CHAPTER 502: CHAPTER 496: IT’S MORE THAN ENOUGH.

The chamber was warm with late sunlight, the wards humming in their steady rhythm. Gabriel leaned back against the couch, Orfeo nestled against his chest in soft baby sleep, the gentle rise and fall of his tiny breaths grounding against the steady weight of reports spread across Gabriel’s lap. His hand shifted automatically whenever the infant stirred, fingertips brushing small curls that were already threatening to darken.

The sound of water stilled behind the inner doors. A moment later, Damian emerged from the bathing chamber, steam curling faintly around him. He wore only a towel knotted low at his hips, his black hair long now, damp strands dripping as they slid over his shoulders. Gold eyes flicked once to Gabriel, then softened only when they found the sleeping child.

"You’re working again," Damian murmured, voice low, half-chiding, half-amused as he crossed the carpet.

"I’m always working," Gabriel replied dryly without looking up, turning a page with careful precision so the rustle wouldn’t wake Orfeo. "Someone has to make sense of what Wrohan’s been doing with their so-called engineering marvels."

Damian arched a brow, leaning one arm against the back of the couch. "Failing, from the sound of it."

"Failing spectacularly," Gabriel said, and his mouth curved, sharp with satisfaction. "They pushed for the blueprints of ether storage. Thought the equipment they bought from us would be enough to dismantle, reverse-engineer, and maybe even cheat their way into the system. Instead, they wasted months and ended up with burnt channels and useless scraps."

Damian’s hum was low, pleased. He reached out, brushing the edge of a report with damp fingers before lowering his hand to rest briefly against Orfeo’s back. "Good. Let them choke on their ambition. The wards won’t bend for them."

Gabriel angled his head, brown eyes lifting at last to catch the gleam of gold in his mate’s. "No. And if they keep pressing, I’ll have Rafael bury them in paperwork until their entire ministry forgets how to breathe."

A faint huff of laughter escaped Damian, his hair dripping faint trails of water down his shoulders. He bent, pressing a fleeting kiss to Gabriel’s temple before straightening again, the scent of steam and soap lingering in the air. "You sound more ruthless than I do."

Gabriel smirked faintly, lowering his gaze back to the reports. "You married me knowing exactly what I was."

Damian’s lips curved, eyes glinting with quiet pride. "And I’d do it again."

Damian lingered a moment longer, his gaze catching on the curve of Gabriel’s smirk. Then, without warning, he leaned down and kissed him, unhurried, deep enough that Gabriel’s fingers tightened briefly on the papers before he let them slide to the side. The scent of steam and soap clung to Damian’s skin, his damp hair brushing against Gabriel’s cheek, cool strands trailing down his neck like teasing ink.

"Damian," Gabriel murmured against his mouth, half a protest, half a laugh. "You’re dripping on the reports."

"Let them dry," Damian said, voice velvet-dark, before stealing another kiss, slower this time, golden eyes hooded.

Orfeo stirred faintly between them, a soft sigh escaping his tiny chest. Both parents froze, listening. When the baby settled again, Damian’s mouth curved against Gabriel’s. "You see? Even he agrees."

Gabriel huffed, though his lips betrayed him with the faintest twitch. "If your definition of agreement is silence, then yes. He’s a very obedient child."

"Like his mother," Damian said smoothly, deliberately.

Gabriel arched a brow, sharp even through exhaustion. "Keep talking and you’ll be the one sleeping in the nursery."

Golden eyes gleamed with mirth. Damian only chuckled, leaning back enough to brush a damp strand of hair behind Gabriel’s ear. Then, with a care that belied his size, he slid his arms beneath the sleeping infant. Orfeo made a small, questioning sound but didn’t wake as Damian lifted him easily.

Gabriel’s hand lingered against the tiny bundle for a moment before falling away, his gaze tracking them. "Careful. He’s already claimed by half the household. If you drop him, you’ll have to answer to Rowena, Frederick, and Alexandra in the same breath."

Damian’s smile was a fleeting, dangerous thing softened by fondness as he cradled their son against his chest. "Let them try."

With that, he crossed the suite in silence, the wards bending faintly as the Emperor carried the future prince toward the adjoining nursery, the towel at his hips and his long hair leaving a trail of steam in his wake.

Damian returned and settled beside him, damp hair brushing Gabriel’s shoulder as he leaned back into the cushions. The quiet hum of the nursery wards vibrated faintly in the air, steady and reassuring.

Gabriel’s gaze lingered on the closed door for a moment before he sighed, fingers idly smoothing the crease of a discarded report. "Three children," he murmured, tone deceptively casual. "Golden eyes, green eyes, silver eyes. Not one with my face. The odds mock me."

Damian’s lips curved faintly, though his gaze sharpened. "You won’t rest until the empire is full of little replicas of you."

Gabriel turned his head, brown eyes glinting with tired humor. "At least one, Damian. Is that so much to ask?"

For a long beat, Damian said nothing. He only studied him, the shadows still clinging under Gabriel’s eyes, the lines of weariness he tried to hide, and the stubbornness that never dimmed even with exhaustion. His jaw tightened.

"Yes," Damian said finally, voice quiet but edged with iron. "It is too much. I won’t watch you bleed yourself for the sake of vanity."

Gabriel’s brow arched, sharp even through his smile. "Vanity? I call it balance. If they’re going to inherit the empire, one ought to look like their parent who isn’t terrifying."

"You’re not weak," Damian countered, low, golden eyes fierce. "But pregnancy eats at you. I see it even when you pretend I don’t. Arik, Cecil, and Orfeo, they’re enough. More than enough."

Gabriel tilted his head back against the couch, a quiet laugh escaping. "So you’ll forbid me?"

Damian leaned in, mouth brushing the corner of his, heat coiled in every word. "If I could command fate, I’d forbid even the thought."

Gabriel’s smile softened, wry and unbending all at once. "Then I’ll have to conspire against you and fate both. One child with my face, Damian. That’s all I ask."

Damian didn’t answer at once. Instead, he slipped an arm around Gabriel, drawing him in until his stubborn mate was pressed firmly against his chest. His damp hair trailed cool lines across Gabriel’s temple as he bent, golden eyes burning low.

"Marin already leaked the files to me," he murmured, voice iron wrapped in velvet. "Don’t think I haven’t read them. Strong as you are, every child thins your ether a little more. You carry too much of them inside you, their strength comes from you. And I won’t risk you for another."

Gabriel stilled, lashes lowering, a quiet scoff catching in his throat. "So now even the physician conspires with you. Treason in my own household."

Damian’s arms tightened around him, steady, immovable. "Call it what you like. I’ll take betrayal over burying you."

Gabriel let out a long, theatrical sigh, the kind that might have fooled anyone else into believing him wounded. "Three children, and not one with my face. A dynasty of Lyons, von Jaunez, and Shadows, not a trace of me. Fate really is cruel."

His hand rose, pressing dramatically over his brow as if he might swoon, though the faint curve of his mouth betrayed him.

"Gabriel..." Damian’s voice was low, firm but gentled by the weight of affection. "It’s enough. You are pushing too much."

Gabriel turned into him, nuzzling against the warm line of his neck, the scent of steam and soap still clinging to his skin. "Fine."

Damian stilled, suspicion flickering in the golden eyes that had faced down armies. "Fine?"

"Yes, fine," Gabriel said, voice deceptively mild. "I have no trick up my sleeve, no conspiracies with fate. But..." He drew back just enough to meet Damian’s gaze, brown eyes gleaming with quiet defiance. "...if it happens, then I will keep them."

A beat of silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. Damian’s jaw worked once before he let out a quiet huff, half a growl, half resignation. "You are impossible."

Gabriel’s lips curved into a tired, wicked little smile as he sank more fully against him. "And yet, here I am. Married to you. Fate really does have a sense of humor."