The roar of the Capital still shook the air when Gabriel finally turned, crimson robe snapping faintly in the high breeze. His lips curved, laughter spilling out, quiet, irreverent, cutting through the gravity of the moment like a blade slipped between armor.

"You," he murmured, golden crown catching the sun as he looked up at his mate, "didn't wear it."

Damian's gaze was steady, the ether-glow from the balcony etchings catching in his eyes. He knew exactly which crown Gabriel meant: the one forged in black gold, set with blood-red gems, a relic from rebellion days and the first war that had birthed his empire. The crown that had silenced generals, broken rebellions, and carved his place into history.

Instead, his head bore only a simple circlet, gold, heavy with authority, but untouched by war. Similar to Gabriel's, only broader, thicker, a mirror rather than a weapon.

Gabriel's laugh softened into something private, lingering between them in the wind. "So the Emperor sets aside his blade and wears a band like mine."

"This is not a day for blood," Damian answered, his voice low, resonant. "This is a day for peace. For them…" he flicked his chin toward the vast sea of people below, the banners, and the endless roar of loyalty and fear "and for you."

Gabriel tilted his head, the crown on his brow gleaming like fire. "Peace," he echoed, the word tasting almost foreign on his tongue. Then his smile curved sharp again. "But if it comes to war, they'll remember whose hand you're holding."

Damian's golden eyes softened in a way no one but Gabriel ever saw. His thumb brushed the back of Gabriel's hand, grounding them both against the storm. "If it comes to war," he murmured, "they'll remember who crowned you."

The roar of the Capital swelled again, drowning out everything else, but Gabriel's laugh remained like a secret between them, hidden beneath crowns of peace.

—

The banquet hall glittered with light, ether chandeliers casting shifting patterns across marble floors polished to a mirror's gleam. Every noble house worth ink in the registries was present, their jewels refracting, their voices carefully modulated as though they believed sheer etiquette might blunt the edge of imperial eyes.

But when Gabriel entered, dressed in muted grey brushed with gold embroidery, the hum of voices faltered. His suit was cut lean and elegant, regal in its restraint. The crown was gone, yet the weight of it lingered in the way he carried himself, straight-backed, composed, a presence sharper than any jewel.

Damian walked beside him in contrast, clad in black and gold so rich it bordered on defiance. His golden eyes burned brighter beneath the etched glow of the hall, his style as bold as his reputation: conqueror, Emperor, fire made flesh.

Together, they were balance and opposition, Gabriel all steel beneath silk, Damian all flame beneath gold.

The nobles bowed as they passed, the sound of rustling fabric and bent knees rolling through the chamber like a wave. Foreign envoys watched with veiled calculation, their aides scribbling notes even as their lips shaped compliments.

Crista Lyon was first to step forward, her smile warm as she raised her glass. "Your Majesties," she said, her voice carrying through the silence. "The Empire has not seen a day like this in a generation. May it stand for centuries more."

Gabriel inclined his head, lips curving in a faint smile. "Centuries, perhaps. Provided we are not buried under tributes first."

Laughter rippled, sharp and nervous. Alexandra, radiant in emerald silk, arched a brow and called from the side, "Careful, brother. Half the room will start shipping you more crates out of spite."

Irina, beside her, leaned forward to whisper with all the wide-eyed awe of a girl watching history unfold. "They look unreal," she said to Rafael, who was already sipping his wine like a man surviving disaster.

"Ha! Don't tell me this when Gregoris is watching you like a starved beast. You really had to wear this suit today?" Irina asked, raising a blonde brow, voice pitched low but sharp enough to cut through the hum of music.

Rafael only smirked, lounging back as though the banquet belonged to him rather than the Emperor's hall. His suit shimmered in the ether light, a cream so pale it seemed almost liquid, trimmed with golden thread that caught every glint. The cut was deliberate: crisp shoulders, a narrow waist, and an open collar daring enough to hint at scandal. Against the muted grey of Gabriel and the black-gold blaze of Damian, Rafael was a sun dropped into the room, radiance made smug.

He tilted his glass lazily, the corner of his mouth curling higher. "Of course I did. I had Gabriel's blessing for it."

Irina nearly choked on her drink. "You what?"

"Mm." Rafael leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial drawl. "Direct approval from His Excellency. Said I could wear whatever I liked, so long as it annoyed Gregoris."

Irina's jaw dropped, but before she could reply, her gaze flicked across the hall, where, sure enough, Gregoris Frasner stood near the dais, golden epaulettes gleaming, his eyes tracking Rafael like a predator denied its prey.

The sight made Rafael's smirk bloom into something wicked. He adjusted the cuff of his suit as though it were armor. "See? Beautiful, isn't it? He hasn't taken his eyes off me all evening."

"You're playing with fire," Irina muttered, half-appalled, half-amused.

"Fire," Rafael said smoothly, swirling his wine, "is exactly what looks best reflected in gold."

"You are doing this only because he can't leave his post until the celebration ends," Irina said, narrowing her eyes at him.

Rafael's smirk deepened, the faintest spark of mischief in his gaze. He tilted the glass toward the dais where Gregoris stood rigid in full uniform, the general's jaw tight, golden eyes locked with something far closer to hunger than protocol.

"Exactly," Rafael murmured, satisfaction curling through every syllable. "He can't move, he can't touch, he can only look. Do you know how rare it is to have a man like that suffer in silence?"

Irina groaned, covering her face with one hand. "You're impossible."

"I'm irresistible," Rafael corrected smoothly, the gold of his suit gleaming as he leaned back in his chair like a man basking in his own theater. He raised his glass again, letting the etherlight scatter against its surface, sending a shimmer across the room, straight into Gregoris's line of sight.

The general's fingers flexed once at his side before stilling again. A lesser man would have stormed across the floor. Gregoris held the line, his fury caged in discipline.

Irina peeked between her fingers, watching in horrified fascination. "He's going to kill you after this."

Rafael's smile sharpened, lazy and lethal. "Then I'll die beautifully dressed."