CHAPTER 424: CHAPTER 418: NOT AGAIN

A soft knock sounded against the doorframe not long after Christian had gone, followed by the light rustle of fabric and footsteps practiced enough not to echo.

Gabriel didn’t turn. He only whispered Arik’s name once under his breath, softer than sound, and the child stirred, blinking up in that slow, bleary way infants did when the world came back too fast.

"I know," Gabriel murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple before shifting him upright. "Time to charm your court."

The appointed nanny stepped forward with a silent curtsy, arms open and steady. Arik blinked again, brow crumpling as though in protest, but he didn’t cry, he only clutched Gabriel’s collar a moment longer before allowing himself to be passed over, warm and drowsy in the folds of royal blue.

Gabriel’s fingers lingered on his son’s curls.

"Only an hour," he said softly. "If he fusses, bring him back."

The nanny nodded and withdrew, careful not to let the trailing edge of her skirt catch on the ornate corner of the lounge. When the door clicked shut behind her, the room felt thinner. Not empty, but quieter, less full of that peculiar hum a child brought with them, all breath and fragile potential.

Damian stood, stretching once before undoing the top button of his shirt. "You need food."

"You mean we need to talk," Gabriel said, already rising to his feet with the fluid precision of someone who’d adapted quickly to carrying a child and surviving imperial court in the same breath.

"That too."

—

The adjoining chamber had already been laid out for them, simple by palace standards, with glassware of unmarked crystal, silver utensils without imperial crests, and dishes that steamed gently beneath polished lids. A silent nod from the steward, and they were left alone.

Gabriel settled first, pulling the linen napkin into his lap with one flick of his fingers. Damian took the seat in front of him.

"This is your way of implying that we have something serious to talk about?" Gabriel asked, faintly amused.

"Do you mean your suicidal attempt at dealing with Olivier’s shard alone, instead of waiting until you were recovered?" Damian said while reaching for the expensive bottle of wine in front of them.

Gabriel didn’t flinch.

He only tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curving faintly. "You make it sound like I climbed out the window with a dagger in my teeth."

Damian poured the wine with deliberate care, crimson curling like silk into both glasses. "You might as well have. Except worse. You did it knowing I couldn’t stop you or save you, for that matter."

"I did it knowing it had to be done." Gabriel’s voice didn’t rise, but the steel beneath it wasn’t dulled. "But yes, I should have given you and others a heads-up. I didn’t expect to be pulled into its world..."

Damian didn’t answer right away.

He leaned back in his chair instead, elbows resting loosely on the armrests, the wineglass untouched at his side. For a moment, his golden eyes simply held Gabriel’s, unreadable, like he was weighing something heavier than anger, heavier than disappointment. Then he exhaled through his nose, sharp and quiet.

"Don’t do it again."

Gabriel tilted his head, one brow arched. "That sounds suspiciously like a request."

"It’s a threat," Damian said flatly, though there was no real heat behind it. "Because if you ever risk yourself like that again, I’ll ask for ten children."

Gabriel blinked.

Damian sipped his wine, unconcerned. "Ten. At minimum. One for every time you even consider doing something reckless behind my back. That way, you’ll be too tired to entertain suicidal heroics. You’ll be surrounded. Outnumbered. Pinned to the floor by a horde of black-haired gremlins with your eyes and your attitude."

Gabriel stared at him.

Then, slowly, he began to laugh. Not loud or cruel, but helpless in the way of someone betrayed by their own lungs, quiet at first, then warmer, looser. His hand came up to cover his mouth as he leaned back, amusement flickering across his features like sunlight on broken glass.

"Ten?" he echoed when he could breathe again. "I thought we had that discussion months ago."

Damian didn’t flinch. He said it as casually as if he were commenting on the weather.

"We did. Now I’m just weaponizing it."

Gabriel let out another breath, caught somewhere between disbelief and reluctant delight. "Gods, you’re serious."

"I was always serious." Damian finally leaned forward, bracing his forearms against the edge of the table, golden eyes unwavering. "You want freedom to act, I want a guarantee you’ll survive it. Ten children. One for every time I wake up and you’re not beside me because you’ve decided to play martyr again."

Gabriel’s smile sharpened, faint and feline. "And here I thought your idea of revenge involved armies and annexations."

"This is an annexation," Damian murmured. "Of your time. Your body. Your patience. And every inch of sleep you think you’ll be getting for the next twenty years."

Gabriel’s wineglass tilted toward his mouth, a silent salute to that ridiculous, infuriating logic. He sipped, then lowered it with slow precision, eyes glinting over the rim.

"Fine. I accept that it was reckless and stupid. Not going to happen again, but..."

"But?" Damian asked, raising one of his eyebrows.

Gabriel set the glass down, the base making the faintest sound against the linen-covered table. His fingers lingered at the stem, elegant and unmoved, but the tilt of his head gave him away, a flicker of defiance beneath the quiet.

"But I’m still the best person for it." His voice was calm, maddeningly so. "I understand the ether patterns Olivier left behind better than anyone else. I know where the fractures run, how the soul tether warped, what it wants."

Damian’s eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in calculation. "And you think that matters more than your life?"

"I think," Gabriel said slowly, "that if I don’t do it, someone else will try. And they’ll die."

There was no dramatics in the way he said it. No pity. Just fact.

Damian leaned back slightly in his chair, golden gaze steady. "You’re not wrong. But I’m still not accepting recklessness as part of the plan."

"I didn’t ask for your approval." Gabriel’s mouth curved into something far too composed to be a smile. "Just your wine. And possibly a second plate of that lamb."

Damian’s hand reached out, effortless and silent, lifting the lid from the next dish as if they hadn’t just outlined their approach to surviving god fragments and raising imperial heirs in the same breath.

"This is the last time," Damian said, placing the plate in front of him. "I’m not going to let it happen again."

He sipped his wine calmly. "And I expect a full report on what happened inside the shard."