Chapter 21: Chapter 21: Cognac and Consequences

Augustus Ravenstone had not moved from his desk after the call ended.

The surface was spotless, each folder aligned, every pen capped, and his imported tea cooling at exactly the correct distance from the heat-sensitive rune embedded in the marble tray. The logistics reports were in order. The market trends for ether storage containers had been analyzed. The supply chain anomalies in the northern outposts were already logged and flagged. He had, in short, done everything he was supposed to do.

And yet, he had accomplished absolutely nothing on his personal plan.

Across the room, sprawled across a black velvet settee like sin with shoulder holsters, Gregoris Frasner was drinking his third glass of imported cognac and reading Augustus’s quarterly audit.

Out loud.

“Line 37,” Gregoris drawled, “Do you really want to use the word ’bottlenecked’ here? It feels a bit… self-sabotaging.”

Augustus didn’t respond. He was trying very hard not to throw a stapler at him.

“Also,” Gregoris continued, lazily twirling the glass between his fingers, “I noticed your Ravenstone port logs were two hours late to sync with the imperial ethernet last week. That’s not like you.”

“Some of us have ports to manage, Frasner. We don’t all have the luxury of terrifying omegas your friend likes. Did you really have to be here to listen to the call?”

Gregoris didn’t answer immediately. He took another slow sip of the cognac, let the silence stretch until it frayed the edges of Augustus’s patience, then said with infuriating calm:

“Yes.”

Augustus finally looked up.

Gregoris was stretched like a wolf at rest, with long limbs and fitted shirt sleeves rolled once at the forearm, the glint of steel visible beneath the cuff where a concealed blade sat strapped. His steel-gray eyes, so pale they almost glinted white in the evening light, were half-lidded, unreadable.

“You’re enjoying this,” Augustus said flatly.

Gregoris didn’t bother denying it. “You’re rarely off-balance. It’s refreshing.”

“That wasn’t off-balance. That was a professional reallocation of emotional bandwidth.”

“Mm,” Gregoris hummed, unconvinced. “You nearly flinched when he said fireworks.”

Augustus exhaled through his nose. “He’s trying to prove a point.”

“You did sign the registry.”

“I signed it because Delphine insisted and because you put me in a spot where the only choice was to go with it.”

Gregoris shrugged one shoulder. “You still signed it.”

A pause.

“…You told him I already knew,” Augustus said, quiet and accusing.

“I told him you knew enough,” Gregoris corrected mildly. “You had people watching him. I had people watching him. Frankly, it’s a miracle we haven’t been invited to a security seminar together.”

Augustus’s jaw twitched. “That doesn’t mean I expected you to use the seal slot. Delphine already had me scheduled for autumn introductions.”

“I moved it up. For morale.” A beat. “And entertainment.”

Augustus gave him a look that could freeze oceans. “You’re using me for entertainment.”

“No,” Gregoris said easily. “I’m using him. You’re just conveniently placed.”

“Comforting.”

Another sip. Another page flipped in the audit packet.

“I didn’t lie to him,” Augustus said finally. “I just… didn’t volunteer context.”

“Context is for diplomats. He’s not mad about the slot. He’s mad because you didn’t warn him. That, and he knows he can’t outmaneuver me without turning into me. And he’s still deluding himself that he’s above that.”

Augustus studied him. “You do realize he’s planning to weaponize spreadsheets against you?”

Gregoris let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “I know. And I can’t wait.”

“Gods, you’re broken.”

Gregoris raised a brow. “You’re the one agreeing to meet him afterward.”

Augustus didn’t answer right away. He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly beneath the motion, and adjusted the angle of his tea by precisely half a degree.

“He asked,” he said at last. “Politely. And he sounded… calm.”

“He’s never calm,” Gregoris said. “He’s poised. That’s different.”

“You didn’t see the calendar tone.” Augustus paused. “He didn’t say it to win. He said it to control the outcome.”

“Which means,” Gregoris said, finishing his drink and setting the glass down with a faint clink, “he’s already playing your part in the next move.”

“I know.” Augustus pressed his fingers together. “And I’m letting him.”

Gregoris stood, adjusted the fall of his jacket over his shoulder holsters, and glanced at the sealed window. Firelight from the western district was starting to flicker faintly against the clouds.

“Gregoris, why are you so obsessed with him? You like those trying to get into your bed, not those terrified of you.”

Gregoris paused mid-step.

He turned slowly, expression unreadable, steel-gray eyes catching the low evening light like polished blades.

“I’m not obsessed,” he said.

Augustus arched a brow.

Gregoris crossed the room in three easy strides and set the audit down with too much care on the edge of Augustus’s desk.

“I’m curious,” he clarified, voice low. “There’s a difference.”

“Curiosity doesn’t usually get you to fake a seal and override the imperial registry order.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Augustus didn’t flinch, but his eyes narrowed. “You think he’ll entertain you?”

“I think,” Gregoris said, tilting his head slightly, “that Rafael Rosenroth is the kind of person who polishes his knives before giving someone a hug. I think he plays helpless because it’s the most efficient disguise for a strategist. I think Delphine built a son sharper than anyone expected and more ruthless than she lets the court see. And I want to know what happens when you poke something like that.”

“So you’re experimenting.”

Gregoris offered a faint smile. “You’re acting like I haven’t done worse.”

“That’s not the reassurance you think it is.”

“No,” Gregoris agreed. “But it is the truth.”

He turned to leave again, hand brushing the smooth black velvet of the settee where he’d been lounging. Then, over his shoulder…

“I don’t want him in my bed.”

Augustus looked up, surprised.

Gregoris didn’t smile. “I want to see what he becomes when he realizes no one’s holding him back anymore.”

“Because that’s your idea of foreplay?”

“Because that’s my idea of honesty.”

He left without waiting for a reply.

Augustus didn’t speak again for several minutes.

He just sat there, alone in the silent room, tea cold, audit open, the ghost of a calendar reminder flickering softly on his tablet screen:

Saturday, 21:00. Garden Lounge. Fireworks.

And, below it, Rafael’s note:

“Let’s give your friend something to be curious about.”

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