CHAPTER 177: CHAPTER 172: BURIED ROOTS (1)

The silence stretched between them, broken only by distant music and the gentle ripple of flags in the late afternoon breeze. Gabriel didn’t move, but his eyes had narrowed slightly, enough to register the shift from cordial to dangerous.

"Don’t trust Lucius," Daniel repeated, voice low. "He’s on par with Hadeon when it comes to what you gave up—when you chose Lyon House to rule over your own."

Gabriel’s fingers tightened on the balcony rail.

"I’m not surprised," he said quietly. "Only annoyed I let myself forget how deep those roots go."

Daniel didn’t look smug. Just... sad. Like a man watching an old truth return with a new face.

"He won’t stop," the Grand Duke said. "Not even now. He’s spent too long planting seeds in the dark. You gave him time. That was the only thing he needed."

Gabriel glanced toward the ballroom. Damian was still seated between his brothers, his posture deceptively relaxed. Christian and Max were laughing again, most likely a failed attempt to divert attention away from their previous gossip. Gabriel could feel the warm pull of that table even from here.

"I have a feeling that Damian didn’t waste time either," Gabriel said, voice flat. "You came to warn me. Why?"

Daniel’s expression didn’t shift much, but his gaze sharpened like glass catching sunlight.

"Because when power changes hands, people forget where the roots are buried," he said. "But you... you were never just a consort. Or a noble. Or a weapon. You were the gardener. The one who knew what to cut and what to keep alive."

Gabriel gave a humorless sound, something between a breath and a scoff.

"That gardener has amnesia and a blood test every two weeks."

"And yet," Daniel replied calmly, "you’re still here. Still dangerous. That’s why I came. Not for the man they call Consort. But for the one they called Dominie."

Gabriel didn’t deny it. Couldn’t.

Instead, he let his hand rest on the edge of the balcony, fingers lightly drumming.

"I have no use for old masks," he said after a pause. "Not unless I need them."

Daniel inclined his head, like a man who understood tools more than titles. "You don’t." He turned to the ballroom; Damian was watching them. "You chose well."

Gabriel didn’t reply. Not right away. He turned his head toward the ballroom, toward the laughter echoing faintly across the polished floors and glittering chandeliers.

Max and Christian were still doing their best to create chaos over dessert. And at the center of it, relaxed as a lion in his den, sat Damian. One elbow braced on the armrest, golden eyes cutting through the distance like he was already halfway to standing.

Gabriel didn’t need to look twice. Damian had heard everything.

Of course he had.

Damian could choose what he heard and what he ignored. Right now, he wasn’t ignoring anything.

Not Daniel.

Not Gabriel’s name.

And especially not the sound of footsteps approaching the balcony—Elliot’s.

Gabriel felt it the same second Damian did.

Daniel, sensing the shift, gave a small, almost regretful smile. "I’ll leave you with him, then."

Gabriel blinked. "With Damian or the Claymore menace?"

Daniel’s smile deepened into something knowing. "One keeps you alive. The other’s still learning the value of life."

And with that, he bowed—a proper farewell this time—and slipped past Elliot with the grace of a man who had no more time to waste on unworthy heirs.

Gabriel remained where he stood, fingers resting on the cool balcony stone, his body worn from a day that wasn’t even over yet.

He didn’t have to turn around to know who had come for him.

Damian’s presence was unmistakable—dense, unshakable, the kind of gravity that rearranged your steps without needing a word.

"You’ve been out here long enough," Damian said quietly.

Gabriel turned his head slightly. "I was enjoying the cold. And the quiet. Until certain footsteps ruined it."

"Then allow me to fix at least one of those," Damian murmured.

Before Gabriel could protest, he felt the weight of something familiar settle over his shoulders. Soft wool. Impossibly warm. And unmistakably imperial.

Damian’s cloak.

Gabriel went still.

Damian didn’t say anything as he fastened it at Gabriel’s throat. The movement was practiced, not rushed, but not performative either. Just efficient. Thoughtful. Possessive.

"You’re not allowed to freeze. Not yet."

Gabriel exhaled, slow and amused despite himself. "You say that like I’m planning to drop dead before dessert."

"I say that," Damian said, voice low and steady, "because you’ve been cornered twice today. And I don’t intend to let a third happen."

Elliot’s footsteps stalled near the threshold, being cut off by the balcony’s mere presence rather than force.

Because Damian was between them now. Entirely. Visibly.

"Let him come," Gabriel muttered. "He’s run out of lines anyway."

"I’m not in the mood," Damian replied, his voice calm but edged. "And neither are you."

Gabriel arched a brow. "You’re feeling merciful?"

Damian didn’t smile. "No. Just strategic. You have dinner with Lucius and Theodore tonight. Your tolerance for bullshit is already on a strict ration."

Gabriel made a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan, tilting his head back against the stone ledge behind him. "Right. That delightful circus."

They stood there a moment longer, the sound of the court inside muffled by velvet drapery and the sharp hush of falling snow beyond the balcony arches.

Gabriel glanced sideways. "Do you always listen to private conversations like a shadow-bound informant?"

"Only yours," Damian answered without missing a beat. "You’re the only one I can’t afford to miss."

Gabriel rolled his eyes, but his lips curved faintly. "You’re dramatic."

"And you’re avoiding your family," Damian said, his tone mild but knowing. "Whatever they want tonight, don’t forget this: you don’t owe them anything."

"I know." Gabriel’s voice dropped, quieter now. "But I still want answers."

"You’ll get them," Damian promised. "But not at the cost of yourself."

Gabriel looked down at the cloak around his shoulders, which was warm, heavy, and impossibly soft. His hand brushed the edge of the fabric, thoughtful. "You always act like the empire will fall apart if I catch a cold."

"It won’t fall apart," Damian said. "But I might set something on fire out of spite."

Gabriel huffed a quiet laugh. "That’s comforting."

Damian said nothing.

Instead, he stepped in closer—just enough to make the cold retreat between them—and adjusted the cloak again at Gabriel’s shoulder, carefully brushing his fingers against the nape of his neck.

"You’re freezing," he murmured, voice low.

Gabriel began to respond with something sharp, flippant, but the words never left his lips.

Because Damian leaned in and stole a kiss.

A soft, calm kiss, warm enough to thaw the ice lingering in Gabriel’s lungs. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission because it already knew it was welcome. Gabriel caught his breath as Damian’s lips parted just enough to reveal the shape of his mouth. A slow press. A quiet, coaxing touch.

Then the flicker of his tongue at the seam of Gabriel’s lips, and something in him sighed, low and involuntary, and let him in. His taste overwhelming him, he responded back with the same slow, languid moves, savoring the moment.

Their mouths moved in sync, a quiet back-and-forth of possession and permission. Damian’s hand slipped behind Gabriel’s neck, grounding him, while his thumb brushed the edge of his jaw in a gesture so careful it made Gabriel’s stomach twist.

When they pulled apart, barely a breath between them, Gabriel’s eyes were half-lidded. His voice dropped to a hush, still tasting him.

"Do not think I forgot what you did to me last night."