The palace had finally settled into that rare, fleeting quiet that came after a long lunch and before the next crisis. The kind of silence that only came when half the staff had been reassigned, the wine had been cleared, and Edward had decided that both emperors were someone else's problem for the rest of the day.
Gabriel closed the nursery door with the same care he might use to disarm a trap. The lights had been dimmed to a soft amber glow, the curtains drawn against the afternoon sun. Arik, finally asleep, was curled into the folds of Gabriel's robe with one tiny hand still latched around the edge of the fabric, unwilling to let go even in dreams.
It had taken nearly an hour of quiet rocking and whispered nonsense to settle him. A bottle. A song. A low hum in the back of Gabriel's throat that wasn't quite a lullaby, just rhythm and memory and scent.
