Arik stopped because some reflex in him still answered to that presence before thought had time to interfere, and because however much Goliath remained under his skin, Damian and Gabriel had long since become something he no longer had the energy or desire to deny.
Parents.
That word still sat strangely in him sometimes. Too soft in nature for the histories involved, too domestic for the architecture of war, death, rebirth, empire, and everything else that had dragged them all here. But true nonetheless.
Mezos, more practical than sentimental and fully aware of when a corridor ceased to belong to soldiers and reverted to family, stepped half a pace back and inclined his head.
"Your Majesty."
Damian's gaze moved once over him, then settled on Arik with the kind of attention that always felt like being seen too clearly and never, ever in a flattering way.
"You're late for something," Damian said.
