Gregoris returned from Donin with ether dust on the hem of his coat, frost caught in the seams, and the distinct irritation of a man who had been forced to endure someone else’s domestic sulking while trying to conduct a serious inspection.

The trip itself had not been a failure.

That was, perhaps, the most annoying part.

He had gone south to inspect the Shadow base in Donin, fully prepared to find at least three procedural problems, one security lapse, and a commander somewhere in the chain who thought confidence was a substitute for discipline. Instead, what he found was an installation that had been sharpened by two decades under Christian’s authority and Astana’s administrative precision into something efficient, heavily warded, and unpleasantly competent.

The perimeter shields were stable. The ether relays had been upgraded twice since his last visit. The underground training corridors were cleaner than some palace wings. The rotating units were exhausted but not sloppy. Even the supply manifests had matched the physical stores closely enough to insult his expectations.

Mostly satisfied, then.

Mostly.

Because Christian had been in Donin.

And Christian, who had been deprived of Astana for long enough to become unbearable, was in the kind of mood that Gregoris would have preferred to leave to private suffering rather than witness up close.

Damian had asked Astana to assist with something tied to Agaron three days earlier. That had apparently been enough to turn Donin’s ruling prince into a walking offense against everyone in his vicinity.

Christian had not failed in his duties. That would have been easier to criticize. No, he had continued running the province, the Shadow base, and the surrounding command network with the calm efficiency of a man who was too responsible to let emotional damage interfere with work.

He had simply done all of it while radiating the kind of cold, elegant misery that made every room feel slightly hostile.

Gregoris had spent two days inspecting ether-armed barracks and covert deployment routes while listening to Christian refer to Astana’s absence as ’temporary administrative sabotage.’

It had been a long inspection.

Naturally, upon returning to the capital, Gregoris went to Damian first.

Not because he enjoyed it. He did not particularly enjoy most things involving reports, walls, or chairs. But command remained command, and Gregoris had never been one of those men who used personal matters as an excuse to delay official duty.

He entered the imperial office still in his travel coat, gloves tucked beneath one arm, boots carrying the last trace of winter grit from the southern rail platform. The room smelled faintly of old paper, fresh coffee, and charged ether running through the reinforced walls. A modern imperial office, in other words. Screens built into carved dark panels. Live ward maps shimmering in pale blue over old stone. Reports on actual paper because Damian trusted parchment less than he trusted backups but trusted paper more than he trusted other people.

Damian was at his desk.

There were moments when Gregoris suspected the Empire would physically tilt if Damian stood still for too long.

The Emperor looked up once as Gregoris entered, took in the coat, the lack of visible blood, and the expression, and said, "You didn’t kill anyone. That usually means the inspection went well."

Gregoris removed one glove finger by finger. "Donin remains offensively functional."

Damian’s mouth twitched.

Gregoris crossed the room and set the secured case on the desk. Ether locks clicked open under his hand.

"The Shadow base is stable," he said. "The internal wards have been reinforced properly. Training compliance is above expected levels. Supply rotation is clean. Their long-range ether shielding would survive a siege better than several western compounds I could name."

Damian glanced over the first page as Gregoris continued.

"The southern insertion corridors are also better than last year. Christian expanded the dead zones between the visible checkpoints and the underground routes. It would make hostile tracking significantly more difficult."

Damian nodded once. "So he listened."

"He listened," Gregoris said. Then, because accuracy mattered, "He also sulked through half of it."

That got Damian’s full attention in a way the ward maps had not.

"Astana."

Gregoris gave him a flat look. "You say that as though there are many possible causes."

"There usually aren’t."

Gregoris continued, voice dry. "You sent Astana to assist with Agaron. Christian behaved like a man attempting dignity under chemical injury."

Damian looked down at the report again, but not before Gregoris caught the shift at the corner of his mouth.

"You find this amusing."

"I find Christian’s version of restraint educational."

"It was not restraint," Gregoris said. "It was weaponized silence in formalwear."

That, if anything, made it worse. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Because Christian had not complained directly. Not once. He had merely become sharper around the edges. Quieter. Colder. Every order was perfectly delivered. Every meeting was properly handled. Every sentence to Gregoris carrying the polished civility of a prince who would rather be doing violence to geography than discussing troop rotations without his mate present.

At one point, after a twelve-minute explanation of ether relay maintenance, Christian had looked at an empty chair and said, with perfect calm, "Astana would already have summarized this better."

Gregoris had nearly left the room.

Damian finished scanning the first report and set it aside.

"So," he said, "Donin is secure, Christian is offended, and Astana will return to find the kingdom still intact but emotionally hostile."

Gregoris folded his arms. "That is an accurate summary."

Damian leaned back slightly, a quiet hum leaving him as if this were all confirming some private line of thought. Then he said, with entirely too much calm, "You should get used to your new extended family."

Gregoris went very still.

It was not often that a sentence managed to annoy him on multiple levels at once. This one did so almost elegantly.

He looked at Damian in silence, silver eyes flat with the kind of warning that usually made lesser men reconsider their phrasing.

Damian, unfortunately, had long ago ceased to qualify as lesser.

"My what?" Gregoris said at last.

"Extended family," Damian repeated.

The hum of the ether systems behind the walls seemed suddenly louder, if only because Gregoris needed something in the room to blame for the shift in his mood.

For a moment he said nothing. Then he closed his eyes with slow deliberation, as though choosing restraint by force.

"Did Frederik and—"

"Yes," Damian said.

Worse, he said it with a wide grin.

Gregoris opened his eyes and looked at him with the flat disbelief usually reserved for structural failures and very stupid men.

Damian did not appear ashamed.

That, more than the answer itself, made the room feel personally hostile.

Gregoris held his stare for a long second, then another, as if giving Damian one final opportunity to develop dignity on his own.

It did not happen.

"I did not finish the question," Gregoris said.

"You didn’t need to."

"That is not the point."

"It was obviously the point."

Gregoris exhaled once through his nose, the sound carrying the exact edge of a man who had inspected an ether-armed Shadow base, tolerated Christian’s weaponized sulking for two days, and returned to discover that his emperor had chosen to become pleased about his son’s sex life on imperial time.

"This family," Gregoris said at last, "is exhausting."

Damian’s grin did not improve matters. "And yet expanding."

That earned him a look cold enough to stop traffic.

Gregoris folded his arms more tightly across his chest. "I assume Rafael knows."

Damian’s expression shifted just enough to become dangerous again, though the amusement remained. "Rafael knew before most of the corridor."

"Of course he did."

"He was thrilled."

"I’m sure he was."

No, Gregoris thought, that was too weak a word.

Rafael would not have been thrilled.

Rafael would have been incandescent. Emotionally overfunded. Two steps away from selecting fabrics out of spite. The silence on Gregoris’s messages suddenly made much more sense in the worst possible way.

He had not been ignored.

He had been strategically set aside while Rafael enjoyed the unfolding of family history without interruption.

Gregoris closed his eyes again.

"If Arik returns from Wrohan with a mate," he said, voice flat with prophecy, "then I will retire."