

Gabriel exhaled. “It’s fine. We’ll handle this.”

Alexandra nodded. “We’ll help.”

Rafael lifted his head just enough to glare at them.

PING!

“Wear the silver tie. It brings out your eyes. – G.”

Rafael groaned.

And Alexandra whispered, like a woman watching a political coup unfold:

“…Gods, I like him.”

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