Rafael was, for the first time in what felt like an entire lifetime, content.
His work had been formally, officially postponed, with stamped documents and polite excuses that made it sound like he was taking an elegant sabbatical, rather than being placed under protective house arrest by a husband who treated 'the last month of pregnancy' as a national security state.
Rafael didn't fight it.
He could have. He had the temperament for it. He had the vocabulary, too.
But Gregoris had looked at him one morning with that calm, unmovable gaze and said, "No palace."
Rafael had opened his mouth to argue and realized he didn't even have the energy to be dramatic about it.
So he stayed.
And because Rafael was incapable of doing nothing without turning it into a personal project, he fell back into old habits from before Gabriel had snatched him, labeled him an imperial secretary, and dropped him into the political meat grinder with a smile.
He read history books.
