The formal declaration was done, the archive chimes had faded, and the nobles had begun to move again in slow currents of silk and expensive perfume, smiles arranged like shields. The palace grid kept breathing through the etherlines in the walls, steady and indifferent, while the warded panels behind the carved molding held the temperature perfectly stable, as if the building itself refused to acknowledge that human beings were messy.
Rafael didn't relax.
He simply shifted modes.
Natalie was still in Gabriel's arms, small and heavy in the way infants were heavy, not by weight but by meaning. Gregoris remained close enough that his shadow formed another wall around them, while Damian stood on the dais, the Emperor's stillness present, watching, allowing the room to pretend it was free while counting every possible exit.
