The halls of the palace were quieter now, the echoes of the grand event fading into the depths of the night. Gabriel's mind was a blur of what Max, Charles, and Damian had said. He had no idea how to solve the problems that seemed to follow him around; if an assassination attempt occurred, there would be blood. Damian is not the type of man to keep something hidden for the sake of temporary peace.
After returning to his chambers, he had bathed, letting the warm water ease the tension from his limbs. The faint scent of perfumed soap lingered on his skin, contrasting with the heaviness that continued to press against his mind. Now, dressed in a loose white shirt and soft linen pants, he sat near the window, letting the cool night air soothe the residual heat still clinging to him from the ballroom. The flickering light cast shifting shadows across the walls, offering a moment of solitude he had not realized he needed.
