Before Gabriel could say anything else, the doors on the far side of the hall opened, and the guards straightened their stance, even though it was perfect before. He turned to face Damian, but all he saw was the Emperor, not his mate or Damian, the man who matched his sarcasm and drama.
The crown was something out of nightmares, blackened gold with each jagged spike rising like the teeth of a fallen god. Embedded between the iron-like ridges, crimson gems pulsed like frozen blood, sharp-cut and unforgiving, as if they remembered every ruler who had dared wear them.
Gabriel greeted him with perfect courtesy, even though his mind had left the room. He had seen and touched that crown before, and he remembered its weight and jagged surface in his hands as he walked through fire, blood, and ether so unstable that it drummed in his chest.
But the image fractured before it reached clarity, and the memory slipped back behind the wall again.
