Rafael woke up feeling like someone had removed his soul, shaken it violently, and shoved it back in crooked.
Morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of his apartment, catching on the gold trimming of the curtains and making the whole place look brighter than his will to live. He lay there for a moment, face buried in a pillow, trying to decide if breathing counted as effort.
He'd slept almost eighteen hours straight. No dreams or rest. Just bliss unconsciousness provided by his melatonin tablets.
Unfortunately, when he finally rolled onto his back, the first thought that returned was: 'Delphine arranged a blind date with a mystery candidate.'
He groaned and covered his face with both hands. "I want to go back to sleep."
But he had a schedule. And Delphine had a schedule. And her schedule always won.
He dragged himself out of bed.
The marble floor was cold. The apartment, with three bedrooms, two balconies, and unnecessary crystal chandeliers, seemed far too large for one anxious omega. He padded toward the bathroom, flicked on the lights, and stared at his reflection.
Soft brown hair sticking up in confused directions. Pale blue eyes with just enough misery to qualify for a portrait titled Young Noble Contemplates Doom.
He sighed. "You look dead."
No response from the mirror. Rude.
He filled the bathtub and poured in something expensive that smelled like citrus and calm, two things he desperately needed. He sank into the steaming water and let his head fall back against the edge, staring at the ceiling.
He stayed there for a long time.
Long enough to wonder if drowning had ever been a socially acceptable excuse to miss a date.
Once he finally hauled himself out, he wrapped a towel around his waist and wandered into his dressing room. Clothing racks lined the walls: formal suits, embroidered jackets, silk shirts, and shoes polished enough to reflect trauma.
He touched the sleeve of a dark navy coat, then the lapel of a soft grey blazer. Somehow choosing clothes felt like choosing armor.
He picked something fancy, something elegant enough for his mother's taste but not so elegant it suggested enthusiasm. A fitted black suit with gold detailing, a crisp white shirt, and a thin black tie. It framed his shoulders nicely without looking too assertive. His hair dried into soft waves that fell naturally across his forehead.
He looked… respectable.
Not happy or… alive. But respectable.
By the time he stepped out of the building, the morning air cut through the fog in his head. His driver, Eddy, waited by the sleek black sedan, straight-backed and polite as always. He was a man in his late twenties with brown hair and brown eyes, a beta who didn't draw any attention, making him ideal for working with nobles.
Eddy opened the door. "Good morning, sir. You look… sharp."
Rafael gave him a flat stare. "I'm being sacrificed."
Eddy hesitated. "…To your mother?"
"Yes."
"Ah." Eddy nodded knowingly. "Should I drive slowly? Or quickly? Or off a cliff?"
Rafael sighed as he slid into the car. "Let's start with slowly. I want at least ten more minutes to mentally prepare before Delphine throws me into whatever she planned."
Eddy closed the door gently. "Very good, sir."
As the car pulled away from the curb, Rafael slouched back, eyes half-closed, whispering to himself, "I'm not ready. I will never be ready. Someone save me."
No one did.
The city glided past the windows while Rafael wondered which was worse, the mystery candidate waiting for him… or the fact that Gregoris Frasner still existed somewhere in this palace and now thought Rafael was even more interesting.
—
Gregoris hit the mat hard enough to crack it.
Damian didn't even look winded.
They'd been sparring for twenty minutes, both wearing ether blockers, both armed with modern steel training blades, short and fast. The Emperor moved like a storm contained in human shape. Gregoris moved like a man who usually won these matches but currently had the concentration of a drowning cat.
Damian flicked his wrist. The edge of the blade tapped Gregoris's throat. "That's the third time today."
Gregoris pushed the knife away and rolled to his feet, jaw tight. "I'm distracted."
"No," Damian said lightly, "you're thinking. That's worse."
Gregoris scowled. Normally that would amuse Damian. Today it made him tilt his head, studying him with those gold, unblinking eyes.
"You're fast," Damian continued, circling, "but you're not here. Your head is elsewhere."
They met in the center, metal clashing, shoulders brushing. Gregoris pushed forward and Damian slid aside with effortless precision.
"Talk," Damian said. "Or I'll assume you've developed a conscience, and that would concern me."
Gregoris exhaled sharply, switching the knife to his opposite hand. "Fine. Rafael Rosenroth."
Damian blinked once. "Unexpected."
Gregoris didn't stop moving. Footwork remained sharp, knife angled correctly, but something in his expression flickered, like annoyance fighting curiosity.
"Explain," Damian said.
Gregoris dodged a strike, came in close, and muttered, "Two nights ago, the omega nearly fainted every time I looked at him. Yesterday? He walked past me without flinching. Not even a twitch. I stood right behind him."
Damian paused just long enough for Gregoris to slam him into the mat.
Damian let the impact happen. He actually laughed.
Gregoris stared down at him, irritated. "What?"
Damian sat up, brushing dust from his sleeve. "You're surprised Rafael didn't react to you?"
"He acted like I wasn't even there."
"Gregoris," Damian said, rising to his feet, "Rafael is an introvert."
"That explains nothing."
Damian smirked. "Let me rephrase: Rafael is an introvert with a high panic threshold. Once he reaches maximum stress, his brain simply… checks out. He won't scream. He won't faint. He just walks past danger as if it's furniture."
Gregoris stared. "…Furniture?"
"Wallpaper," Damian corrected, amused. "Gabriel said that by the time Rafael left the office yesterday, he was so mentally collapsed he didn't even recognize threats. Not even you."
Gregoris took a moment to absorb that.
"So I was… ignored," he said slowly, tasting the word like it offended him.
Damian chuckled. "Completely. Gabriel told me Delphine scheduled a blind date. Rafael hasn't recovered."
Gregoris blinked. "A blind date?"
"With a candidate hand-selected by Delphine Rosenroth."
Gregoris lowered his blade. "Shouldn't you recruit her?"
"I did after she informed us of Rosaline's attempt to poison Gabriel. She is skilled at gathering and manipulating intelligence in the social world."
Gregoris froze for a second, the blade still dangling loosely between his fingers. "You… recruited Delphine Rosenroth."
Damian shrugged as if this were the most reasonable thing in the world. "If someone is already terrifying, you might as well point them at your enemies."
Gregoris blinked. "And you are absolutely certain she's on our side?"
"No," Damian said cheerfully. "But she's on Gabriel's. That's close enough."
Gregoris opened his mouth, closed it again, then finally muttered, "Unbelievable."
He sheathed the training knife like someone realizing the world was far stranger and more dangerous than he previously assumed.
Damian tilted his head. "You don't need to worry about Rafael's reaction yesterday. He'll be scared of you again soon enough."
"I'm not worried," Gregoris said too quickly.
Damian's brow lifted. "You sound worried."
Gregoris glared at him. "I am not… concerned about an omega ignoring me. I'm concerned about why he did it."
"Because his mother shattered the last neuron he had left," Damian said dryly. "Delphine scheduled that blind date today. Gabriel told me she's treating it like an imperial treaty signing. Rafael's nerves are probably dust."
Gregoris absorbed that, expression shifting slightly. "He's meeting someone today?"