Chapter 5: Chapter 5: Cancel it.

Rafael spent the next hour curled over his datapad at the secondary desk, muttering like a man slowly losing his grip on reality. He typed, deleted, retyped, and added bureaucratic jargon so dense even the Emperor would need a glossary.

“Marriage,” Rafael murmured under his breath. “My life is over. I’ll be trapped in Lorraine Manor, refurbishing dollhouses, raising cats named Marzipan. Layle ran away for a reason. He didn’t move abroad for diplomacy, he moved abroad to escape her matchmaking.”

Julian glanced up from sorting gifts. “You know that’s true, right? Layle told me once. He said, ’If I stay, she’ll make me a father of five by thirty-two.’”

Rafael groaned. “And now it’s my turn.”

Irina leaned over a pile of cards. “Think positively. Your mother is terrifying, but she’s not stupid. If Gabriel says Francis is a threat…”

“Not a threat,” Max corrected lazily. “Just stupid enough to be one.”

“Either way,” Irina continued, “Delphine will listen. Eventually.”

Rafael slumped on the desk. “I want to die now, please.”

Alexandra patted his back with the gentleness of a woman patting a horse she expected to bite. “Stay strong. Or at least interesting. If you become boring, Gregoris might actually get you.”

Rafael let out a strangled noise.

That was when the door opened.

Gabriel walked in with the energy of a man who had just fought three diplomats, two generals, and possibly a baby shower committee in a single room. His expression was sharp and dangerously calm, one that made even Max straighten in reflex.

“Meeting was pointless,” Gabriel muttered, tossing a folder onto the desk. “Someone tried to push for an heir’s protection law amendment without consulting me. Idiots. I’m banning afternoon briefings for a week.”

Alexandra looked impressed. “Bold.”

“It’s that or murder,” Gabriel said flatly. “And Damian won’t let me murder anyone before lunch… or anyone while I’m pregnant.”

He finally looked at Rafael.

“You finished?”

Rafael held up the datapad like a child offering a report card. “I think so. It has three attachments, two references, and a citation from the Imperial Security Code.”

Gabriel took it and skimmed the first page. His eyes narrowed with satisfaction. “Good. Send it to your mother.”

Rafael froze. “What?”

“Send it,” Gabriel repeated, sinking into his chair. “Then call her.”

Rafael stared at him, horrified. He brushed his soft brown hair with trembling fingers. “Gabriel if you want to fire me, you only have to say…” An idea popped into his head before anyone could reply. “You know what? Exile me… away from my mother.”

Gabriel didn’t even blink. “I’m not exiling you, Rafael.”

Rafael leaned forward desperately. “Please. Send me to the northern front. Assign me to a border outpost. Or give me a fake diplomatic mission to a country that doesn’t exist. I’ll hide in the mountains. I’ll live off snow. I’ll be fine.”

Alexandra, without looking up, murmured, “He won’t be fine.”

Julian nodded. “He’ll die in an hour.”

Irina added softly, “But at least Delphine won’t find him.”

Gabriel sighed like a man forced to govern children. “Send the report.”

Rafael groaned, typed in his mother’s personal palace-linked address, hit send, and then sagged forward like he’d just thrown himself on a funeral pyre. “This is the end. She’s going to drag me home, sit me down, and interrogate me until I’m dehydrated.”

The datapad pinged once. Rafael didn’t even look; he just groaned into the desk as if the message itself had punched him in the spine.

Max glanced over. “She’s faster than usual. Impressive.”

Irina shook her head. “No, that’s alarming. Delphine doesn’t respond quickly unless she’s already planning something.”

Rafael let out a tiny dying noise. “She’s going to organize a wedding before I finish my morning tea.”

Gabriel didn’t look up from sorting a stack of florals that smelled aggressively expensive. “Call her,” he said calmly. “Before she calls you.”

Rafael’s soul left his body right as the datapad chimed again, this time with the ringing tone that meant Delphine was not waiting for permission.

Alexandra checked her watch. “That’s ninety seconds. Personal record.”

Rafael whimpered and accepted the call.

“Mother?” he said, sounding like someone greeting a firing squad.

Delphine’s voice was brisk. “Rafael, I have reviewed your document.”

Rafael opened his mouth, ready to explain, but she didn’t pause long enough for breath.

“I also spoke with Lady Fontaine,” she continued. “She assures me the marquess’s behavior was caused by champagne confusion. Not impropriety.”

Rafael stared at the datapad, horrified. “Mother, he tried to walk toward the Emperor…”

“Yes,” Delphine interrupted, “and he is inexperienced in court settings. These things happen. The luncheon tomorrow will proceed as planned. Wear something dignified.”

“Mother, please wait a…”

She hung up.

Rafael blinked at the dead screen, looking faintly concussed. “She said it was the champagne,” he whispered. “He tried to approach Damian like he had no self-preservation, and she thinks it was the champagne.”

Max let out a low whistle. “She overruled imperial security. Bold.”

Julian crossed his arms. “She scares me.”

Irina nodded. “She scares everyone.”

Rafael turned to Gabriel with the expression of a man who wanted divine intervention and would settle for resignation. “Gabriel… what do I do?”

Gabriel slid a new stack of documents across the desk. “Call her again.”

Rafael recoiled. “No.”

“Yes,” Gabriel said, voice even. “Because if Delphine hosts that luncheon, this turns into a political circus. And I am not dealing with that while pregnant.”

Rafael exhaled, his usual perfect appearance had now been abandoned in front of the tragic main character with mother issues. “Your Highness.” He used the honorifics for Gabriel only in public settings and when feeling betrayal. “You want the luncheon canceled so that YOU won’t have to go?

Gabriel slowly lifted his gaze from the documents, and the room collectively braced. He rarely allowed people to throw honorifics at him indoors unless he was seconds away from retaliating.

“My dear Rafael,” Gabriel said dryly, “if I wanted to avoid a luncheon, I would simply declare a national emergency. I do not need to weaponize your mother for that.”

Alexandra snorted behind a box of enchanted mobiles. “He’s not wrong.”

Rafael stared at Gabriel, wounded. “Then why do I have to fix this? Why can’t you just send a message? Or an imperial decree? Or a discreet threat?”

Julian pointed his pen at him. “Because Delphine thinks you are the problem to solve. You’re the project.”

Irina nodded. “And you know how she gets with projects.”

Rafael slumped further down the chair. “I hate being a project.”

Gabriel tapped his fingers against the desk, patient in the way only someone used to running an empire could be. “Rafael. Your mother will not listen to anyone except you. And possibly Layle, if he weren’t hiding in another country.”

“He is not hiding,” Rafael muttered. “He is… avoiding long-term psychological harm.”

Alexandra raised a brow. “By moving to another continent?”

“Yes!” Rafael snapped. “And he abandoned me to the wolves!”

Max corrected him with a lazy smile. “No. He abandoned you to Delphine. Wolves are nicer.”

Rafael smacked his forehead onto the desk again.

Gabriel let him suffer for exactly four seconds before continuing. “If Delphine frames this luncheon as a harmless social outing, nobles will assume the imperial household approved her interpretation of events. That means they will also assume the marquess was not in violation of palace security.”

Julian whistled. “That’s messy.”

Irina muttered, “It also makes Gregoris look lenient. And that’s… impossible.”

Rafael shuddered. “Please don’t say his name while I’m vulnerable.”

Gabriel leaned forward slightly, voice low and pointed. “Rafael, this luncheon has consequences far beyond your personal suffering. Cancel it.”

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