A few days later, Gregoris put Natalie to bed with the same careful efficiency he used on missions.
It was, in theory, simple. Pajamas. Teeth brushed. One story or two, because Natalie had decided bedtime was a negotiation and she had inherited the Rosenroth talent for stretching an inch into a mile. Gregoris sat at the edge of her enormous bed under etherlit stars that shimmered faintly across the ceiling, listened to her list of grievances about 'unfair dessert laws,' and waited until her eyelids finally dropped.
She fell asleep clutching a plush lion that looked suspiciously like Damian if Damian had been made for toddlers and not a monster in diplomacy.
Gregoris stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her breathe. He didn't linger because lingering made him soft, and Gregoris didn't like noticing how much he liked being soft in this very specific way.
He closed the door quietly and walked back toward the master suite.
