Damian didn't look back as he left the Empress's chamber. He didn't need to. The image of Gabriel—robed, radiant, framed by that ridiculous, dangerous embroidery—was already etched behind his eyelids like a brand.
The hall outside was cold, quiet, and gilded in polished marble and authority. The moment he stepped beyond the threshold, two Shadows fell in behind him. Another peeled off ahead. The scent of blood still clung faintly to the corridor air.
He didn't slow.
By the time he reached the eastern wing stairwell, Astana was already waiting, tablet in hand, posture immaculate, hair neatly in place despite the sprint it must've taken to get there before him.
"Your Majesty," Astana greeted, falling into step without missing a beat. "The next meeting was rescheduled per Edward's request. Your lunch has been redirected to the high office, and the council documents regarding the southern ports are waiting on your desk."
"And the design team?" Damian asked without preamble.
