The wine left Rafael's hand in a perfect, theatrical curve, red, gleaming, and aimed with precision for Gregoris's face.
It never touched him.
There was no visible ether flare, no spell light, and no disruption of sound or heat. One moment, the liquid soared like a shot across the table. The next, it halted mid-air, suspended like an oil painting of a crime that never happened.
The glass remained in Rafael's hand. Full.
Untouched.
He blinked. No one else at the table even noticed.
Gregoris didn't move or show his usual smirk. He only looked at Rafael with something darker than amusement… with satisfaction.
"I don't think so," he said.
Rafael's fingers curled tighter around the stem, but the wine remained obediently still, a traitor to its own trajectory. The heat in his chest surged upward, coloring his face in absolute rage.
Gregoris tapped one finger on the table, and the wine gently lowered itself back into the glass as though nothing had ever happened. The silence stretched, gilded and suffocating.
"That," he added softly, "was very pretty. Do you feel better now?"
"You bastard."
"You'll need stronger insults than that," Gregoris said, his tone maddeningly pleasant. "Unless you want to waste your breath."
Rafael set the glass down with careful control, more shaken than he dared show. His ankle was still pinned. His pride had been struck harder than the wine ever could've landed. The worst part was that Gregoris wasn't even angry. He looked… entertained.
"You're doing better than I expected," Gregoris mused, reaching for his fork. "I thought you'd cry, maybe try to leave through the kitchen. But here you are, claws out. I admire that."
"Admire?" Rafael echoed, voice cold.
"I did say I liked your mind." He stabbed another bite of food. "I didn't say I respected your decisions."
"You are a petty, manipulative…"
Gregoris raised one hand, not to silence, but to amuse. "Petty? No. Calculated? Absolutely." He tilted his head. "Do you think I wake up in the morning wondering how to make your life difficult? Rafael, please. I have generals for that. This is purely recreational."
Rafael felt something twist low in his stomach. "I will report this."
"To whom?" Gregoris asked, genuine curiosity laced beneath the mockery. "Gabriel already knows I have an interest in you. Damian would only care if I set the restaurant on fire. And Augustus?"
He smiled then, wide, white, and honest in a way that only made it worse.
"Augustus is my friend. A real one. Which means he won't interfere."
Rafael stared at him. "Because he's afraid of you."
"No," Gregoris said, swirling his wine. "Because he trusts me to know what I'm doing."
"You just sabotaged his date."
"I rescheduled it," Gregoris corrected. "And he'll forgive me. He always does. Augustus is many things, but he's not naïve. He knows what it means when I take interest. He's known me long enough to understand I don't chase unless something's worth the ruin."
"You think I'm worth ruining?" Rafael asked, breath catching.
Gregoris set his glass down with the same care he gave to knives. "I think you're worth watching. And that," he added, "is how it starts."
Rafael's pulse thudded in his throat, a treacherous sound.
"Besides," Gregoris said with a pleasant shrug, "if Augustus really wanted to see you tonight, he would've called. He didn't."
"You told him not to."
"And he listened." He smiled. "That's friendship, Rafael. Not weakness."
The room around them remained blissfully unaware. Just another quiet table, another noble dinner, another evening of secrets folded between silverware.
But Rafael knew the rules had changed.
And the man across from him had never played fair, so what reason did he have to play fair now?
Rafael leaned back in his chair, his pale blue eyes half-lidded in disdain, wondering idly what it would take to kill a cocky bastard like Gregoris. Probably not something legal. Definitely not something quick.
"You can call it how you want," he said coldly. "I know you most likely blackmailed him into submission. You're not playing fair."
"True," Gregoris said without hesitation. "But then again, neither are you."
Rafael raised a brow.
Gregoris smiled, unbothered. "Now, as amusing as this is, I would like for this to be a date. We made it here, didn't we?"
"Sure," Rafael replied, his voice like dry ice. "Then what dessert do you prefer, aside from the blood of your enemies?"
"I don't like sweets, Rafael."
"Is that so?" Rafael tipped his head, his tone arching.
Gregoris leaned in just slightly, silver eyes gleaming. "They leave a bad aftertaste."
There was a beat of silence, taut with implications neither of them voiced. Around them, the clink of silverware and low conversation filled the air again, but their table remained its own world quiet, razor-edged, and intimate in the worst possible way.
The main course ended. The wine was untouched by Rafael, though his fingers still curled around the stem like it was the only weapon left.
Gregoris eventually glanced toward the corner of the restaurant, where a discreet staff member gave the barest of nods. He stood smoothly, placing his napkin beside his plate with elegant precision.
"I have another engagement," he said lightly, as though this had all been a pleasant, civilized affair. "But the car will take you home."
Rafael looked up sharply. "You're leaving me here?"
"No," Gregoris said, stepping beside his chair and gesturing politely. "I'm walking you out."
Rafael hesitated. The pressure on his ankle had finally lifted, but the weight of Gregoris's presence hadn't.
Outside, the car was already waiting, sleek and imperial-grade in a subtle navy. The kind of transport used only by those who didn't need to flaunt their power to prove it.
Gregoris opened the door himself. For one absurd moment, he looked like a perfect gentleman escorting a date into a private vehicle.
"Don't cause trouble on the way back," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "The driver's loyal. And armed."
Rafael didn't reply. He slid into the car, the interior warm and softly lit, drowning in ridiculous luxury. The door shut behind him with the hiss of money well spent.
And Gregoris?
Gone.
Not a glance. Not a goodbye. Just the sudden absence of a man who had decided the game was over, at least for tonight.
The car pulled away from the curb with silent power, weaving through the streets of the Capital as if nothing had happened.
Rafael reached his apartment safely.
Physically.
He sat in the back seat until the engine stopped, then stepped out slowly, aware of the lingering scent of expensive cologne, the faint trace of ether in the air, and the way his skin still burned faintly from the lace that had once felt like armor.
'I hate him.' Was all he could think about.