The noble chuckled.
Wrong move.
"Oh no, no, not at all!" he said quickly, sweat forming beneath the thick embroidery of his collar. "Of course not. I merely meant, well, everyone's wondering what your next move will be, Your Grace. The Empire's grateful, naturally, for the heir. There's talk, of course. You might retire from court life after the birth. Seek something... quieter. Something more suited to an omega of your grace. There are alphas more gentle, less burdened by war and ambition, should you wish for a... simpler life."
Gabriel blinked, raised his gaze to Damian's face and laughed.
Not a polite chuckle. Not the smooth, dismissive sound he gave diplomats when they tried to outmaneuver him with outdated protocol. No. This was a short, sharp, genuinely amused sound that rang a little too clearly in the crystal-washed air of the ballroom.
The noble flinched.
Damian didn't move.
