The night air was cold enough to bite, but Rafael welcomed it.
He had slipped out onto one of the palace balconies under the pretense of needing air, though in truth he needed space - space from the music, from the eyes, and from the tension he had woven through the hall like a silk thread pulled too tight.
Stone was cold beneath his palms as he rested them on the balustrade. The city beyond glittered, distant and indifferent, a constellation of lights that did not care about coronations, bloodlines, or the carefully staged provocations of one omega with a very specific target.
His breath fogged faintly.
Then the air behind him shifted.
Rafael did not turn. A familiar presence settled at his back, warm and unmistakably Gregoris. A moment later, a heavy coat was draped over his shoulders, the fabric still carrying the heat of another body. It was dark, impeccably tailored, and smelled faintly of fabric perfume, winter, and the bite of Gregoris's scent.
