Shadow Unit Scandal: The Commander's Omega-Chapter 197: In the morning

Gregoris woke first.

Not because he was more rested, but because he had been trained to respond to the slightest shift in the room, the slightest change in breathing, or the slightest unfamiliar sound. Old habits didn’t die in palaces or in marriage. They just learned how to wear silk.

Rafael was tangled with him, warm and boneless, one leg draped over Gregoris’s thigh like a claim. Their sheets were a mess. Their blankets were half on the floor. The air still smelled like them - clean soap, faint omega sweetness, and the calming comfort of Gregoris’s scent that made the whole suite feel like a ward.

Gregoris stared at the ceiling for a moment, then looked down.

Rafael’s hair was a brown halo against the pillow, damp from last night’s shower and sleep. His mouth was faintly swollen from too much smiling and kissing, and he had the audacity to look peaceful.

Gregoris’s hand, already on Rafael’s back, moved slowly, a firm stroke that was less tenderness and more a headcount.

Rafael made a small sound and burrowed closer.

"Round four," he murmured, his voice hoarse with satisfaction.

Gregoris blinked once.

Then, very calmly, he said, "There will not be another round before breakfast."

Rafael’s laugh was sleepy and delighted. "Coward."

Gregoris’s eyes narrowed. "Duke."

Rafael hummed like that was praise. "Yes."

Gregoris exhaled through his nose and shifted carefully, testing his shoulder like he expected to find bruises there. He found soreness instead - earned, familiar, not entirely unpleasant.

Rafael lifted his head slightly, eyes half-lidded and smug. "You look like you want to start issuing laws."

"I want to stop you from injuring yourself out of enthusiasm," Gregoris corrected.

Rafael’s mouth curved. "Too late."

Gregoris stared at him for a beat, then reached out and brushed a thumb along Rafael’s cheekbone in the faintest gesture of domestic softness he would deny to the grave.

"You need strength training," Gregoris said.

Rafael froze mid-smirk, then let out a long, dramatic sigh like he’d been personally betrayed by the morning.

"No."

Gregoris’s eyes narrowed. "Yes."

Rafael flopped back onto the pillow and threw an arm over his face. "I knew you were going to ruin my joy."

"This is joy," Gregoris said flatly. "You’re alive. You’re dramatic. I’m tolerating it."

Rafael peeked at him through his fingers. "I’m not doing strength training today."

Gregoris’s voice stayed calm, which meant it wasn’t a suggestion. "You’re doing it."

Rafael sat up slightly, hair falling everywhere, robe half-open, looking like a scandal in a museum. "Gregoris, you’ve been saying that for over four years."

Gregoris didn’t blink. "And you’ve been ignoring it for over four years."

Rafael smiled sweetly. "Consistency."

Gregoris’s jaw ticked. "Stubbornness."

Rafael’s smile widened. "Romance."

Gregoris stared.

Rafael kept smiling like the sun itself answered him.

"I’m not starting now," Rafael said, his voice light and utterly final. "Not on the morning after you agreed to a second child like you were being sentenced."

Gregoris raised a brow, said nothing, and left the bed with a kiss to prepare for the day.

Rafael watched him go, satisfied with himself.

He remained satisfied right up until lunch.

That was when the mansion staff - loyal, terrified, and impeccably trained - began acting strange. Not overtly. Just... coordinated. Doors opening at the right moments. Hallway traffic subtly redirected. A maid appearing with water at exactly the wrong time, blocking the route Rafael wanted. A footman politely informing him that the west sitting room was ’being aired out’ and the library was ’undergoing etherline maintenance.’

Rafael narrowed his eyes and tried to walk around them.

He didn’t get far because Gregoris appeared and blocked the way with his large frame filling the hallway like it was carved for him only.

Rafael halted mid-step.

"Hi," Rafael said pleasantly, as if he wasn’t already calculating escape routes.

"Hi," Gregoris replied with equal politeness.

Rafael’s smile stayed bright. "If you’re here to discuss dessert legislation, Natalie isn’t available."

Gregoris’s eyes didn’t blink. "Training."

Rafael’s smile faltered. Barely.

"No," Rafael said, still pleasant. "I have plans."

Gregoris tilted his head, silver eyes glinting with a light that would make seasoned shadows freeze. "You don’t."

Rafael’s brows lifted. "I do."

Gregoris’s tone remained calm. "You don’t anymore."

Rafael stared at him, then he sighed dramatically. "You are abusing your position as my husband."

Gregoris’s mouth tightened, almost a smile. "Yes."

Rafael’s eyes narrowed. "At least pretend to be ashamed."

Gregoris stepped closer, looming over his mate’s smaller frame. "Walk."

Rafael didn’t move. "No."

Gregoris paused, then asked, voice low and very controlled, "Do you want a second child?"

Rafael’s mouth opened.

Closed.

He glared.

"That’s blackmail," Rafael accused.

"It’s motivation," Gregoris corrected, very clearly and shamelessly.

Rafael’s eyes narrowed further. "It’s coercion."

Gregoris’s gaze held. "It’s marriage."

Rafael stared at him for a beat, then let out a long breath that was mostly betrayal. "Fine," he said and added quickly, "but I’m doing this under protest."

Gregoris inclined his head like he’d received a formal agreement in court. "Noted."

Rafael walked.

He walked down corridors he usually loved - art, etherlit walls, ridiculous wealth - feeling none of it because he was being escorted like a criminal by a man who looked entirely unbothered.

They reached the training wing.

Rafael stopped at the threshold.

The training hall of their mansion was not subtle.

It was a cathedral built for violence: a high ceiling reinforced with ether-thread beams, warded glass panels, and a floor marked with faint silver glyphs that glowed softly when a body moved over them. Weapons racks. Training dummies. A sparring ring outlined in pale etherlight like a halo.

Rafael had, very intentionally, avoided stepping in here since he’d married Gregoris.

Not because he was afraid of the room.

Because he was afraid of what lived in it.

Gregoris in the training hall wasn’t the man who teased Natalie and sighed at breakfast. He was a very loved predator. The kind that didn’t need to show teeth to be lethal. The kind Rafael adored, and therefore the kind Rafael had learned not to provoke unless he wanted to be swallowed whole by it.

Rafael stood at the doorway, eyes flicking across the space, and said dryly, "Absolutely not."

Gregoris stepped behind him and shut the door.

The click was soft.

Rafael turned slowly. "You locked me in."

Gregoris’s brows lifted. "Yes."