Crista's entrance was the signal that the party started officially. Conversations dipped, smiles brightened, and the air shifted like silk drawn taut. She didn't bother with ceremony. Instead, she extended her arms toward Gabriel with the imperious ease of a woman who had ruled both family and empire long before he had set foot in the palace.
"Give him here," she said, and without hesitation Gabriel passed Arik into her embrace. The Dowager cradled the child like he was spun of light and bone china, her gaze sharp enough to cut through the wave of noblewomen already circling. The room reoriented itself instantly: Crista in the center, Arik nestled against her chest, and Gabriel at her side while the others were doing their job in dispersing the attention.
The nobles cooed, pressing closer with the subtle desperation of women smelling legacy in swaddling cloth. Questions fluttered, comparisons whispered, and his hair, his eyes, and his little fists curled like a soldier's.
