A few hours later, the imperial salon was radiant with light and quiet beauty.
Gabriel had helped plan this.
The curtains were sheer and lemon-colored, catching the early afternoon light in a buttery glow. Silver trays shimmered beneath covered dishes, and floral arrangements featured orange blossoms and small white roses—elegant, refined, and deeply offensive to Gabriel's stomach. The scent of candied citrus hung in the air like a weapon dressed in lace.
And now it was his personal hell.
He stood near the tall windows, one hand around a glass of mint-laced water, his other resting lightly against the back of an armchair as if he might collapse with any sudden scent. The air was sweet and floral, saturated with orange blossom and candied citrus peels. He swallowed, trying not to feel every note of it.
