Astana offered a small, dry shrug. "He's adjusting. To court life. To the scrutiny. To the way everything he does echoes through the Empire like a thunderclap." He paused, then added thoughtfully, "And he's still beautiful when he's furious. That hasn't changed."
Damian looked down at his desk, at the sealed reports, the blood-soaked edges of war dressed in bureaucracy, and smiled faintly. Just enough for someone who knew him to notice.
"Well, that does define Gabriel. Now, let's finish this."
Astana nodded once, sharp and efficient, the way only someone trained to march through fire with a clipboard could. "First docket: trade concessions with the southern coast—your approval is pending on the revised tax ratio. They tried to sneak in a clause that would exempt them from emergency levies."
"Strike it," Damian said without blinking. "If they want protection, they'll pay for it like everyone else."
