CHAPTER 210: CHAPTER 205: THE CEREMONY OF SPITE (2)

Halfway through the reading, Julian slid into place just behind Gabriel, a little out of breath and clearly aware he was late.

He murmured softly, "I brought you a handkerchief in case you cry."

Gabriel didn’t turn. "If I cry, Julian, it’ll be from violent rage. And if I use that handkerchief, it’ll be to gag the next diplomat who says I must be proud."

"Ah," Julian said, calmly producing a silver-stitched square. "Lace it is."

Gabriel tilted his head back, eyes half-lidded as Anya gave her speech—some trite, watered-down fiction about duty and new beginnings.freēwēbnovel.com

"Where is the favorite cousin of the day? Shouldn’t Max be here, not me?"

Alexandra didn’t even blink. "Max faked a fever and fled to the Claymore estate. Christian was conveniently ’overwhelmed with academy schedules,’ and Sofia’s out of the capital visiting Crista’s summer villa."

Irina added under her breath, "Which leaves you. The legally tethered symbol of unity."

"I’m here. Damian didn’t let me slip." Said Max, taking a seat near Alexandra.

Alexandra turned, one brow raised. "You look suspiciously healthy for a man who allegedly couldn’t breathe this morning."

Max didn’t even flinch. "Oh, I was dying. Then Gregoris reminded me Damian would personally drag my unconscious body into the front row if I didn’t show up."

Gabriel didn’t look at him. "Congratulations. You’re now only the second-most miserable person at this engagement."

"I live to serve," Max replied dryly, smoothing his coat. "Besides, I need to be representative of the Claymore family. George is busy saving his love."

Gabriel’s head turned just enough to give Max a sideways glance. "And I’m sure that’s the only reason you’re here. Not because you wanted to see me trapped at a political engagement like a decorative hostage."

Max smirked. "That too. But mostly I’m here to keep an eye on Patricia."

Alexandra perked up at that, her tone sharp as a blade. "She’s here?"

Max nodded once, eyes flicking across the sea of nobility. "Far right, near the third column. Wearing blue to pretend she’s still relevant."

Gabriel didn’t turn his head—he didn’t need to. His expression was already sour. "Wonderful. I was just thinking this event lacked venom."

Irina leaned slightly into Gabriel’s shoulder and whispered, "Do I get to stab someone? Just asking in case we’re allowed to sign up."

"Put your name on the list," Alexandra muttered. "Right under mine."

"I understand why I have a problem with her. But you?" Asked Max, looking at them.

Alexandra didn’t miss a beat. She adjusted the folds of her skirt with elegance sharpened to a knife’s edge. "She insulted my brother. In front of witnesses. While wearing lace gloves in winter."

Irina choked on her drink.

Max blinked. "That’s enough?"

Alexandra turned to him with a smile so regal it could’ve ended dynasties. "I don’t need more than that."

"She also called Gabriel a seduction project," Irina added helpfully, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. "That one spread in Paisian salons for two weeks."

Max grimaced. "Ah. That explains it. I take it she didn’t like that Gabriel refused her son."

"She should be thankful that I didn’t do it in public." Gabriel muttered into his glass. "Well, he was the one throwing folders at Damian and treating him like a servant; he should have expected vengeance from the Emperor." Said Max while reaching for another drink.

"He did what?!" Asked Irina, panicked.

Max leaned in, eyes gleaming with that familiar, delighted malice only family gossip could ignite. "He threw a folder. At Damian. In my home, he worked me to the ground because of it." He stalled thinking. "Oh, I remember now. That was the moment Damian took an interest in you, Gabriel; your pheromones were on the folder."

"What?" Gabriel moved his gaze slowly to Max.

"Yes, well... He was the only one that could feel them; he got interested, then you spoke at the hearing, sealing the deal truly."

Irina’s mouth fell open. "So you’re telling me that Elliot’s tantrum is the reason the Emperor became obsessed with Gabriel?"

Max looked far too pleased with himself. "Indirectly, yes. He stormed in, threw that folder like a brat, and walked out thinking he won. Meanwhile, Damian was still holding the papers and went very, very still."

Alexandra blinked. "Wait, wait—that folder? The one from the Ashmont report?"

Max nodded. "The same. Gabriel’s scent was all over it. Pheromones in the margin, the ink. Not on purpose, of course, but—well, you know how dominant omegas get when they’re writing angry."

Gabriel looked like he might throw his wine at someone. "Are you seriously telling me that I got bonded to the Emperor because Elliot didn’t sterilize a project before delivering it?"

He took a deep breath. "I knew he was off that day."

Max raised his brows, all faux sympathy. "Off? Gabriel, he delivered your rage-scented thesis to the most territorial alpha in the Empire. I’m surprised Damian didn’t call for a mating contract on the spot."

Irina looked halfway between horrified and fascinated. "That’s all it took?"

Alexandra covered her mouth with her fingers, shaking with silent laughter. "I can’t believe Elliot’s incompetence triggered a royal bond."

Gabriel dragged a hand down his face. "I didn’t even like that version of the draft. It wasn’t finished. I was sleep-deprived and annoyed."

Max sipped his drink like he was toasting the chaos. "Exactly. And you know how pheromones spike when you’re under pressure? That folder had enough signature ether to start a political wildfire."

Gabriel leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. "So, to recap: I am now bonded to the Emperor, living in the palace, attending Anya’s engagement ceremony, and being quietly screened for pregnancy... all because Elliot didn’t proofread."

Max tilted his head. "Also because you decided to exist, Gabriel. That part was important too."

Gabriel pointed a ringed finger at him. "You are never allowed to tell this story in public."

"Oh no," Max said solemnly. "This one is for the family archive."

Irina, still wide-eyed, whispered, "Astana is going to scream."