Chapter 4: Chapter 4: The Department of Spite

By the time Rafael reached the palace, his soul had left his body somewhere between the Rosenroth gates and the imperial courtyard. He walked into Gabriel’s office like a man returning from war, except war would’ve involved fewer threats to his personal peace.

He pushed the door open and immediately regretted stepping in.

Chaos. Unfiltered, weaponized chaos.

Boxes stacked to eye level. Floral monstrosities that smelled too floral. Glittery cards. Teddy bears with jeweled crowns. A bassinet shaped like a miniature imperial airship. Something in the corner that looked illegal.

And in the middle of it all, Gabriel’s Department of Spite was fighting for their lives.

Alexandra was elbow-deep in a box of enchanted baby mobiles that would not stop spinning. Irina was sorting monogrammed cards with the dead-eyed precision of a woman reading war declarations. Julian was wrestling with a courier over why an “interactive nursery hologram projector” was not a blessing but a curse. Max, perched on the arm of Gabriel’s couch, watched everything with the leisurely amusement of a man who thrived on other people’s misery.

Gabriel himself stood behind his desk, perfectly calm, sipping tea like this was a normal morning.

Rafael stepped inside, feeling like he was wading into a battlefield.

Gabriel looked up. “You look terrible.”

Rafael shut the door behind him. “I feel terrible.”

“You’re pale,” Gabriel said. “Did your mother kill you?”

“Worse,” Rafael muttered, collapsing into a chair. “She found me a suitor.”

The entire room paused mid-chaos.

Alexandra stopped elbowing a box.

Irina slowly set down the stack of letters.

Julian whispered, “Oh no,” like someone had died.

Max’s grin sharpened instantly, delighted.

Gabriel raised a brow. “Already?”

Rafael rubbed his forehead. “She met him at the gala. A young marquess. Francis of Lorraine. Tame. Respectful. Predictable. Her words.”

Alexandra gagged. “Predictable?! Rafael, I would rather you ran away with a smuggler.”

Irina nodded. “Or a mercenary.”

“Or a feral wolf,” Julian added.

Max lounged further back, smirking. “So many better options, darling. Even the handsome Duke of Alamina.”

Rafael’s entire spine stiffened. “Don’t say that name.”

Max blinked innocently. “What name? Alamina? Duke? Greg…”

“Max.” Rafael pointed a trembling finger at him. “I swear to every god in the Empire, if you finish that sentence, I’ll jump out the window.”

Alexandra perked up. “Which window? The south one leads to the rose garden. Very soft landing.”

Irina sighed. “Not soft enough to kill him. Just soft enough to injure him and make Gabriel file reports.”

Julian nodded sympathetically. “Paperwork is worse than death.”

Gabriel set down his teacup with a quiet click. “Rafael.”

Rafael looked up, pitiful and exhausted, his soft blue eyes pale with exasperation. “Yes?”

“Run a background check on the Marquis.”

Rafael blinked at Gabriel like he had been slapped with a legal document. “A background check? On Francis?”

“Yes,” Gabriel said, already reaching for another stack of diplomatic letters. “If your mother is trying to set you up with him, I need to know whether he’s an asset, a liability, or a national security threat masquerading as a doormat.”

Julian raised a hand. “I vote for liability.”

Irina didn’t look up from the letters, her now-wild blonde hair catching the morning light and moving like specks of gold. “I vote for doormat.”

Alexandra rummaged through a box of enchanted rattles, her pale green eyes shining with that dangerous glint she had the other night. “I vote for national security threat. Anyone that predictable is hiding something.”

Max stretched like a cat. “I vote for Rafael already being dead inside.”

Rafael dragged both hands down his face. “Why is this my life?”

Gabriel’s tone barely softened; he was more concerned with finishing the gift sorting before his unborn child used his lungs as drums once more. “Because you work here. And because your mother is… Delphine.”

Julian made a sound of deep sympathy. “Condolences.”

Max nodded. “Tragic, really.”

Rafael groaned. “Do I have to?”

Gabriel tilted his head. “Do you want to end up married to Francis of Lorraine?”

Rafael sat up straight. “No.”

“Then run the check,” Gabriel said, sliding a datapad toward him. “Now, I need entertainment and to know who is trying to get close to the Emperor. That or I will ask Gregoris to do it.”

Rafael snatched the datapad like a man grabbing the last weapon on a battlefield. “Fine. Fine, I’m checking. But only because the alternative involves Gregoris, and I value my circulatory system.”

Max laughed. “You assume he’d aim for your arteries first. Cute.”

Rafael ignored him and typed furiously.

The holographic profile of Francis of Lorraine flickered into the air, clean and official. He scrolled through the basic fields until Gabriel said, “Bring it here.”

Rafael obeyed, placing the datapad on Gabriel’s desk like it was evidence in a criminal trial.

Gabriel adjusted his glasses, a sign the room collectively recognized as prepare for judgment, and skimmed the data.

“Francis of Lorraine,” Gabriel read aloud in a bored tone. “Age twenty-six, omega-based household, secondary son, newly minted marquess due to cousin’s abdication. Mild ether signature. Polite correspondence history. Attended four diplomatic academies and graduated from none.”

Alexandra snorted. “Dropout energy. Not promising.”

Irina tapped another card onto a pile. “If he couldn’t survive a semester of etiquette diplomacy, he won’t survive Rafael.”

Julian shook his head. “Or Gabriel, but seriously, how can one not graduate anything when the only thing he had to do was to be noble?”

Gabriel ignored him and continued, eyes scanning. “His hobbies include classical harp, embroidery, and… restoring antique dollhouses?”

Rafael gagged into his hands. “Mother wants me to date someone who collects dollhouses?”

Max grinned. “At least he’s predictable.”

Gabriel flicked to the next page. “No criminal record. No political scandals. No financial issues except… a substantial inheritance from his grandmother two years ago. He owns three cats.”

Alexandra perked up. “Names?”

Gabriel zoomed in. “Lulu, Marzipan, and Commander Snuffles.”

Julian covered his mouth. “Oh Rafael, honey, I’m so sorry.”

Rafael buried his face into the desk. “I’ll do it. I’ll jump out the window. Pick one.”

Gabriel’s brow tightened as he scrolled. “He’s never had a mate. No long-term courtship. His closest relationship was with his harp instructor, who retired four years ago and still sends him holiday cards.”

Rafael groaned. “Gabriel, I’m begging you to stop.”

Gabriel didn’t. “He attended the gala last night alone. And left alone. He was last seen…”

Gabriel’s voice cut off. His eyes narrowed.

The room collectively stilled.

Rafael slowly lifted his head, dread trickling into his stomach. “What? What is it? Is he secretly a serial killer?”

Gabriel clicked the datapad twice, bringing up a recorded movement log palace-standard, nothing unusual.

But the last line glowed faintly.

“’Escorted out by palace security for suspicious proximity to the Emperor’s dais,’” Gabriel read. His voice was flat enough to kill a man.

Rafael blinked. “Suspicious proximity? To… to Damian?”

Irina stepped closer. “Wait. Why?”

Gabriel expanded the note. “Attempted to offer personal congratulations directly to the Emperor. Blocked by Gregoris Frasner. Asked to step back. Continued approaching after warning. Removed.’”

The room went dead silent.

Alexandra whispered, “He approached the throne without permission?”

Julian let out a low whistle. “He tried to get past Gregoris.”

Max grinned, delighted. “And lived? Shocking.”

Rafael felt the blood drain from his face. “He approached… Damian?”

Gabriel set the datapad down with delicate precision, like he was resisting the urge to throw it out the window.

“Well,” Gabriel said calmly, “Francis of Lorraine is no longer a safe suitor.”

Rafael sagged in relief. “Thank the gods.”

“Rafael,” Gabriel continued, “your mother is going to insist you meet him anyway.”

Rafael stared. “Why?”

Gabriel sighed. “Because Delphine will assume palace security was ’just being dramatic.’ And she will not accept my explanation without documentation. Which means…”

He handed the datapad back to Rafael.

“You are writing a full report. Detailed. Thorough. And with enough bureaucratic jargon to terrify your mother into canceling the luncheon.”

Rafael slumped. “Kill me.”

Gabriel smirked. “After the report.”

Alexandra chimed in, “At least you won’t have to marry him.”

Max added, “Unless Gregoris gets jealous.”

Rafael caught the nearest decorative pillow and launched it at him.

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