The warmth of the palace struck Gabriel like a phantom, familiar but never quite welcome. He was aware that everyone in the same wing of the palace as him was watching his every move, and smoking in public was a deliberate choice. For the first time, he felt something in common with his former self, which gave him a strong sense of déjà vu.
'I was a menace.' He thought, smirking.
Max walked beside him, posture relaxed, hands tucked in his coat pockets. "Elliot's probably pacing in front of a mirror right now, rehearsing his next tantrum."
Gabriel didn't respond. The halls were too quiet, and he was too aware that everyone around him pretended to be civil while carrying knives behind their backs.
"Still clinging to George's last name like it carries any weight," Max went on. "The poor bastard hasn't realized he's ornamental now. A Count by courtesy and nothing else."
"You don't sound very sympathetic," Gabriel murmured.