Chapter 93: Chapter 93: Beautifully dressed.

Rafael was not happy.

This was, in itself, not unusual. Rafael was often not happy. But this time, the irritation had sharpened into something far more dangerous: strategic resentment.

Yes, technically, it was his fault. He had told Gregoris to “handle it” when the topic of marriage had come up, back when his brain had been on fire with pregnancy, politics, and his mother’s impending social warfare. And yes, in hindsight, telling the Emperor’s Bloodhound, Duke of half the Shadows, dominant alpha with a lifelong habit of solving problems permanently, to “handle it” had been… optimistic.

But Rafael had not actually believed Gregoris would want marriage.

Gregoris was a commander and a weapon. A dominant alpha whose very biology allowed him more than one omega mate if he so chose. A man bred and trained for war, hierarchy, and possession. Stability, domesticity, legal bonds, ceremonial vows – those belonged to gentler alphas, to politicians, to men who liked soft futures.

Not to beasts.

And yet.

The beast had looked at him, decided, and apparently gone: mine in every damn way.

Rafael sat in the imperial office, fingers drumming against the armrest of a chair that had once belonged to a warlord, plotting murder with remarkable calm.

Gabriel watched him over the rim of his teacup, brown eyes amused. “You are thinking very loudly.”

Alexandra, lounging across from Rafael with a stack of reports she was absolutely not reading, smiled. “That expression usually precedes either political devastation or personal revenge. Which one is it?”

“Both, ideally,” Rafael replied flatly. “But right now, I will settle for emotionally scarring Gregoris.”

Gabriel hummed. “You are upset about the marriage.”

“I was ambushed with paperwork,” Rafael said. “Like an unsuspecting civilian in a hostile office supply store.”

Alexandra laughed. “You told him to handle it.”

“I did not mean like a war operation,” Rafael snapped. “I meant negotiations. Discussions. Possibly a dramatic argument. Not—” he gestured vaguely, “a legally binding trap signed between candle budgets and medical supply chains.”

Gabriel set his cup down. “You do realize he did it because he is terrified of losing you to court chaos, your mother, and the political implications of an unplanned pregnancy.”

Rafael scowled. “I am aware. I am also aware that he enjoyed it.”

Alexandra’s smile turned wicked. “So what is the revenge?”

Rafael’s lips curved slowly, dangerously. “Oh, I am not going to fight him. That would be predictable. I have no chance, and probably he would laugh with tears.”

Gabriel raised a brow. “Then?”

“I am going to make him uncomfortable.”

Alexandra leaned forward, delighted. “Explain.”

Rafael folded his hands over his stomach, eyes glinting. “Well, the coronation is in less than three days, and Gregoris has a very specific post and cannot move from it until the celebrations are over.”

Alexandra’s interest sharpened. “Meaning?”

“Meaning,” Rafael continued calmly, “that he will be forced to stand in one place, in full view of the court, the clergy, the foreign delegations… and me.”

Gabriel’s lips curved. “And you intend to be a distraction.”

“I intend,” Rafael corrected, “to be immaculate.”

Alexandra tilted her head, already seeing it. “Go on.”

Rafael’s gaze went distant, calculating. “Something cut in a way that leaves skin where skin is… persuasive. Enough to remind everyone, and especially him, exactly what he decided to claim.”

Gabriel let out a soft, approving hum. “Like the charity gala, but refined. Weaponized elegance.”

“Exactly,” Rafael said. “Not that scandalous, but something white, and that would make his duty very hard.”

Alexandra laughed under her breath. “You want the Emperor’s Bloodhound to have to stand at attention while half the court watches him try not to stare at his own mate.”

“He will not fail,” Rafael added. “It is Gregoris, after all, he will keep his post perfectly for the entire three hours of the ceremony.”

Gabriel’s golden eyes warmed. “You realize this will drive him feral.”

“That,” Rafael replied serenely, “is the point.”

Alexandra clapped once, delighted. “Oh, this is cruel. I love it.”

Gabriel studied Rafael for a moment, then nodded. “I approve. Officially, imperially, and as your friend. Have it tailored and positioned directly in his line of sight.”

Rafael’s mouth curved, slow and dangerous.

“He planned my future with paperwork,” he said softly. “I will return the favor with fabric.”

—

The hall was already alive with music and light, the last gathering before the coronation wrapped in imperial splendor and barely restrained anticipation. Nobles drifted between tables heavy with crystal and gold, diplomats spoke in carefully chosen murmurs, and at the far end of the hall the dais waited, soon to be claimed by those who would stand at the center of history.

Rafael had no intention of standing quietly on the margins of it.

Irina, beside him, leaned forward to whisper with all the wide-eyed awe of a girl watching something monumental unfold. “They look unreal,” she said to Rafael, who was already sipping his wine like a man calmly surviving a personal catastrophe.

“Ha. Don’t tell me this when Gregoris is watching you like a starved beast. You really had to wear this suit today?” Irina added, raising a blonde brow, her voice pitched low but sharp enough to cut through the hum of music.

Rafael only smirked, lounging back as though the gala belonged to him rather than the Emperor’s hall. His suit shimmered in the ether light, a cream so pale it seemed almost liquid, trimmed with golden thread that caught every glint. The cut was planned: crisp shoulders, a narrow waist, and an open collar daring enough to hint at scandal. Against the muted grey of Gabriel and the black-and-gold blaze of Damian, Rafael was a sun dropped into the room, radiance made smug.

He tilted his glass lazily, the corner of his mouth curling higher. “Of course I did. I had Gabriel’s blessing for it.”

Irina nearly choked on her drink. “You what?”

“Mm.” Rafael leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial drawl. “Direct approval from His Excellency. Said I could wear whatever I liked, so long as it annoyed Gregoris.”

Irina’s jaw dropped, but before she could reply, her gaze flicked across the hall, where, sure enough, Gregoris Frasner stood near the dais, golden epaulettes gleaming, his eyes tracking Rafael like a predator denied its prey.

The sight made Rafael’s smirk bloom into something wicked. He adjusted the cuff of his suit as though it were armor. “See? Beautiful, isn’t it? He hasn’t taken his eyes off me all evening.”

“You’re playing with fire,” Irina muttered, half-appalled, half-amused.

“Fire,” Rafael said smoothly, swirling his wine, “is exactly what looks best reflected in gold.”

“You are doing this only because he can’t leave his post until the celebration ends,” Irina said, narrowing her eyes at him.

Rafael’s smirk deepened, the faintest spark of mischief in his gaze. He tilted the glass toward the dais where Gregoris stood rigid in full uniform, the commander’s jaw tight, silver eyes locked with something far closer to hunger than protocol.

“Exactly,” Rafael murmured, satisfaction curling through every syllable. “He can’t move, he can’t touch, he can only look. Do you know how rare it is to have a man like that suffer in silence?”

Irina groaned, covering her face with one hand. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m irresistible,” Rafael corrected smoothly, the gold of his suit gleaming as he leaned back in his chair like a man basking in his own theater. He raised his glass again, letting the etherlight scatter against its surface, sending a shimmer across the room, straight into Gregoris’s line of sight.

The general’s fingers flexed once at his side before stilling again. A lesser man would have stormed across the floor. Gregoris held the line, his fury caged in discipline.

Irina peeked between her fingers, watching in horrified fascination. “He’s going to kill you after this.”

Rafael’s smile sharpened, lazy and lethal. “Then I’ll die beautifully dressed.”

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