The light in Donin Republica was different.
Too pale. Too clean. The type of light that cut through curtains rather than softening them. The kind that didn't hide anything. It stripped the world bare and watched without blinking.
Hadeon hated it.
He sat in silence, the report spread across the carved surface of his desk, the seal already cracked, the ink still smelling faintly of Imperial-grade parchment.
Six months.
The child was nearly six months along.
Damian Lyon had not only claimed Gabriel von Jaunez, bonded him, and bred him, but had also built an heir behind closed doors while the world gossiped about wedding dates and dress designs.
Not even a whisper of struggle.
Not even a flicker from the shard.
