Chapter 29: Chapter 29: Hypothetically

The infirmary smelled faintly of antiseptic and citrus polish, a strangely soothing combination Rafael had come to associate with Marin, the palace’s head physician and the only man alive who could look a Shadow in the eye and complain about paperwork. Or deal with Gabriel being pregnant and stubborn.

Rafael stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him.

Marin glanced up from a datapad, brow lifting with the resigned patience of someone who had treated generals, nobles, and homicidally stressed alphas in equal measure. The overhead lights cast a pale wash over his silvering hair, giving him the air of a retired saint who had run out of miracle tolerance.

“Rosenroth,” he greeted, voice dry. “Congratulations. You look worse than the Emperor did after the rebellion.”

Rafael inhaled through his nose. “Good morning, Marin.”

“Mm. Sit.” Marin waved at the exam bed with the authority of someone who did not care about rank or fear. “What do you need? Sedatives? Sleep stabilizers? Something to regulate cortisol? I heard about you and Gregoris.”

Of course he had. The palace gossip network was faster than ether transmission.

Rafael sat, folding his hands in his lap. “I don’t need anything for my nerves.”

Marin snorted. “You do, but go on.”

Rafael leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “I need an ether destabilizer.”

Marin froze for exactly one breath, then carefully set his datapad aside. “Ah,” he said quietly. “So that’s why you’re here.”

Rafael nodded once.

Marin walked to a locked cabinet on the far wall, pulling a keycard from his coat pocket. “I assume you know what you’re asking for. And what it does.”

“Yes.”

“You want something that won’t show up on the security logs.”

“Yes.”

“And something Gregoris won’t sense immediately.”

Rafael hesitated, only for a heartbeat. “Yes.”

Marin opened the cabinet. Shelves of small vials glimmered under a soft blue light, labeled in neat, clinical handwriting. He picked up one, then another, evaluating them with the same care another man might use for explosives.

He returned with two slim injectors.

“This one,” he said, holding up the first, “is the standard destabilizer. Short interference window. No permanent damage unless the subject is already fragile. Which Gregoris is not.”

Rafael reached for it, but Marin didn’t release it.

“And this one,” Marin continued, lifting the second injector, “is… experimental.”

Rafael blinked. “Experimental.”

“Yes.” Marin inspected the tiny vial, expression unreadable. “It destabilizes ether channels faster and deeper. Causes disorientation, loss of control, and temporary sensory disruption.” He paused. “On a weak person, it could stop their heart.”

Rafael considered that. “Good thing Gregoris isn’t weak.”

Marin finally met his gaze. “I’m giving you this because you know exactly what you’re doing. And because if anyone deserves to trip a Shadow commander, it’s probably you.”

Rafael allowed himself a small smile. “You’re very understanding.”

“No,” Marin corrected, handing him both injectors, “I’m very old. And I’ve seen Gregoris’s file.”

Rafael tucked the vials into the inner pocket of his coat. “Thank you.”

“Rosenroth,” Marin added as he returned to his desk, “whatever you’re planning, make sure the Emperor doesn’t see the aftermath. I’m too old to explain that kind of incident again.”

Rafael paused at the doorway, one hand on the frame. “Does this work with sugar and common poison?”

Marin did not look up immediately. He tapped something on his datapad, sighed deeply, and only then gave Rafael a long, flat stare.

“Rosenroth,” he said, “please tell me you’re not planning to bake with it.”

Rafael’s expression was polite. Too polite. “Hypothetically.”

“No,” Marin replied. “Not hypothetically. Tell me if you are planning to poison one of the Emperor’s elite commanders through pastry.”

Rafael considered that for a beat. “Not poison, more like destabilize. Temporarily.”

Marin pressed his palms together like a man praying for patience. “You want to lace cookies with ether disruptors.”

Rafael remained perfectly calm. “Again… hypothetically.”

Marin shut his eyes. “You know, when I retired from the Shadows to become a physician, I hoped the job would involve fewer assassination attempts and more flu vaccines.”

Rafael waited.

With the air of a man accepting his fate, Marin opened his eyes again. “Fine. The destabilizer works through direct bloodstream contact. Oral delivery dulls its effect, but the experimental one might still hit hard enough to disorient anyone with high ether capacity.”

“So it would work?” Rafael asked, voice steady but faintly hopeful.

“Yes,” Marin said. “If you use enough.”

Rafael raised a brow. “Enough to kill someone?”

“No,” Marin replied dryly, returning to his datapad. “Enough to make a Shadow commander rethink his life choices for two to five minutes.”

Rafael nodded, thoughtful. “That’s all I need.”

Marin pointed his stylus at him without lifting his head. “If Gregoris finds out I helped you, I am denying everything. And I will order your medical records erased from existence.”

“Understood,” Rafael said.

“And Rosenroth,” Marin added, his tone turning weary but honest, “if you’re going to do this… Aim for his ego first. It’s the softer target.”

A faint, sharp smile touched Rafael’s lips. “I intend to.”

He turned to leave, coat crisp, posture calm, pocket holding two very illegal injectors and a blooming, calculated plan.

Behind him, Marin muttered under his breath, “Gabriel is easier. And Gabriel is pregnant.”

—

The palace kitchens weren’t meant for people like Rafael Rosenroth.

They were too loud, too warm, and filled with people who didn’t flinch when someone shouted or slammed a tray. Rafael preferred quiet halls, controlled temperatures, and subordinates who feared passive-aggression more than heat.

But here he was. In an apron. Mixing batter.

“Well, this is new,” Gabriel drawled from the doorway, arms crossed, a half-read report still in one hand. “Do I even want to ask?”

“No,” Rafael said, delicately folding something liquid and shimmering into the bowl. “But you will.”

Gabriel took a slow step forward, peering into the mixture. “Is that… an ether derivative?”

“Stabilized,” Rafael said lightly. “Mostly harmless.”

“That,” Gabriel replied, “is not reassuring.”

Rafael continued folding the batter with the precision of a killer surgeon preparing to ruin someone’s life. “It isn’t meant to reassure. It’s meant to neutralize.”

Gabriel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Rafael, you cannot solve interpersonal conflicts with experimental compounds.”

“I’m not solving anything,” Rafael corrected. “I am leveling the power imbalance.”

Gabriel gave him a long, assessing look. “By baking?”

“Yes,” Rafael said. “By baking.”

He moved to the counter, lifting a tray lined with parchment paper. The kitchen staff bustled around them, politely ignoring everything despite the fact that Rafael Rosenroth in an apron was the most dangerous thing to happen to the kitchens since the new dynasty.

Gabriel circled the island, watching Rafael scoop neat portions of batter onto the tray. “You’re aware Gregoris can sense ether disturbances, yes?”

“Correct,” Rafael murmured. “Which is why the destabilizer is folded into sugar, not raw ether. Marin said ingestion dulls the effect, but with the experimental version the delay is short enough to catch him off guard.”

Gabriel blinked. “Rafael… you are planning to ambush a Shadow commander with dessert.”

Rafael placed the final scoop on the tray, straightened, and removed his apron with a crisp, purposeful motion. “Gabriel, I have been ambushed for two months straight. This is justice.”

Gabriel tilted his head. “He likes you, you know.”

“He likes to play with me,” Rafael said dryly. “And I’ve put some common poison too… just for good measure.”

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