"Did you decide to be social again?" she asked, voice light, but her gaze had already catalogued the room, the cut of Alexandra's blouse, and the faint shadows under Gabriel's eyes. She'd grown up in this world of measured smiles and hidden daggers; she knew what the court would see and how they'd spin it.

"No," Gabriel said flatly. "I decided to survive."

Irina's lips curved. "Then you called the right reinforcements."

Before Gabriel could retort, another figure slipped in with all the grace of a deliberate entrance. Rafael, in a sharp suit in dove-gray, with a faint smile curving his mouth like he'd stepped out of a noble family portrait. Even Alexandra arched a brow at the sight.

Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "I didn't call you."

"No," Rafael agreed mildly, holding up a cream card stamped with Crista's seal. "She did. Apparently, the Dowager believes my presence will lend 'balance' to the room."

Alexandra gave a short laugh. "Balance? She means bait. Half the noblewomen will shove their sons and daughters at you before the tea's gone cold."

Rafael's smile didn't falter, though his eyes flickered with wry acknowledgment. "And you expect me to refuse Crista?"

"I want you to keep them occupied," Gabriel corrected, sliding Arik higher against his shoulder. "Smile, deflect, and make them think you're interested. Then leave them hanging. Consider it community service."

Irina arched a brow, folding her hands neatly in front of her. "I love when Gabriel is in social mode. Court thrives on the illusion of possibility, it keeps their attention where you want it. I'll manage the gossip lines before they can tangle you, and Alexandra can cut throats if necessary. Metaphorically."

The door eased open before anyone could reply, and Damian filled the frame with the kind of presence that silenced a room without a word. His golden eyes flicked once over Alexandra sprawled like a general on campaign, Irina poised like a debutante armed for battle, and Rafael adjusting his cufflinks with the serenity of a man walking to the gallows.

His mouth curved, slow and amused. "My mate doesn't prepare for a tea party," Damian said, voice low enough to scrape the air. "He mobilizes a strike team."

Gabriel didn't even blink, shifting Arik against his shoulder. "If you'd like to go in my place, be my guest."

Damian's gaze dropped briefly to the baby drooling on Gabriel's lapel, then rose back with unrepentant warmth burning beneath the humor. "No. Watching you maneuver is far more entertaining."

Alexandra snorted softly, but there was no hiding her satisfaction. "You hear that, Gabriel? Even your terrifying husband admits you're the main show."

Irina's smile sharpened. "Then let's not keep our audience waiting."

—

Crista's wing was already humming with preparation when they arrived. The salon glittered with ether-light strung through crystal pendants, every beam calibrated to flatter silk gowns and painted faces. The Dowager had never believed in subtlety; she preferred her theater with velvet curtains and chandeliers burning like suns.

Two dozen ladies were already in place, their chatter rising and falling like the sea against marble pillars. Ether cameras floated discreetly above the tables, lenses trained with predatory patience.

The moment Gabriel stepped through the arch, Arik in his arms, the air shifted. A collective intake of breath, the rustle of silk, the kind of silence that wasn't silence at all but a thousand judgments being drawn in real time.

Crista rose from her seat at the head of the table, her black hair caught back in a jeweled clasp, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "At last," she said warmly, though the undercurrent was pure command. "The Empress. And my grandson."

Gabriel's jaw tightened, but his smile slid into place like the most lethal of weapons.

Crista extended her hands as though she'd orchestrated the entire moment, which, of course, she had. "Come closer, Gabriel. Let them see the future they so adore speculating about."

Gabriel advanced, Arik held steady against his chest, the faintest curve of a smile fixed in place. Behind him, Alexandra, Irina, and Rafael fanned naturally into formation, rehearsed enough to look accidental, careful enough to funnel the entire salon's attention exactly where Gabriel wanted it.

The first wave of ladies descended like jeweled falcons.

"Oh, what a darling child…"

"Does he favor the Emperor, or perhaps…"

"Such eyes, my word…"

Gabriel didn't answer. Instead, he turned slightly, letting Alexandra step forward, her laugh smooth and dismissive. "You'll find the Emperor's nose on him if you stare long enough. Or perhaps Gabriel's jaw. Either way, he'll have no shortage of sharp edges when he grows." The ladies faltered, some with amusement, others with uncertainty, but their collective focus shifted off Gabriel's son and onto Alexandra's cutting tongue.

Irina moved in seamlessly, catching the arm of a dowager whose hat looked like it might take flight. "My lady, I heard your granddaughter was seen at the riverside promenade last week? How brave of her, the reporters have made that stretch almost impossible." The old woman lit up like a chandelier, launching into a tale of lineage and daring as Irina steered her neatly out of Gabriel's path.

The younger omegas were harder. They hovered, bright-eyed and calculating, their smiles too sharp. Gabriel saw the moment their gaze slid past him, landing squarely on Rafael.

Rafael caught it too. His faint smile widened by a fraction as though he'd expected nothing less. "Good afternoon," he said warmly, his tone pitched like an invitation without a promise. The ripple it caused was immediate, half a dozen hopeful mothers straightened, angling their daughters into his orbit. Rafael's eyes flicked once to Gabriel, wry amusement sparking there: see, I'm doing my part.

Gabriel inclined his head in the barest nod of approval before turning back to Crista, whose gaze had never left him.

"You've learned," the Dowager said softly, approval threaded with challenge. "You don't shield yourself. You build walls that breathe."

Gabriel's smile deepened, sharp as a blade tucked behind velvet. "I don't need walls. I need distractions."

Arik sneezed then, loudly enough to ripple through the room, and half the salon cooed at once. Damian, who had taken a silent place just behind Gabriel, leaned in, his lips brushing the edge of Gabriel's ear.

"They'll never know who they're really dancing for," he murmured.

Gabriel's smile didn't move, but his eyes flicked sideways. "When did you come?"

Damian's hand ghosted briefly over the small of his back, invisible to everyone but grounding all the same. "I won't let my mate and son stand here without proper security." His gaze swept the salon once, golden eyes sharp enough to slice through silk and chatter alike.

Gabriel huffed under his breath, rocking Arik a little as if the motion might steady his own irritation. "Security, you say. Yet you walked in like a predator into a birdcage and now half the ladies are staring at you instead of the child."

"Which," Damian replied without a hint of apology, "is precisely the point." His mouth curved, faint and lethal. "They'll remember the Emperor stood behind his mate, not the pearls in their tea or the cameras in their sleeves."

Gabriel's lips twitched despite himself. "So this is your version of subtlety."

"I built you a throne," Damian murmured, eyes never leaving the room. "You can handle tea."

Alexandra, watching from her place just beyond, smirked at the exchange and muttered to Irina, "I give him five minutes before he threatens to tear down the chandelier if someone comments on Arik's nose again."

Irina's answering smile was polite perfection, though her eyes danced. "Make it three. The Emperor doesn't share credit for genetics."

Across the room, Rafael caught the line of sight from three eager dowagers and sighed inwardly, raising his glass in a gesture that was polite enough to encourage and detached enough to frustrate. Gabriel noticed, and the faintest glimmer of satisfaction curved his mouth.