Rafael's office had settled back into its ordinary rhythm, one that was so unremarkable it bordered on boredom.
The windows were just open enough to let in the distant sounds of the palace courtyard below, including footsteps, the muted cadence of voices, and the low churn of daily business that went on without ceremony. Papers lay neatly stacked on his desk, their contents familiar before he even read them. Trade summaries that required little more than a signature. Scheduling confirmations already agreed upon weeks ago. Correspondence drafted to acknowledge outcomes rather than negotiate them.
It was, by every objective measure, a quiet day.
The worst of the year had already passed. The ceremonies, the negotiations that demanded presence and performance, and the moments when every word carried weight beyond its syllables, all of it was done. Gabriel was officially resting, which, in the language of the palace, meant that the machinery of governance had redistributed itself.
