The corridor outside was silent, save for the low murmur of guards shifting at their posts. The imperial wing never slept, not really. It only breathed slower at night.
Astana Blake stood waiting by the main hall, exactly where Damian expected him.
His posture was immaculate, hands clasped behind his back, dark robes bearing the understated sigil of the Imperial House seal. No aide ever looked more like a shadow carved from marble.
Astana turned to follow without missing a beat, his steps quiet against the marble.
"Max is waiting for you… and Prince Christian," he continued after a breath. "They're in the imperial office. Max is here for the appointment with the Claymore Guild. The Prince…" A pause, light as silk. "Well. Because of Anya."
Damian didn't respond right away. There was nothing more to say.
