Chapter 43: Chapter 43: Loss of control

Rafael’s office had settled back into its ordinary rhythm, one that was so unremarkable it bordered on boredom.

The windows were just open enough to let in the distant sounds of the palace courtyard below, including footsteps, the muted cadence of voices, and the low churn of daily business that went on without ceremony. Papers lay neatly stacked on his desk, their contents familiar before he even read them. Trade summaries that required little more than a signature. Scheduling confirmations already agreed upon weeks ago. Correspondence drafted to acknowledge outcomes rather than negotiate them.

It was, by every objective measure, a quiet day.

The worst of the year had already passed. The ceremonies, the negotiations that demanded presence and performance, and the moments when every word carried weight beyond its syllables, all of it was done. Gabriel was officially resting, which, in the language of the palace, meant that the machinery of governance had redistributed itself.

Damian absorbed what required authority and force.

Christian handled appearances and alliances that benefited from charm.

Crista smoothed the social edges, redirecting attention where it needed to go.

And the court, relieved of urgency, occupied itself with repetition and self-importance.

Rafael sat back in his chair, one ankle crossed over the other, pen tapping idly against the edge of a report he had already read twice. He should have been relieved. This was the kind of lull he had worked for. The absence of crisis was supposed to feel like success.

Instead, it felt… incomplete.

Gregoris Frasner had not contacted him.

Not after the collar’s return. Not with irritation thinly veiled as professionalism. Not even with the faint acknowledgment that usually followed a move like that. There had been no message, no summons, no carefully phrased nothing.

Silence, Rafael had learned early in life, was rarely accidental.

Rafael let the pen slow, then stop entirely between his fingers.

’I could assume he’s busy,’

he thought. ’Donin has him buried in reports, bodies, and logistics. The war takes precedence over whatever this is.’

It would be reasonable. Gregoris Frasner was a commander first. A duke second. Personal matters came last, if they came at all.

’But it doesn’t fit.’

Gregoris did not forget. He did not misplace attention. And he certainly did not leave something unfinished simply because something louder demanded his time. If anything, pressure elsewhere made him more strategic, not less.

Rafael’s gaze drifted back to the report on his desk without actually seeing it. He already knew the numbers. He had approved them before the ink had dried. His body remained composed, posture relaxed, but his thoughts had begun to circle.

’I could ask Irina if Gregris was dispatched, or Gabriel… But that would be merciful.’

He reached for his tablet and opened the cursed app. There were green slots for him and Gregoris. Each calendar syncing with the courting app.

“Interesting.” Gregoris had a green slot in two days, but also…

Rafael stared at the screen for a beat longer than was necessary, as if the interface might blink and admit it was joking.

Green slots.

His. Gregoris’s.

So neatly aligned it felt insulting.

’Of course you have availability during the gala,’ he thought. ’Of course you do. You can run a war and still make time for social theater. That’s not even impressive. It’s just irritating.’

He rested the tablet against the desk, fingers hovering above the scheduling options without touching them yet. The charitable gala had been on his calendar for months, less an event and more a civic performance the court used to reassure itself that it was benevolent. Rafael had promised Alexandra he would attend. He had promised her because she had asked with that particular mix of expectation and affection that made refusal feel like a personal failing rather than a logistical one.

And because, despite everything, he liked his friend too much to disappoint her.

He scrolled through the gala entry. Location. Confirmed guest list. Security protocols. Dress code. Required appearance time. It was all there, organized, documented, and impossible to argue with.

Gregoris’s green slot sat directly over it like a deliberate overlay.

’You’re either mocking me,’ Rafael thought, ’or you’re expecting me to do something stupid.’

He tapped the gala entry again, then the partner request option. There was only one after Augustus retired. Duke Alamina.

Rafael let the tablet rest against the desk without confirming anything yet.

The request could wait a few more minutes. Timing mattered, and so did preparation. Gregoris Frasner was not the sort of man you met halfway unarmed, not physically, and certainly not socially.

If he was going to initiate this, he would do it properly.

’If I’m striking first,’ Rafael thought, ’I don’t do it clumsily.’

His thumb brushed the edge of the communicator embedded in the desk. He hesitated, just long enough to acknowledge the faint, sharp anticipation threading beneath his irritation.

He was able to find my last outfit before the date.

That had been a mistake. Or rather an opening Gregoris had exploited with infuriating ease. The glance that lingered too long. The way his attention had sharpened, predatory and amused, as if Rafael had handed him a weapon and only realized it afterward.

Not again.

This time, Gregoris would see exactly what Rafael wanted him to see. No more, no less.

Rafael activated the communicator.

The connection chimed once before Gloria answered.

“Rafael,” she said, voice bright but already curious. “You don’t call unless you want something dangerous or expensive. Which one is it?”

“Both,” Rafael replied calmly. “And discreet.”

There was a pause on the other end, followed by the unmistakable sound of fabric being moved. “Oh,” Gloria said. “That tone means we’re having fun. Tell me everything.”

“I’m attending the charitable gala,” Rafael said. “And I need something custom.”

“Obviously.”

“I will be accompanied,” he continued, choosing his words with care, “by someone who has already seen our previous work before the event.”

Gloria inhaled sharply. “That bastard.”

Rafael allowed himself a small, private smile. “Yes.”

“So you want escalation,” she said, already thinking several steps ahead. “Or retaliation?”

“Neither,” Rafael replied. “I want control.”

Silence, brief and thoughtful.

“You want him feral,” Gloria said slowly, “but you don’t want him to be able to prove it.”

“Exactly.”

She laughed softly. “I love it when you’re specific.”

Rafael leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting toward the window as he spoke. “He expects provocation. If I give him something obvious, he’ll enjoy it too much. If I give him something dull, he’ll know it’s a lie.”

“So,” Gloria murmured, “we make it look appropriate.”

“Yes.”

“Respectable.”

“Yes.”

“And devastating if you know what you’re looking at.”

Rafael closed his eyes briefly. “You always understand me.”

“I understand predators,” Gloria corrected lightly. “And how to starve them just enough to make them reckless.”

Rafael opened his eyes again, irritation settling into something sharper, more precise. “I don’t want skin. I don’t want transparency. I don’t want him to know whether I meant it for him or not.”

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