CHAPTER 426: CHAPTER 420: BEHIND THE SCHEDULE.

The silence stretched, humming low and steady, like something inevitable just beneath the surface, waiting for one of them to break the illusion of civility.

Gabriel’s hand hovered over his wine again.

And then, as if summoned by fate or sheer inconvenience, the door eased open with the quiet click of someone who had keys, clearance, and absolutely no fear.

Edward walked in without ceremony.

No bow, no tray of excuses, just the smooth glide of a man who had spent far too long managing the personal lives of emperors and their dangerous, overqualified spouses. His jacket was immaculate, as always, and his expression was that familiar mix of tolerance and muted exhaustion that said he had already handled three crises before breakfast.

"Well," Edward said cheerfully, folding his arms as he approached the table. "Goliath reincarnated. Lunch must’ve gone well."

Gabriel didn’t even glance up. "You’re early."

"I live here," Edward replied, calm. "And I know that if I show up ten minutes after the mood changes, I usually miss the part where one of you says something useful."

He nodded toward the plates. "Also, I smelled lamb. I assumed you needed monitoring."

Damian set his glass down, the motion slow, precise. "You were eavesdropping."

Edward smiled, mildly amused. "I was listening strategically. There’s a difference."

He stepped closer, eyeing the empty wine bottle and the way Gabriel’s chair was angled slightly toward the Emperor’s. "So... Goliath’s soul is possibly wrapped around the Empire’s core, the bloodline may be his chosen highway back, and you two are either remarkably calm or completely resigned."

Gabriel reached for the last piece of bread and spread it with an almost reverent amount of butter. "We haven’t decided if it’s horrifying or flattering."

"Mm," Edward hummed. "Well, it does explain why His Radiant Majesty over here has been skipping his rut like a teenager lying to the school nurse."

Gabriel stilled mid-bite. Damian said nothing.

Edward glanced at him, completely unbothered. "Thirty-two days, Damian. You’ve postponed it three times, and you’re still pretending your scent blockers are subtle."

Gabriel tilted his head, chewing slowly. The bread was still warm, butter melting into the crust. He swallowed, wiped his mouth with a fingertip, and looked up like someone observing a chemical reaction from a safe distance.

"You’re blocking it?" he asked.

Damian didn’t answer at first. He shifted slightly in his seat, the sleeve of his jacket brushing against the tablecloth.

Edward raised an eyebrow, as if bored by the theatrics. "He’s been suppressing it since the last time your heart stopped for twelve seconds and half the medical wing cried in a hallway."

"I was sedated," Gabriel muttered.

"You were dead-adjacent," Edward corrected. "He’s not wrong for waiting. I’m just saying the waiting part has now entered the realm of petty denial."

Damian finally spoke, voice even. "You barely gave birth. And my body decided that it would be an excellent time to prepare for a second child."

Gabriel blinked once. "So yes," Damian finished, looking at him with something unreadable behind his gaze, "it will stay under suppression."

The words weren’t cold, but they were weighted, like armor shaped around affection.

Gabriel set the bread down.

Very gently.

"So," he said slowly, "you’re telling me that your solution to this was not self-control, not open discussion, not even a mutually negotiated schedule. just pharmaceutical warfare."

Damian didn’t blink. "It worked."

Edward cleared his throat softly. "For now."

Gabriel shifted in his seat, his fingers brushing the stem of his glass again. The movement was quiet, but his tone wasn’t.

"You know what’s worse than an Emperor in rut?" Gabriel said, picking up his wineglass with deliberate calm. "An Emperor who thinks he’s not in rut."

Across the table, Damian’s eyes didn’t flicker. They held steady, golden, unreadable. "I’m in control."

Edward, who had been quietly standing near the sideboard with the air of someone who had absolutely earned the right to judge them both, let out a slow breath through his nose.

"And that," he said, "is the most difficult part with both of you. Two men who are always in control and never ask for help, until the furniture breaks or the building needs evacuating."

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "Edward, you just came here to make sure I find out."

Edward turned to him with a smile that was almost kind, if one ignored the bite behind it. "Correct. You’re clever. I’ve always liked that about you."

"You like me?" Gabriel asked, mock-offended.

"I said clever," Edward replied, unbothered. "Don’t start stretching my compliments."

Damian leaned back, arms folded again, the fabric of his uniform whispering against his skin. "You could’ve left this alone."

"I’m too old to pretend that leaving you two alone ends in anything other than a diplomatic incident and a broken bed frame," Edward said flatly. "And since I have the privilege of managing the Imperial Wing’s staff and security schedules, I’d like to schedule your rut properly, before half my beta personnel start reclassifying their second gender from one whiff of your suppressed pheromones."

Gabriel coughed once, laughing into his hand.

Damian looked slightly pained. "It’s not that bad."

"It is exactly that bad," Edward said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Last week, two junior archivists fainted because you passed them in a hallway. The ether filtration system flagged a structural fluctuation on the third floor. I’ve been rotating staff through the south annex so nobody under twenty-five accidentally awakens into a heat cycle while filing your meeting minutes."

Gabriel leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Fine. You prove your point."

Edward didn’t smile, but the lines at the corners of his eyes eased slightly, less triumph, more long-suffering relief.

"Good," he said. "Because the next step involved installing an emergency suppression field in your bedroom, and I hate doing paperwork for those."

Gabriel reached for his wine again, swirling what remained with the resigned elegance of someone halfway between amused and defeated. "You’re turning my sex life into a logistical nightmare."

"I’m managing a threat to national stability," Edward replied smoothly. "You’re just the vessel."

Damian cleared his throat, clearly regretting every leadership decision that had led to this moment. "We’ll manage it. Properly."

Edward turned to him with a look that suggested finally. "Excellent. I’ve already scheduled the scent dampeners to cycle out before the second night, and the wing will be sealed to essential personnel only. Any objections?"

Gabriel raised a hand lazily. "Yes. I object to being spoken about like a seasonal weather event."

"Then stop generating enough ether pressure to short out security doors," Edward said, already halfway to the corridor.

He paused at the threshold, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Two days," he repeated. "I expect discretion. I do not expect subtlety."

The door closed behind him, this time with finality and no small amount of dread.

Gabriel turned to Damian, lips pressed to the rim of his glass. "Well. You heard the man."

Damian gave him a long, assessing look. "Two days."

Gabriel’s smile was slow and laced with danger. "You’re already behind schedule."