A month later, the fragments still sat like ghosts on the edges of Gabriel's desk. Thin sheets of crystal etched with half-burned runes, their surfaces blackened and cracked where poison had eaten the channels clean. He had traced them again and again, searching for patterns where the lines stuttered and broke, his notes spilling into untidy stacks that even Astana hadn't dared touch.

The noon sun cut through the high windows of the dining room, scattering across polished silver and porcelain. Arik sat between them, his dark curls damp from morning lessons, his fork stubbornly prodding at a pile of green vegetables he had no interest in.

"Vegetables first," Damian said, voice calm but edged with that imperious weight he carried everywhere. His golden eyes flicked down at his son's plate with all the gravity of a council decree.

Arik wrinkled his nose, stabbing one piece of broccoli and dragging it through the sauce like a soldier pulling a corpse. "They're bitter."

"Strength is bitter," Damian replied without hesitation, lifting his own glass of water with perfect composure.

Gabriel's laugh cracked across the table, low and sharp. His head tipped slightly, brown eyes gleaming as he set aside the half-deciphered fragment he had carried even into lunch. "Gods, Damian, you can't rule an empire with vegetable analogies."

Arik looked up quickly, seizing his advantage. "See? Papa says no."

Gabriel smirked and reached for his glass of citrus water, then froze. The scent hit him first, sharp and acidic, twisting his stomach before the taste even touched his lips. His throat tightened, and he set the glass down too quickly, the clink louder than he intended.

Damian's golden eyes snapped to him at once. "Gabriel?"

Gabriel exhaled slowly, one hand pressing against the table, his composure holding only by habit. "It's nothing. Just…" His mouth curved in something caught between a smirk and a grimace. "…apparently citrus and I are no longer on speaking terms."

Arik blinked, vegetables forgotten, his fork dangling. "You don't like oranges anymore?"

Gabriel swallowed, his hand straying almost absently toward his stomach. "Not today."

Damian's gaze lingered on him, molten and sharp, his silence speaking louder than any words.

Gabriel leaned back in his chair, forcing his smirk wider, though his skin felt clammy under the sunlight. "Don't look at me like that. You'll terrify the boy into thinking he'll inherit your paranoia along with your eyes."

Arik, oblivious, resumed prodding his broccoli, humming something tuneless under his breath.

Damian didn't answer. His golden gaze lingered, heavy and steady, tracing the faint tension at Gabriel's throat, the way his hand had strayed, unthinking, toward his stomach. He knew. The way he had known the first time, even before Gabriel admitted it.

But this time… this time there was no warlord clawing his way back into the world, no rebellion burning at their gates, no fractured empire hanging by a thread.

This time, Damian let the thought settle in his chest like an ember catching fire: Gabriel was pregnant again. And perhaps, this time, it would not tear him apart.

He lifted his glass with deliberate calm, hiding the flicker of warmth that threatened to soften his expression. "Eat your vegetables, Arik," he said evenly, as if nothing had shifted. "You'll need them if you want to keep up with your tutors."

Gabriel's brown eyes flicked toward him, sharp as ever, but there was a faint curve at his mouth. He knew Damian had seen through him, even if he refused to give the words shape at the table.

The clatter of silverware and Arik's dramatic sigh over broccoli filled the room, the quiet rhythm of family in the middle of the empire. For a fleeting moment, it almost felt ordinary.

The doors opened with a muted creak of wards releasing, and Edward stepped inside, bowing with the precision of a man who knew how to enter even silence without shattering it. His eyes swept the table once before settling on Damian.

"Your Majesty, Your Excellency," he said, his tone calm but carrying a note of brightness rare for him. "I thought you should be informed immediately; Lady Alexandra has delivered. A daughter. Alpha."

Gabriel's fork stilled, his gaze snapping to Edward, then softening just as quickly. His chest tightened in a rush of relief, pride, and something warmer; his sister was safe, her child alive and strong.

"A girl," he murmured, lips curving faintly. "Of course she would."

Damian's golden eyes lingered on him, quietly pleased, though his expression remained composed. "And Alexandra?"

"Recovering well," Edward confirmed with the ghost of a smile. "Her husband is… radiant, as expected."

Arik perked up at once, abandoning his vegetables entirely. "A cousin? Can I see her? Please?"

"Finish your plate," Damian said automatically, though the corner of his mouth curved, faint and almost hidden.

Gabriel leaned back in his chair, warmth glinting through his sharpness. "An alpha daughter. Alexandra will be insufferable with joy." His hand slid, almost unconsciously, back to his own stomach. "She didn't want to tell until she gave birth."

Edward inclined his head, the faintest trace of amusement flickering across his usually steady features. "She said as much. That she wanted the court to see only the child, not her weakness while carrying one."

Gabriel's mouth curved wryly. "Classic Alexandra. Appear flawless first, suffer in silence second."

Arik's fork clattered against his plate as he leaned forward, wide-eyed. "But I want to see her! She's my cousin. If she's an alpha, she'll be strong. Maybe she can play swords with me when she grows up."

"You'll wait," Damian said firmly, though his tone softened as he reached to nudge Arik's plate back toward him. "She is barely hours old. You'll meet her soon enough."

Gabriel's brown eyes lingered on his son's bright face, then slid back to Edward. "Tell Alexandra I'll come when the commotion dies down. For now, let her bask. She's earned that."

Edward bowed again. "I'll convey your words, Excellency." He hesitated a fraction, then added, "The child is healthy, loud, and already commanding the nursery as though it belongs to her. Much like her mother."

Gabriel huffed a laugh, low and fond. "Perfect."

As the doors closed behind Edward, the quiet of the dining room settled again. Damian's golden gaze flicked once more to Gabriel's hand, still resting near his stomach, and this time he didn't look away.

Gabriel met his eyes, smirk curving sharp, as if daring him to say it aloud at the table.

Damian didn't. Not yet.