Chapter 24: Chapter 24: The date (1)

The maître d’ practically bowed to the floor the moment they entered.

He wasn’t the only one.

Inside The Talon’s Edge, the atmosphere cracked like glass under pressure. High-ranking nobles, diplomats, and the kind of men who usually controlled conversations with a lifted brow or a half-tilted wine glass now turned openly, some even rising from their seats as if protocol had failed to prepare them for this: Gregoris Frasner arriving not for politics or warfare, but for a date.

With Rafael Rosenroth, wrapped in black and light and something even more dangerous.

Gregoris, always ten steps ahead, didn’t pause.

He guided with a hand on the omega’s low back, ignoring how hard Rafael shivered at the contact between them.

With the same chilling politeness that had once forced a courtier to sign over three territories during a diplomatic luncheon, Gregoris turned to Rafael and said, too gently,

“Let me.”

Before Rafael could protest, hands moved to his shoulders.

The cloak unfastened at the collar with a flick of Gregoris’s fingers, falling forward just enough to bare Rafael’s neck. Then, with all the decorum of a man undressing a priceless artifact, Gregoris slid the cloak off Rafael’s shoulders… and saw the back.

A smile appeared on his face, the other guests freezing in place, it was the smile of a predator enjoying the hunt. Gregoris handed the coat to the maître d’ and pulled the chair for Rafael.

The maître d’ took the cloak as if it were spun from royal decree itself, eyes wide. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

No one in the restaurant did.

Rafael sat down because there was no other choice, because standing, with half the room staring and Gregoris’s fingers brushing the back of his chair, felt like a different kind of vulnerability. The lace was still burning against his skin, reacting faintly to ether like it had a will of its own. Of course it shimmered now, displaying its best behavior for the most dangerous man in the Empire.

Gregoris didn’t sit immediately. He stood behind Rafael for a moment too long, gaze veiled but unrelenting, like a man reining in something far too sharp to show in public.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he circled the table and took his seat. Perfect posture. The scent of cold steel and bergamot followed him even here.

“Wine?” he asked mildly, as if he hadn’t just stripped half the oxygen from the room.

Rafael reached for the menu, trying to shield himself behind it like it was a diplomatic dossier. “You could have warned me.”

“I prefer reactions unfiltered.” Gregoris’s tone was silk over threat. “And yours was… exquisite.”

Rafael lifted his eyes slowly. “You think this is amusing?”

“I think this is exactly what I expected,” Gregoris said. “But better dressed.”

A waiter, shaking, appeared with two crystal glasses and an unopened bottle. Gregoris didn’t touch it. He simply looked at it, and the waiter uncorked it so fast he nearly spilled the vintage.

Rafael had been in war rooms. He had survived tea parties with Gabriel and been side-eyed by the Emperor. But this?

This was courtship through calculated devastation and it was working.

Gregoris leaned forward just a little, hands resting on the table, his ducal signet ring catching the light like mockery to Rafael.

“I have one rule tonight, Secretary Rosenroth.”

Rafael raised a brow, his hands clenched under the table, but his expression still calm.

“No politics, files, or damage reports. I do appreciate you thought of me when deciding the subjects, but I prefer knowing you.”

“You have no decency or shame.” Rafael said between his clenched teeth.

“When did I pretend to have them?”

Rafael didn’t respond right away.

Mostly because if he opened his mouth now, it wouldn’t be words that came out. And Gregoris would enjoy that far too much.

Instead, he straightened the edge of his napkin with unnecessary precision. Let the silence stretch just long enough to reclaim some ground.

Gregoris let him.

Like a man watching a fox dig its own trap and smiling the whole time.

“You know,” Rafael said finally, his voice low and diplomatic again, “it’s a little pathetic.”

Gregoris raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”

“This need to corner people. To make them squirm for your attention. Was war not enough? Must you torment people over dinner too?”

Gregoris’s smile was not kind. “You mistake torment for interest.”

“And interest for…” Rafael stopped himself. The wine glass trembled slightly between his fingers.

Gregoris didn’t look away. “Go on. I’m curious what you think this is.”

Rafael stared at him. “A waste of your time.”

“Wrong.” Gregoris’s tone turned sharper, just a flick of the blade, enough to nick. “You are what I do instead of wasting it.”

The waiter returned, plates in hand, looking like he’d walked into an active battlefield.

Gregoris leaned back, giving him room. “Besides,” he added, tone cooling again as the food was placed down with barely contained trembling, “you should be flattered. I don’t usually make time for boredom dressed in six-point enchantments.”

Rafael almost laughed.

“Bold of you,” he said, eyes narrowing, “to assume I wore this for you.”

Gregoris hummed. “You didn’t wear it because Gloria and Alexandra had convinced you. I should send them a gift for this.”

“You…,” Rafael said tightly, “Are you having me under watch?”

Gregoris didn’t blink.

He lifted his glass, took a sip with obscene calm, and said, “Should I pretend otherwise?”

Rafael set his fork down too carefully.

“You’re surveilling me.”

“I’m ensuring quality control,” Gregoris replied. “Which, in your case, has been inconsistent at best. Running from meetings, scheduling… distractions. Dangerous habit, Secretary Rosenroth.”

“Don’t you have a war front to threaten? Or did you start stalking omegas between invasions?”

Gregoris tilted his head, just a fraction. “I’m stalking you.”

“You say that like it’s flattering.”

“It is.” He smiled, terrifyingly pleased with his date’s reactions. “You’re the first omega in years that makes me consider rescheduling my engagements.”

“And I should… what? Be honored?”

“No,” Gregoris said. “You should cancel your 21:00.”

The blood drained from Rafael’s face so fast he thought he might black out.

Gregoris reached lazily for his knife and cut into the steak before him with perfect etiquette. “Augustus,” he said lightly. “That’s who’s next, isn’t it?”

“You hacked my schedule.”

“I don’t need to hack what already belongs to imperial security.” He didn’t even look up. “I only… redirected.”

“Redirected,” Rafael repeated, the word tasting like venom. “You rescheduled my date.”

“I postponed it. You’ll thank me. He would’ve loved seeing you like this.” His eyes flicked up, catching the glint of ether-dusted lace curling just beneath Rafael’s collar. “But not tonight.”

Rafael shoved his chair back slightly, only to find Gregoris’s foot already extended, resting lightly against his ankle.

“You can’t do this.”

“I already did.”

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