Rafael barely remembered slipping out of the ballroom.
One minute he was smiling politely at diplomats while Alexandra whispered entirely unhelpful commentary in his ear; the next, Gabriel gave him a subtle nod toward the exit, the kind that meant go before someone makes this worse, and Rafael gratefully fled with the same urgency as a man escaping a burning building.
Now he was in the backseat of his sleek black sedan, the city lights dragging long streaks across the window as the car glided through the imperial district. His heart was still fluttering against his ribs, humiliated and jittery, and his mind kept replaying the absurdity of the evening.
Gregoris Frasner had watched him.
All night.
Like Rafael was an appetizer someone had put on the wrong table.
He buried his face in his hands.
The driver cleared his throat quietly. "We're heading to your apartment, sir. Should arrive in about fifteen minutes."
Rafael dropped his hands and straightened. His apartment. The tidy, quiet, perfectly normal apartment that did not contain his mother, her expectations, or her interrogation. Normally, that alone was reason to go home.
But then he imagined walking through the door alone, while Gregoris was clearly having fun tormenting him.
'No. Absolutely not.'
He wasn't spending the night alone with the memory of Gregoris's stare seared into his brain.
Rafael leaned forward. "Change of plans. Take me to the main manor."
The driver blinked at him in the rearview mirror. "The Rosenroth estate, sir?"
"Yes," Rafael said, rubbing his forehead. "I… need to see my mother."
He regretted the words instantly. He did not need to see his mother. He needed stability. Familiarity. Something predictable and mildly judgmental to counteract the fact that the Empire's deadliest man had spent the entire evening looking at him like a puzzle he wanted to break apart for amusement.
"Very well, sir," the driver said, flicking on the indicator. "Estimated arrival in twenty-five minutes."
Rafael leaned back in the seat and exhaled slowly.
—
Rafael slept poorly, tossing in the oversized bed of his childhood suite. The Rosenroth manor had gifted him an entire wing growing up but even there, even behind familiar walls draped in polished portraits and expensive fabrics, his thoughts kept circling back to Gregoris Frasner's stare.
He finally got up at dawn, scrubbed his face, showered longer than necessary, and dressed in crisp clothes suitable for returning to the palace. Gabriel expected him back by mid-morning. Rafael fully intended to be composed by then, or at least capable of breathing without flinching at the memory of silver eyes tracking him across a ballroom.
He straightened his tie, checked his reflection, and allowed himself one foolish, hopeful thought.
'Mother is absolutely still asleep. It's seven in the morning. I'm safe.'
He even smiled. Like an idiot.
Rafael stepped into the breakfast salon, confident he would find nothing but empty chairs and silent silverware.
Instead, Delphine Rosenroth sat at the head of the table, with perfect posture, fresh pearls, immaculate hair, and a steaming cup of tea already in hand.
Rafael froze mid-step.
Delphine looked up slowly, expression unreadable and devastating in the way only a social queen could achieve at dawn. "Good morning, Rafael."
The boy considered turning around and pretending he had never entered the room. Instead, trapped by etiquette, he forced a polite smile and approached the table. "Mother. You're up early."
"I always rise early," she said, which was a lie, but she said it often enough that Rafael wondered if she had convinced herself it was true. She set her tea down, eyes scanning him from shoes to collar. "You're dressed beautifully. Palace day?"
'When is not palace day with Gabriel as my boss?' He thought but decided to be polite this morning.
"Yes," Rafael replied, smoothing his jacket. "Gabriel asked me to…"
"Gabriel," Delphine repeated, with that particular tone nobles used when they realized their son had wandered into dangerously influential company. "He seems to like you. The Emperor too, to some extent. That is impressive, Rafael."
He blinked, taken aback from the compliment. "Thank you, Mother."
"It means you have grown," she continued. "Come into your own. Surrounded by the imperial circle… an excellent sign."
For the briefest, blissful moment, Rafael thought the morning might go smoothly.
Then Delphine smiled warmly, almost serene. "But now you need an alpha."
Rafael choked on nothing. 'For fuck's sake.'
Delphine dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin. "Your brother Layle already holds the title of Count Rosenroth. He is married, and our line is secured. Which means it is your turn. And I, my darling son, would very much like to sleep peacefully at night knowing you have a proper partner."
Rafael stared at her, stunned. "Mother, I don't… I'm not in a hurry…"
"You are twenty-four," she said calmly. "You work at the palace, you dine with the emperor's consort, and you attend imperial galas. The social climate has shifted, Rafael. You cannot remain unattached forever."
He swallowed. "Mother… Last time you tried to pair me with someone was… the Emperor or Prince Christian, and now I'm worked to the bone by the consort of the emperor. Forgive me that I'm not interested in match making."
Delphine's expression didn't flicker. If anything, she looked pleased that he remembered. "Christian would have been an excellent match. And the Emperor, well, that would have elevated the family beautifully."
"Mother," Rafael whispered, horrified. "He's literally married. With a child on the way. And terrifying."
Delphine waved that off like Rafael had complained about the weather. "Details, dear. Timing simply wasn't ideal. But my point stands: you deserve someone of status. Someone who isn't intimidated by the Empire's inner circle."
Rafael pressed his palms against the table, fighting the urge to let his forehead fall onto the linen cloth. "I'm not looking for an alpha."
"You never are," Delphine replied, utterly unfazed. "Which is precisely why I must do the looking for you."
Rafael inhaled sharply, preparing for impact. "Mother…"
She leaned back gracefully, taking a delicate sip of tea before delivering the blow with perfect aim. "I met someone at the gala last night. A young marquess. Francis of Lorraine. Very tame, very respectful, very… controllable. You would do well with someone predictable."
"Predictable," Rafael repeated, numb. "That is… not reassuring."
"It should be," she said, as if that settled it. "He will join us for luncheon tomorrow. It's a perfect opportunity."
Rafael wished Gregoris Frasner had killed him at the gala. It would have been kinder.
He stared at his mother helplessly, trying to form a coherent argument. "Mother, with all due respect, yesterday I had to endure Alexandra trying to auction me off, Gabriel laughing at my suffering, and the Emperor subtly encouraging it. The last thing I need is another suitor."
Delphine considered this for a long moment. "Ah. So you are overwhelmed."
"Yes," Rafael said, relieved she finally understood.
"Then a stable alpha will help with that," she concluded cheerfully.
Rafael closed his eyes.
Of course. Of course that was the conclusion.
He forced a deep breath, lifted his cup of tea, and tried to calm the kill-me-now sensation crawling under his skin. Delphine watched him with maternal affection that somehow felt exactly like being trapped in an elegant trap.
She reached over and patted his hand lightly. "Finish your breakfast. You look pale. And try to smile when you return to the palace. People take interest when a Rosenroth is seen in high places."
Rafael managed a weak nod, though on the inside he was screaming.