The laughter lingered, sharp and unrestrained, but by evening the sound outside the Emperor's wing had shifted.

The court had long tolerated the indulgences of their young Emperor. They tolerated his refusal to stock his halls with consorts because there was still time, still possibility. But now? He had been marked. His bond to Gabriel was etched across his skin in gold and blood, visible for every envoy to witness at the coronation. There would be no second bond, no concubine quarters to fill with ambitious daughters, and no games of rivalry for nobles to profit from.

And worse still, Maximilian Claymore, dominant alpha, head of his house, had declared the same.

At the private introduction of his son, Max had stood with Adam at his side, voice careless but words deliberate enough to slice:

"House Claymore is secure. I have my heir and my mate. I'll never need another."

That, more than Arik's first word or Noah's first squeak, sent ripples tearing through the salons.

Nobles who had spent fortunes preparing their daughters for imperial or Claymore favor now found themselves holding useless jewels. Families who counted on the old order, the dance of concubines and influence, had nothing to offer but outrage.

By the next morning, Edward's desk was buried in reports.

"The Emperor abandons precedent."

"House Claymore insults centuries of duty."

"Two dominant alphas discarding their responsibility for sentiment, how can such a fragile line protect an empire?"

Gabriel, robe loose, coffee in hand, skimmed them with the same faint smile he reserved for enemies already bleeding. Arik, golden eyes wide, was chewing on the corner of his necklace again, oblivious to his parents' enemies.

Damian leaned against the desk, arms folded, expression carved from steel. "Let them choke. Their outrage is their confession, they only ever wanted to sell their daughters for power."

Gabriel hummed against the rim of his cup, eyes still scanning the reports. "Mm… Well, it's not like there aren't nobles still eligible for marriage besides our circle. Alexandra is married already, Irina is under Alexander's protection, Gregoris has marked and married Rafael, and Christian is doing a fine job in Donin. He'll marry Astana soon enough."

Damian's gaze flicked to him, golden and sharp. "Which leaves only Sophia."

Gabriel's lips curved faintly, though his eyes stayed on the text. "And she's still barely grown. One year younger than Irina. If they think they'll get their hands on her, they're fools."

Arik babbled around the chain of the necklace, golden eyes gleaming as he yanked it again. Gabriel sighed, disentangling the slobber-wet chain from his son's grip and settling him higher against his chest. "Besides," he added dryly, "Sophia's already under your protection. Which means anyone who tries will be dead before the ink dries on their proposal."

Edward cleared his throat as he stepped closer with the silver tray, sliding another stack of holo-slates onto the desk. "They are, of course, circling her name and… Prince Arik, they already started proposing childhood companions for him."

Edward cleared his throat as he stepped closer with the silver tray, sliding another stack of holo-slates onto the desk. "They are, of course, circling her name and…" his eyes flicked briefly to the child on Gabriel's lap, "Prince Arik. They've already started proposing childhood companions for him."

Gabriel lowered his cup with extra care, brows arching. "Companions?" His tone was silk over steel.

Edward inclined his head. "Packages arrived this morning. Portfolios of photographs, family trees, and medical records. All veiled as gifts, of course, but the intent is obvious. They want their daughters raised within the Emperor's wing, tied to the prince before he can form words properly."

Arik chose that moment to squeal, fist thudding against the desk as if in protest. His golden eyes burned with the same fire as his father's, the chain of Gabriel's necklace still clutched victoriously in his other hand.

Damian's voice dropped, resonant and lethal. "They would trade their children like chattel before my son can walk."

Edward kept his tone neutral, though the faint crease at the corner of his mouth betrayed his disapproval. "Some call it foresight. Others call it tradition."

"Hah. Not with our son." Gabriel's laugh was soft, humorless, his free hand brushing Arik's curls back from his forehead. "The only tradition here is spite, and he's already proven he inherited it."

Arik gurgled proudly, as though he understood, tugging the chain again with imperial authority.

Damian's hand came down on the desk, palm flat, the sound a clean crack that made Edward straighten. The Emperor's golden eyes burned, molten with promise. "No child will be shackled to mine. Not by playdates, not by promises, not by contracts written before their teeth have grown."

Gabriel tilted his head, the faintest smirk curving his lips. "Besides, if Arik is going to choose his first war, it will not be which spoiled daughter he shares his blocks with. It will be something worthwhile. Something bloody."

Edward coughed into his fist, tactful as ever. "Then I assume you want me to send refusals."

"Not refusals." Gabriel sipped his coffee, eyes narrowing with quiet amusement. "Lessons. Polite, cutting, impossible to misinterpret. Draft a statement to the salons: the imperial prince already has a companion, his father's chain."

Damian's mouth curved, pride glinting through his fury. He glanced at Arik, who was chewing furiously on the necklace as if to punctuate his mother's words. "He couldn't have chosen better."

Edward's lips twitched despite himself. "Very well. I'll word it so delicately they'll bleed from reading it."

Gabriel leaned back in his chair, exhaustion softened by the sharp gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. "Perfect. Let the nobles choke on their own desperation. They've lost every door into this family, and now they think to crawl through the nursery."

Damian bent then, pressing a kiss to the top of Arik's head before straightening again, voice cold as the empire's banners. "Well, it's not like any of us mind some blood on our hands."