Gabriel didn't have a chance to argue. Alexandra already had him by the arm, dragging him down the corridor with the same energy she'd once used to pull him out of a fencing match because his shirt collar was "offensively starched."
"Where are we—"
"Your chamber," she said. "Shut up and cooperate."
Behind them, Gloria followed with the garment bag, her heels clicking like war drums against the marble floor.
Edward didn't ask if they had clearance. He simply rerouted the guards and made sure no one else came near.
Inside the Empress's chamber, the air still held the quiet weight of early morning—the bed untouched, the fireplace banked low, the curtains drawn halfway against the sun. Gabriel had barely turned to close the door before Alexandra snapped her fingers.
"Off."
He arched a brow. "Excuse me?"
"The robe, Gabriel. You're getting fitted." She pulled the chair aside and made space. "Unless you want Gloria to do it with scissors."
"I'd rather not be stabbed today."
