The physician's chambers in the private wing were far too clinical for Gabriel's taste.
He was getting shivers from memories he didn't have anymore. In the last week he had to deal with the rumors of his love life with Anya, political hearings that almost made his ears bleed, and a pissed-off Damian that he had taken leave from breaking his spine until the biweekly appointment.
Everything smelled of sterilized ether and dried mint leaves. The lighting was soft, enchanted to be calming, and the walls were a gentle slate blue—not quite dreary, not quite soothing. A pane of reinforced glass overlooked the palace gardens, but Gabriel wasn't in the mood for scenery. He sat on the exam bed, legs crossed neatly, robe belted low and loose at the waist.
