CHAPTER 423: CHAPTER 417: WEAPONIZED LOVE

Christian caught the gesture, barely, and lowered his voice, but not the grief beneath it. He looked between them, the glow of the fire casting sharp angles across his cheekbones, hair clinging to his jaw like ink.

"I was going to meet my nephew again. Bring him something. Smile a little. Say something charming and forgettable and leave before it hurt."

Damian said nothing.

"You gave me a fucking kingdom instead."

Gabriel met his eyes, voice quieter than before. "Christian, you are a prince. Own it, and let’s be honest, you are mad because you will be away from Astana."

Christian froze long enough for the truth to settle, raw and unavoidable, like a hairline fracture catching light.

His eyes flicked to Gabriel. Then to Damian. Then away, toward the floor, the child, anywhere else.

"I’m not..." he started, then stopped. His jaw clenched, silver eyes flickering. "He’s a beta."

Gabriel raised one brow.

Just slightly. A slow, deliberate arc that didn’t ask so much as dared him to finish that sentence.

"He’s your beta, the beta you date currently," he said simply, his voice laced with something wry and intimate, like amusement wrapped in steel. "And if you think a border assignment is going to erase that, you’re more naïve than I thought."

Christian blinked.

Damian, unfazed by the emotional storm brewing across the room, sat beside Gabriel with the composed ease of a man listening to weather forecasts. His hand skimmed lightly along the cushion behind Gabriel but didn’t touch, he knew better than to startle Arik when he’d only just gone still. Instead, he glanced at Christian like he was waiting for a more pressing topic.

Christian let out a breath, half laugh, half pain. "I should’ve lied and brought flowers."

"You brought rage instead. Typical of our bloodline," Damian muttered.

Gabriel shifted Arik higher against his chest, his voice soft but steady. "Do your job. Rebuild Donin. Save the civilians. Secure the ether grid. And then come back."

"So... You won’t let Astana come with me?" Christian asked Damian hopefully.

Damian’s voice was flat. "He’s my Chief Secretary, Christian."

Christian’s mouth twitched, somewhere between disbelief and betrayal. "I’m your brother."

"Yes," Damian said without blinking. "Which is why you’re not getting him."

Christian stared. "I’m going to a province buried under surveillance ruins, rebel fallout, and gods know what else..."

"And you’ll survive," Damian said mildly. "You always do."

Gabriel didn’t even sigh. He only raised a hand, adjusting Arik’s blanket slightly with a slow grace, his other arm still curved protectively around the child. His eyes, however, gleamed with thin amusement, sharp enough to cut.

"You want him there because he makes your life easier," Gabriel said dryly. "Damian wants him here because he doesn’t want to train another secretary. Be honest about your odds."

Damian didn’t bother refuting it. "Astana can manage a dozen ministers, a compromised ether briefing, and your temper without flinching. I’m not starting over with someone who color-codes by the fucking weekday."

Christian’s jaw flexed. He looked like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find a crack in the logic.

Gabriel arched a brow. "And it’s not like you will be away forever. You can visit, there are portals and I’m sure Astana would find a way to see you."

Gabriel arched a brow. "And it’s not like you’ll be away forever. You can visit. There are portals, carriers, official excuses. And knowing Astana, he’ll find a way to see you even if it means disguising himself as a logistics envoy and pretending he forgot your itinerary."

That earned the smallest reaction, a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh, but wasn’t grief either. Just something tired and human. A corner of Christian’s mouth lifted, then fell again, undone by the sheer weight of what waited for him past this room.

He swallowed once, hard. "Of course he would."

He glanced once more at Arik, then at Gabriel, and finally let his gaze settle on Damian.

"I’m starting to understand why Max avoids your orders like the plague," Christian muttered, his tone dry with reluctant admiration. "And why he never answers your letters until he’s already left the continent."

Damian didn’t so much as blink. "Max avoids everything. That’s not strategy. That’s cowardice with taste."

Christian gave a low exhale and straightened the lapel of his coat. "Well. Let’s do this then."

Damian leaned back in the chair, one leg crossed lazily over the other, fingers steepled. "You restore Donin to something acceptable, and I will approve of any Consort you choose to curse with your presence."

Christian stilled. Just for a second.

Then: "Even if it’s Astana."

Damian’s eyes narrowed faintly, but his smirk didn’t fade. "Especially if it’s Astana. I’d rather sign the paperwork than witness another five years of prolonged pining disguised as delegation memos."

Christian didn’t rise to it. He only nodded once, sharp and decisive, the conversation folding into silence like a treaty written in blood and brotherhood.

Gabriel exhaled, faint and slow, rubbing Arik’s back in a slow circle. "You two really do know how to make a royal appointment feel like a marriage proposal."

"Same stakes," Christian said, already turning toward the door.

"Worse consequences," Damian added, not unkindly.

This time, Christian didn’t argue.

He left without another word, silver eyes steady.

The door closed with a soft click.

Gabriel didn’t move for a long moment. He only adjusted Arik’s blanket again, slow and steady, fingers trailing over the embroidered edge like he was memorizing it all over again. Then he huffed, low and almost fond.

"You just weaponized love."

Damian raised a brow, the corner of his mouth tugging into something too smug to be called innocent. "He needed motivation."

Gabriel gave him a look. One of those pointed, faintly disbelieving glances that said more than words could. "So naturally, you promised your blessing on his romantic future if he rebuilt a fallen province from rubble and ash."

"He’s sentimental," Damian said with the ease of someone who wasn’t. "And too proud to beg. The offer had to feel like a threat."

Gabriel snorted softly. "You do know that no matter how many titles you give him, he’ll never stop arguing over breakfast. Or flirting with disaster."

"He’s my brother," Damian replied. "I’d be more concerned if he didn’t."

Arik shifted with a quiet sigh, small fingers curling briefly in Gabriel’s shirt before going still again. Gabriel smoothed a hand down his back and leaned into the warmth of Damian’s side, just enough to brush shoulders.

"You’re lucky he loves you," Gabriel said lightly.

Damian looked over, gold eyes catching the firelight. "I’m luckier than you do."