The laughter lingered, sharp and unrestrained, but by evening the sound outside the Emperor's wing had shifted.
The court had long tolerated the indulgences of their young Emperor. They tolerated his refusal to stock his halls with consorts because there was still time, still possibility. But now? He had been marked. His bond to Gabriel was etched across his skin in gold and blood, visible for every envoy to witness at the coronation. There would be no second bond, no concubine quarters to fill with ambitious daughters, and no games of rivalry for nobles to profit from.
And worse still, Maximilian Claymore, dominant alpha, head of his house, had declared the same.
At the private introduction of his son, Max had stood with Adam at his side, voice careless but words deliberate enough to slice:
"House Claymore is secure. I have my heir and my mate. I'll never need another."
That, more than Arik's first word or Noah's first squeak, sent ripples tearing through the salons.
