Three years slid by on the hum of the palace wards and the steady pulse of ether conduits beneath the capital. The Empire grew, the archives swelled, and the Shadows whispered of enemies at the borders, but inside the Emperor's wing, time took on a rhythm all its own.
Arik was nine now, all elbows and sharp questions, his golden eyes too quick for tutors who swore he was either born to command or to drive them mad. Cecil was three, steady and solemn, where his brother was fire, silver eyes watchful under the soft black curls that marked him as Damian's double.
And Gabriel… Gabriel was once more pregnant.
At last.
